#illness as leftovers from the Plague flares out

[meirimerens]

meiri u have made me ship notkin and khan so bad. please tell me about ur vision, when will they fucking kiss. when will they admit that they're into each other. and also is capella suffering or entertained

i have been gifted by the muses the power to entrance people into caring about characters now Why these two when i have way funnier in stock many must wonder. the people yearn for childhood friends haters to lovers as grownups. flattered i am. do y;ou even care about my imaginary yurie between the rat catcher and aysa. I jest. flattered. anyways. it'll be quick because it's not like i have much on them

age 20 ish after khan has come back from whatever all-boys college he's shipped himself to to not have to cope with the fact he's becoming like his father minus the liking women thing and they both think "ooooh he's gotten better-looking stronger more intelligent less annoying while he/I was away"

also age 20 ish. before 1). i don't think the lapse of time between 1) and 2) is very long.

she's both. she has no romantic attachment to khan (and neither does he to her) so she dgaf about the loveless marriage thing and as such this is not what makes her #suffer, it's more the Are You Done At Once Can You Make A Move I Know You Want To Make A Move thing that makes her physically cringe. but it is equally entertaining. as previously mentioned

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Little hurt/comfort ficlet for @idiotwithanipad x

Robin & OC

-

Most of the time she managed to block out her 'gift', having had nearly twenty years to train herself to ignore the dead people who existed everywhere she went, the majority of them easy enough to spot with their outfits, the way they weaved between livings without getting a passing glance, or outright walking through walls and furniture.

As a child, she'd had the excuse of being an imaginative kid who acquired many "imaginary friends" to talk to. As a teenager that didn't go down quite so well. Not that she usually cared if people looked at her as a weirdo. It was more the 'getting sectioned' possibility that concerned her.

Her parents had gone on and on about how old this hotel was, how it apparently had enough history to warrant a quick tour offered by the resort. So Amy expected more than a few ghosts to pop up here and there. Thus far she'd done her best not to make eye contact with the giddy Georgian woman or the Bridgerton Ken who had been in the reception.

It was a little more of a trial to ignore the caveman scurrying around her room, sniffing at the leftovers of her dinner she'd ordered through room service, nostrils flaring above the lone slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Ooo, smell so good. Wonder how you taste. Cheese taste like cow bum? It all come from same." The feral man was muttering to himself.

Once he got bored of inhaling the food, he was judging her parents choice of books that they'd brought, having dumped them on their bedside tables.

Amy covered her head beneath a large pillow as he continued his one-sided conversation.

"Fanny read this one. Butler no do it, it maid disguise as butler. And she also vampire. Big twist but saw it coming. Oooh, Christine Lampard autobiography! Me want read! Might put on Christmas list-."

"PLEASE WILL YOU SHUT UP!"

He raised his head in time to see the pillow she's thrown hurtle towards him and he ducked to the side to dodge it. He blinked at her in wonder.

"You see me?!"

"Yes! I can fucking see you, all right?!" She confessed through gritted teeth, knowing she'd probably made her situation worse now.

The caveman gave an excited whoop and jumped like a hyperactive five year old.

"This so cool! We have new friend who see! Almost never happen. Me gotta tell others-."

"No, please, please don't!"

Perhaps it was the crack in her voice, brought on by a surge of pain throughout her muscles as she tried to reach forward, that made the ghost stop in his tracks and turn back to her.

His excitement quickly morphed into concern as his eyes met Amy's, her own shining with tears.

"You no look so good..." The man frowned, one of his hands reaching up to stroke at his shift.

"Gee thanks, haven't heard that before. You're not exactly Chris Hemsworth, mate." She bristled; "I'm fucking ill and don't need to have a party of dead people storming in giving me a headache on top of everything else. It's bad enough my earphones have crapped out on me."

"What you got? Plague?" He asked, inching a little closer to her bed.

She huffed a laugh; "Not quite...but my body gets these sores. Don't think it's the same as that bubonic thing but fucking feels like it sometimes." Amy held her arm to show the spirit the angry looking lumps and scars near her armpits.

"Ouchie. They no look fun." He said, sitting on the edge of her bed.

She lowered her arm, slowly, wincing a little.

"Those aren't even the worst ones. The others are in...awkward places."

"That why you not downstairs with mum and dad at dinner and the show?" Her mum had been going on and on about this famous illusionist being the big star tonight, some Derren Brown-wannabe.

She nodded, miserably; "Wasn't expecting to flare up like this, or else I'd just stayed at home. At least then I'd have all the stuff in my room. Netflix don't even work on the TV here."

"Yeah, WiFi on blink since...some ghost, me not know who, play around with router when bored." He said, bashful, scratching at his ear. "So...they leave you here alone?"

"S'not like they abandoned me, I just didn't wanna make a fuss 'cause I know how much Mum's been looking forward to this." She sighed and waved her phone up; "Signal is crap here too so can't even WhatsApp."

"What's what?" He asked, turning his head to the side.

"No, WhatsApp."

"What is app?"

"No! I..." She couldn't help but laugh, realising how ridiculous this was, "Just something I use to text my mates. They're probably sick of listening to me moan too..."

"...You can moan to me if want?" He said, shuffling closer; "Me good listener."

Amy smiled at him a little; "Don't wanna be pitied, thanks. Anyway, I'm sure you got more exciting things to be watching."

"Eh. Me seen how that guy on stage do his tricks. Take all fun out. Lot to do with mirrors. Clever but boring. Rare me get to speak to living girl."

"Rare? So...I'm not the first?" Amy had never met anyone else with her gift.

"Lady who own hotel before golfy people come, she see us after my friend almost kill her. No, it cool! We good now!" The caveman assured after Amy's face went pale with terror; "She like family and come visit."

"She could see you guys because she almost died once?" Amy asked; "So she's not...chronically ill, like me?"

The caveman shook his head; "No think so. Just got bumpy on head. She say she now crazy forever but no ouchy scars and lumps and pain."

"Lucky cow." Amy clicked her tongue. She'd always thought her gift had something to do with having to deal with the constant agony, as well as other health issues she'd had as a baby.

Speak of the devil, another surge of agony hit her from her lower back as she shifted against the mattress.

"Shit!" She swore.

"Woah, woah, you 'kay?" The caveman fretted.

"Yeah, just a reminder to take my painkillers." She went to get off the bed, having left them on the sideboard, only for one of her feet to become tangled in the bedsheets.

Amy nearly fell before two hands caught her by the shoulders, fingers grazing against some of her abscesses. Painless.

"Fuck, that would've been embarrasing. Thanks, mate." She smiled, turning to see an almost cartoonish level of shock on the dead man's fuzzy face; "Uhh, you okay?"

"I....I touch you....?"

"Uhm, yeah, I've always been able to touch ghosts...Can that friend of yours not do that?" She asked, reaching for her pills and grabbing some water.

He shook his raggedy mane; "Only see and hear, but touchy hurt us, same as all other living people. You..." He poked her arm cautiously, mouth agape with awe at the contact, before poking again; "Ha ha!"

"All right, stop that now." Amy batted his hand away.

He retreated, looking regretful; "Oh, sorry. It hurt, yes?"

"No, it was just annoying." She laughed, sitting back down on the mattress; "It's weird. Ghosts are the only ones who can touch me where it's sore without hurting me. Don't invite too many of those though. Used to have a dead friend when I was a kid but...she moved on, I think." Amy looked down at her ebony nail polish, morose.

"Ah. Go up to stars. Me have many friends do same. I name each star for them." He explained, warmly.

"Her name was Lana, if you wanna find one for her." Amy said, quietly; "Speaking of names, do you have one?"

"Many. Most of them insults. But friends call me Robin." He said, holding his hand out to her.

It was a bit cliché but she supposed he rarely got a chance to meet anyone like this, so she shook it. "I'm Amy."

The fur of his sleeve brushed against her wrist. She couldn't resist the urge to feel it properly, softer than any comfort blanket.

"Wow...Is that...real wolf?" She asked, partly freaked out but also a little amazed - couldn't really compare hunting for clothes in this guy's time to the fashion industry today.

He nodded, then gently took her hand and pressed her fingers to different parts of his outfit.

"That bit cougar, that some wild dogs, that leather obviously from cow, and rest mostly mammoth." He explained.

"Real mammoth? Woah." Now that was pretty awesome. She'd never be able to meet one but she could say she'd felt one.

It definitely beat the hotel duvet.

She didn't want to move her hand away. It felt so soothing to be able to touch something, someone, so warm and soft without her skin being irritated. But this must look super weird from Robin's point of view.

"You look sad again. More pain?" He asked, reaching to touch her hand on his fluffy chest.

She shook her head; "No, s'just....My mum tried to give me a cuddle earlier when she could see I wasn't doing good and I had to tell her not to, even though I sure as shit need one right now. Pathetic, right?"

"No it not. I had little cousin, her skin like tissue paper, very delicate, tear easily. Big hugs make her cry too. But she brave and strong to survive. Like you." He told her, squeezing her hand; "We wrap her up in special leaves with Moonah blessed water to try to help. Not sure it did much good but we not have Doctor Google in them times. We just do best we can to ease pain."

"Well...you're doing a good job now." She praised, feeling the burning sensation ease a little with him being so close.

"You...want me to stay?"

"...Could you?" She couldn't understand why he would want to but didn't want to question it.

He nodded, a little bashful, as if he was just as new to the concept of being asked to stay for company.

"Want me to stay quiet still?"

Amy smiled; "Not too quiet, just not rambling out loud like you were doing. You look like you've been here for thousands of years, you must have some stories to tell. Could you just...tell me some of those till I get sleepy?"

"Ooh, yes. Hehe. Get comfy. Me know great one you like about man killed in library." He said, rubbing his hands together.

Getting comfortable was easier said than done in her condition, especially as she pulled away from his touch.

"I...Uhm...God, this is so cringe." She muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Would you be okay to just...hold me?" She asked, cheeks turning pink.

He smiled and nodded, shuffling to lay down and slide his arms around her, as she shifted into them, snuggling against the warm body of fur and skin and wild hair.

"This okay? Amy no ouch?" Robin whispered, fingers moving up to stroke through her hair.

She hummed, content at last; "Amy no ouch. Thanks, Robin."

A soft chuckle came from the long dead man as be continued to hold her close, his etheral presence doing nothing to aggravate her sores. On the contrary, a strange heat seemed to vibrate from his fingers as they brushed over her abscesses, melting the pain away.

It was a shame that ghost therapy wasn't prescribed on the NHS.

Amy relaxed in the man's arms and listened as he began the thrilling tale of the pirate captain who'd been slain in the library.

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 3//

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @judexcardanxgreenbriar, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @emikadreams)

The following couple of days passed in a blur as I tried not to count down the hours leading up to Rhys’s return. After a week apart, the ache for my mate to come home was nearly stifling. I didn’t want to compare it to the near-month we had been separated before the war with Hybern; when I had acted as a double agent for my court, for my family, in order to save them. It was agonizing, my daemati abilities and magic being drained by the faebane slowly poisoning me; all while being unable to fully communicate with Rhys through our bond. Last night, our last apart, I had to remind myself that this was nothing like it; we were in the same court and he was due back in a few hours. Just as I was turning in for the night, I found a note on my dresser and nearly knocked it over as I lept for the folded piece of paper with a simple sentence scribbled in his handwriting: 

I’ll be home first thing in the morning.

I smiled at his words for far longer than was probably necessary, recalling the notes we used to pass each other in the early days of our friendship; before I realized that we could simply communicate through our bond and shared daemati powers, before I even realized we were mates. My heart swelled at the gesture; imagining him writing the quick note and sending it off with a no-doubt smug grin. I chose not to write back and set it back down on the dresser before enduring a fitful sleep. I was glad the symptoms of my illness were nearly gone and no longer plagued me at night; the strange glimmer at my core remained and flitted about from time to time, but it remained calm now as I laid in bed with eyes trained on the wall of windows across from me. The rising sun was beginning to bathe the sky in morning light; oranges, yellows, and soft pinks blending into the night sky as the sun began its slow ascent. I bit my lip as I glanced down at myself, picking off a stray speck of dust from the red and lacy underthings I wore—a favorite of Rhys’s and one I saved for special occasions.

I sighed deeply, closing my eyes for a brief moment as I stretched my stiff limbs. I didn’t have to open my eyes as I felt him a second later. I smiled as the room was filled with his scent—salt, citrus, and rain. I breathed him in, relief filling every inch of me; noting a very faint, yet familiar, aroma radiating between us. Before I could name it, strong arms enveloped me as I opened my eyes and met with violet.

“Hello Feyre darling,” he purred as he pulled me against him.

I arched my back, allowing his arms to encircle my waist. My hands brushed through his dark locks, making the first contact between us delicate and loving, as he hovered over me. My breathing hitched as I realized his Illyrian leathers were already gone and he pulled me closer.

“You’re here,” I breathed.

His lips met the skin between my neck and shoulder, “I did promise I would be here first thing in the morning.”

“I didn’t realize it would literally be at the crack of dawn,” I teased; one hand moving to grip the hair at the nape of his neck while the other gripped his shoulder, my hips rolling against him.

His hands moved to admire the undergarments I wore, tugging at them with an achingly slow ease, “What can I say? I couldn’t stay away, Feyre darling.”

My breath hitched again as his lips finally caught mine, and any restraint I exercised before now snapped. I kissed him feverishly, hands dragging down his back as his wings flared out instinctively at my touch. I grinned on his lips, “Extra sensitive, are we?”

He growled in response, pressing my hips down as I tried rolling them again, “To think, I almost forgot what a cruel, beautiful thing you are, mate.”

My grin only widened as he moved from my lips down my neck, and further. Leaning my head back with a soft moan, I briefly thought of where the other two Illyrians might be. If Rhys was here, had they remained at the camps to wrap up any leftover business, or-

“Are you really thinking about other males while I’m doing this?” He drawled, nipping at my collarbone as his hand slid between us.

I gasped at his touch, arching my back against him and realized my mental shields had been shamelessly thrown down the second our lips met. Blushing, I tugged at his hair lightly, his eyes meeting mine again as I breathed, “Maybe if you weren’t taking so long, I wouldn’t let my mind wander.”

He growled lowly and the sheer intensity behind those now darkened violet eyes caused me to shiver against him as any previous thoughts and taunts I had vanished; I pulled him back down for a vigorous kiss.

x

Not too long after, we decided not to leave our room for the rest of the day.

He spent the remainder of the morning cherishing every inch of my body, and I did the same, unable to resist him for more than a few minutes before we launched into another round. I couldn’t help feeling amused at our frenzy; reminding me of when we were newly mated. My heart skipped a beat as I remembered what Rhys told me then, about the inherent need to ensure his mate was impregnated. Maybe that was why the frenzy was renewed now; after a week apart, our mating instincts were trying to pick up where we left off before his absence.

Rhys inhaled my scent deeply as a strong hand flattened on my stomach, his face buried in the crook of my neck as we lay in bed--finally allowing ourselves a break. I traced lazy circles on his chest as he took another breath. “Something’s different,” he commented casually.

“What do you mean?” I asked, tracing the dark whorled patterns of the tattoos on his chest; admiring them and dreaming of how to include them into my next painting.

“I don’t know, but something feels off,” he said a little more seriously, and I heard the concern beginning to brew.

I hesitated. I made sure my mental shields were intact as I contemplated revealing my mysterious illness to him. The first night I was sick, my mental shields had been lowered during my vulnerable moment and he was able to guide me through my panic--no doubt being awakened as abruptly as I had been by my nightmare and the illness that followed. Since then, I battled to make sure they remained whole during my nausea spells in order to prevent him from worrying about me further. He noted the delay in my response and frowned.

“You’ve been sick,” it wasn’t a question.

I sighed, “Just a little,” I quickly added before he could protest, “It wasn’t a big deal. I just had a couple of bad days feeling lousy, but I’m much better now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His frown remained, fingers curling into my waist protectively.

“I didn’t want you to worry. You, Cass, and Az had business to take care of in the war camps. How did that go?” I raised a brow, wondering at the slight curl of his lips at the mention of his brothers.

He reigned himself in and sighed, “There were no female recruits in this year’s Rite, as I suspected.”

I rolled my eyes, “I bet Cassian loved that.”

He snorted, “Oh, he loved it so much that Az and I heard all about it for the remainder of our stay.”

“I don’t blame him. He worked hard to train those females, to make sure they were caught up enough to survive out in the mountains,” I empathized. I personally worked with Cassian to train alongside the female Illyrians; giving them my own advice and even instructing some of them on how to properly hold a blade. Tired of Devlon’s constant excuses as to why the females were so behind in their training, Cassian brought them to our own training pit at the estate. After spending several months training with the females of age, I knew how excited they were at the prospect of participating in the Rite.

“I don’t either,” Rhys amended, tracing a finger around my navel; eyeing his own movement as contemplation settled on his face. “We’re going to put more pressure on Devlon for next year. Apparently the other camp lords ‘overwhelmed’ him in their vote to include the females this year.”

I frowned, “Was there any more news on the other camp lords?”

Rhys sighed deeply, already knowing what I was referring to. Ten years ago the son of the camp lord of the Ironcrest camp, Kallon, began spreading post-war dissent among other war camps; putting all the blame of their fallen comrades on the High Lord of the Night Court’s shoulders. Kallon also placed equal responsibility on Cassian and Azriel’s shoulders, seeing as they were not only Illyrian bastards but also close to Rhys and followed his orders. However, after taking over his father as camp lord of Ironcrest, Kallon was silenced once Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel visited the camp. Rhysand made sure to make his presence in the camp known by having Cassian add it to his rotation of monthly check-ins. Not even a year later, the rumors of his insubordination had quieted. We thought the issue was over until Azriel’s recent reports picked up on more of Kallon’s old talks resurfacing among the war camps. During this year's Blood Rite, the trio made it a priority to scavenge any details during their stay in Bloodhaven under the guise of attending and observing the Rite and all its ceremonies and celebrations for their new Illyrian warriors.

“I had Azriel scout the surrounding war camps, and he only picked up on a few of the details we already knew of. It seems they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut with their High Lord present,” He said, moving to press his nose against the hollow of my neck and inhaled my scent once again.

I giggled, tangling my fingers in his hair, “Stop trying to deflect, I want to know more about what happened.”

“So do I,” he breathed deeply, spreading his fingers out on my stomach again as if he were still trying to inspect it.

I furrowed my brow, “Why do you keep touching my stomach and smelling me?”

“Now who’s deflecting?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he said, raising his head to look at me. “You were sick while I was gone, and lied to me about it. Now I’m back and your scent is off, I’m trying to figure out why.”

“I didn’t lie,” I muttered, avoiding his consuming gaze for a minute before eventually meeting his eyes; nothing but sheer worry lined them and I sighed, “I was only sick for a few days. It started the night I woke up from that nightmare and puked my guts up. The next day I was sick to my stomach for a few hours, and it was on-and-off for a few days after. I’ve been really tired ever since, but the puking stopped two days ago.”

He frowned, “What could have possibly made you sick?”

I shrugged, “You know how many children I’m around during my painting lessons at the studio. Odds are one of them had something I caught. But I’m fine now, really,” I promised.

His shoulders relaxed a bit, but his hand remained on my stomach, “That doesn’t explain why your scent would be different.”

“Are you saying I smell bad?” I pretended to be hurt.

“Well…” he grinned mischievously as I rolled my eyes and tried turning away from him, but his strong arms kept me in place gently. “Maybe it has to do with our mating bond. A sick female would alarm her mate via her scent.”

“Well there you go. Now that I’m getting better, my regular old scent will come back,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

He chuckled, his nose returning to the soft hollow at the base of my neck “Maybe you’re pregnant.”  

I rolled my eyes; he liked to make that joke every time I so much as yawned or expressed any mild manner of fatigue. “I’m not pregnant,” I reluctantly admitted, “I’m due for my cycle in a couple of weeks, if anything that’s probably why I’m still so drained.”

“Should I send for Madja?” He asked, half serious.

I shook my head, “We don’t need to bother her every time my cycle returns, Rhys.”

“You say that every time, and every time she ends up prescribing pain relieving tonics and a slew of herbal teas,” he reasoned, his finger tracing lazy circles around my navel once again.

I smiled, “Which is why I stocked up last time she was here, so don’t call her.”

He sighed reluctantly, but I felt his smile on my skin as he pressed a kiss to the spot, “Fine, but I reserve my right to take care of you.”

I nodded and placed a hand on his chin, tilting his head up in a gesture which he immediately responded to by joining our lips in another deep kiss. “I guess I can deal with that,” I allowed.

He chuckled darkly as he moved from my lips and down my neck, leaving a trail of kisses. I sighed deeply, wanting to give in to another round with him, but I needed to know more about the war camps.

“Did Cassian and Azriel stay behind this morning?” I asked him.

I blinked in alarm at his feral growl as he heard their names, his hands holding me a little more protectively, which seemed to shock him as well. He cleared his throat, “Yes, but they’ll return this afternoon,” he said quietly.

“Rhys,” I began, but he shook his head in apology.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what that was,” he said, true remorse behind his words.

“You haven’t acted this way since we were newly mated,” I said with a frown; now it was my turn to be concerned.

He nodded in agreement, “I know. I think after our time apart, some of my primitive instincts have returned,” he admitted sheepishly.

I smiled in understanding, “I guess this means you’re not allowed to be apart from me for this long ever again.”

“I don’t want to be overbearing,” he divulged, and I knew the thought troubled him.

I shook my head, “You’re not. I didn’t enjoy our time apart anymore than you did,” I reassured, running my hands down his arms before adding “And when you came back...well, you saw how eager I was.”

His feline smile sent my heart fluttering wildly, and I felt that subtle glimmer return at my core for a few seconds. Rhys must have felt it too, because his hand returned to its place on my stomach, “Ever since I felt that tremor between us, my instincts have been heightened. It took everything in my power not to winnow back home to you that night,” he explained.

“It’s probably because I was sick,” I reasoned. “If your innate fae instincts tell you your mate is sick and you can’t tend to them, of course those possessive feelings return.”

He didn’t seem to be that satisfied with my explanation, still ashamed of his behavior, but he nodded. His eyes glanced down at his hand, that earlier scrutiny lining his eyes again. Before I could press him about it, he leaned in to kiss me and sighed deeply.

“Still, I promise I’ll do my best to repress them. Will you bear with me in the meantime?” He asked solemnly.

I nodded, giving him another reassuring smile. “As long as you bear with mine,” I said quietly, shifting my weight in his arms so I could hover over him.

That mischievous grin returned to his handsome face as I straddled him, but faltered when my stomach growled. “Maybe we should have some breakfast first,” he suggested, hands gripping my waist lightly to nudge us apart.

I didn’t budge, instead nipping at a particularly tender spot on his neck that I frequently favored. “Later,” I breathed, a hand dragging down his chest lightly.

He agreed with a groan and leaned his head back as he yielded to my touch.

[markswoman]

sucker | ml

“the hospitals are probably packed.”

mark shakes his head and points his chopsticks at the screen. “no, people usually don't go to the hospital this early in the game. especially if the symptoms are just flu-like.”

it's a game to mark, and that sends a quick shiver down your spine. you spill a bit of leftover noodle soup on your leg.

pairing | mark x reader | apocalypse!au | fluff + angst | 3.4k |

warnings: implied sex, description of illness, death

You and Mark start out with a stockpile of basic necessities.

You’re lucky—lucky that you’re a bit of a hoarder and keeps everything you have, often buying double or triple-sets of non-perishables.

You had heard about it through the Internet weeks ago, but more than half the news alerts you read don't amount to much of anything, so you ignored it. Mark, on the other hand, the more intuitively proactive, doesn't hear about it until it reaches television weeks later—television, radio, schools, and hospitals.

“You're lucky you didn't take that accelerated med-school program,” you say over a bowl of instant noodles. You’re curled up on the couch together with the evening news flashing through the apartment, a tradition you’d started since moving there about a year ago. Mark arrived home just in time to catch the end of the daily headlines and see the news for himself . “The hospitals are probably packed.”

Mark shakes his head and points his chopsticks at the screen. “No, people usually don't go to the hospital this early in the game. Especially not if the symptoms are just flu-like.”

It's a game to Mark; that sends a quick shiver down your spine. You spill a bit of leftover noodle soup on your leg.

–

You’ve been casually dating since college.

Mark likes to call it 'dating,' and you like to call it 'casually dating,' because you honestly don't spend much time together outside the apartment. “It's a good thing, too,” Mark adds while slipping on a jacket the next morning. “Because if we were out all the time, we'd be hospitalized and dead by now.”

You sigh and tsk and reluctantly swallow the truth in it. The television's been reporting hundreds of hospitalizations in the past couple of hours, and Mark's headed to work to bring back some office supplies and to tell his manager that he'll be out for the rest of the week. You look forward to it. “Your office is probably closed,” you offer, but Mark claims that he'd left his laptop in an unlocked drawer last night and needs it if he wants to work from home.

You’ve been casually dating since college, where you’d met senior year in a Tuesday Music History class required by the core curriculum; as the only two seniors, you and Mark sat with your arms and legs crossed in the back of the classroom taking turns dozing and supposedly listening to the lecture. You found out you lived on the same floor, and after walking in on him in the shower, it'd been pretty much impossible to avoid some sort of social interaction. Or, as you like to call it, 'casually dating.'

Love isn’t mentioned. But you mention it to make Mark squirm, and you don’t expect much of a positive reaction.

You close your email and long-outdated job-hunting windows and refresh the news until Mark comes back; the virus is the front page of every website, making a filling appetizer of the media before attacking the people, and you jump when your phone rings. It's Mark.

“The office is open today, and we're still going strong. So I won't be home for a while.”

“Sure,” you reply, an echo of how you’ve been replying to all of Mark's calls for the past couple of weeks. Months. Years, maybe.

“So,” Mark murmurs, but his sinking tone says that he doesn't have anything to follow up. You stay quiet, pressuring him—or, perhaps just avoiding the farewell. “I'll, I'll call.”

“If anything happens.”

“Yeah.”

Mark's voice sounds a thousand times more strained over the telephone, where you can't see him and the way he prefers to talk with his hands and his face and multiple, “You know what I mean instead of with words. Mark's never been linguistically adept, and you remember your own surprise when Mark had come home with a job offer and a salary a week after graduation.

It isn't just Mark's voice, though; it's the whole conversation. The way of going about mentioning casual afterthoughts; it’s a thousand times more strained over the telephone, where you don't know whether or not Mark's hung up. Mark snores at night but breathes soft during the day, and you, on the other hand, balance the telephone between your ear and your shoulder and huff right into the receiver; Mark used to tease you about the breathy, distorted messages you’d leave on Mark's voicemail. Mark used to tease you about a lot of things.

You hear the familiar voice of the recorded operator, telling you that you better hang up and get the fuck over Mark—or, rather, the harsh beeping that pretty much implies it.

–

Mark's office closes after about two weeks, and you smile with eyebrows arched in, feigning wry but expectant disappointment. You like to think you have decent control over your facial expressions, at least enough to fool Mark.

“Aren't you happy I'm home?” 

You eat dinner in the kitchen together that day, you leaning against one counter where Mark stands across from you, the television off for the first time in years after Mark had complained about it. You don't like change, but you like Mark.

“Do you want me to be happy?” You reply.

Mark nods, and maybe it's just the way his lips are pursed around his half-chewed food, nostrils flared for breathing, one chopstick still in his mouth, eyes large and intent, but Mark nods, and you see the Mark you’d fallen in lo—you’d lov— you’d been attracted to three years ago. You mention love to make Mark squirm; Mark doesn't mention it, and you never squirm. Mark doesn't mention it, so you never squirm.

“Sorry, I—”

“No, I'm happy.”

“Don't pretend to be happy,” Mark says, a hint of a whine in his voice, tossing the empty cup into the garbage bin. You laugh at the irony of it and push yourself off the counter. You move to take off Mark's coat—the black one that you bought together after hours of sifting through the extra large coats left on the clearance rack. It looks nice, though.

“Anyone infected at your work?” You ask.

Mark steps out of the sleeves. “Yeah, a few.”

“You're lying.”

Mark would always turn to you when he spoke because he feared a misunderstanding like the plague, pleading you to read his facial expressions. He'd turn away when you would bother him about finishing his paper, or when you would remind him to call his parents, or when he told you he'd never dated before. Mark hasn't lied to you for a while—Mark hasn't spoken to you for a while.

“Okay, a lot of people,” Mark says softly, turning around, and you smile.

“Maybe we should burn all your office clothes. For good measure.”

“I don't think that would help,” Mark says, reaching for a hanger through a quiet but long sigh. His voice goes low again, low and dull, and you take it upon yourself to think that you’ve done something to ruin the moment.

–

The advisory to stay indoors implies a demand to stay indoors after a few weeks. You notice when you’re dragging a few bags of garbage to the curb and the last of the cans on your street have vanished. The garbage smells a lot nicer, at least— You’ve been scraping every container empty to preserve food, though you and Mark are probably a lot better off than most of the people in the complex. The city can't issue a mandatory evacuation because there isn't anywhere to go, really, but about half of the neighbors are in the hospital either as victims or as family members, or, as Mark likes to say, “soon-to-be-victims.”

“You only say that because we're not infected yet,” you said, flipping through an old magazine on the couch. You’re supposed to get new issues weekly, but the postal service hasn't been operating either. “Be sensitive.”

Mark shrugs. “What's the death count?”

“Hundreds of thousands, at least. Stores are empty or closed. Shit's on sale. Economy sucks.”

Mark hasn't touched his office clothes for weeks, white shirts stiff and pressed, hanging to collect dust in the closet. And you kind of like it, hanging up Mark's hoodies and tees in the center of the rack and pushing the slacks off to the side after you do the laundry.

After a moment, Mark murmurs, “Want to go out?”

You look up.

“Like, shopping?”

“Like a date,” you said, your voice sliding into an embarrassingly high range, and Mark laughs.

–

You kiss when you close the front door and Mark tugs both your scarves off. Mark's lips are drier than you remember them being, but they still taste like him, salty in the corners and tinged with the slightest hint of blood, because Mark has a habit of picking at his lips. You drop the groceries to the floor and wrap your arms around Mark's neck, flinching when the cans roll toward the living area, but Mark holds you tight and has you pinned against the door. It's a struggle between Mark and the slightly neurotic side to you, so you end up ducking the last kiss and Mark's lips land somewhere between your nose and your cheek.

“The cans,” you breathe, and Mark blinks, then laughs.

“You don't change.”

Of course I don't, You do. Is what you want to say, but you slip from Mark's arms and into the living room. You’d only ended up buying more groceries and leaving the department stores closed and unguarded with a tense atmosphere lining the streets and doorways—people wanting to leave, to stock up, but being too afraid of the free-range air. Sidewalks had been deserted but felt packed, and with gallons of peanut butter and canned fish, you both rushed back to the apartment with a sort of surreal background chasing you both down every side-street. That, and Mark's sudden urge to kiss you through the obstructing scarves, but you can't say that you don’t appreciate it.

“I don't understand why you insisted on scarves in the middle of May—”

“Protection,” you insist, and Mark leans against the doorway.

“If it's going to get you, it's going to get you. There isn't much you can do to stop it.”

You carry the rest of the groceries to the pantry, which is now being somewhat contained in a pantry-cupboard area, but you want it to overflow again. It would give you some kind of security in a suspended, unprepared world. The last thing you want to do is die of starvation. “Look, I bought a bunch of face masks.”

“Don't tell me we're wearing those around the house.”

You hold your hands protectively over the boxes and hesitate. “Is the disease fatal?”

Mark nods. “Pretty much, yeah.”

It’s easy to be awfully calm about it. Because there isn't anything to shout at, nothing to fight, no antagonist, nowhere to put the blame; you pity the victims and put them in isolation and move on tip-toeing through the rest of the week, wondering who'll be the next to go. Sometimes, you panic to fit in, but there's no one left to imitate. And in an eerily quiet city that used to always be one day ahead of itself, there's not much you can do to effectively panic. Panicking is just part of a mob-mentality lifestyle that loses its attractiveness when there's no mob. You put your hand over Mark's. “Then, no. Let's not wear them.”

Mark doesn't get it and breathes out a sigh of relief, but you don't need him to get it.

–

Police issue a quarantine weeks later, giving the survivors a couple days to stock up before plastering the bright yellow warning tape over every church, grocery store, school, and office building still open—only the hospitals remain in operation, and you imagine a line of the sick, running through houses and city streets and public places, stretchers lying on the grass and nurses falling ill but working until they're on the floor, white-faced and heaving.

You flinch when Mark puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Are we going out again to get the last of the food?”

You sigh and rub your hands together, flipping through the two or three television channels that are still being run by substitute news-casters. “Bad organization on their part. All this is going to do is infect the rest of the city. Think about it, hundreds of people running through restaurants and waiting in food-lines, bringing whatever they can manage back home to their families, who will be in an isolated area with them for the next couple of weeks.”

“So instead of dying in the hospitals, they're—”

“Dying in their homes,” you finish, and Mark nods.

“So we're not going?”

You look up at Mark, whose eyes are wide and, not angry, more determined, eyebrows furrowed and large irises directed straight at you. It's been a while—a Mark that’s attentive and waiting for you with his feet together and rooted in one spot. It's been a while, a Mark who isn't waltzing through your legs and tripping you over spaces between the tiles and slipping through your fingers at every turn of a corner.

“Let's stay,” you say while leaning back into the couch, and Mark sits closer than he has in three years. During dinners, you’d balance your respective meals on opposing armrests and jerk your feet apart whenever they touched. During quarantine, Mark leans against you, your shoulders and arms and legs shared, dipping into the crack between cushions and fatal illnesses, waiting for something and waiting for nothing.

–

The world death toll is in the tens of millions, and you’re lying on the couch with a towel around your body after showering with Mark and having been hoisted up against the glass and fucked hard. Shower sex was something you teased each other on multiple occasions, but you’ve perfected the art, pointing the shower head toward the wall, and cool, smooth glass feels a lot better on your back than any sheets ever have.

You count your sins on one hand and your sayings on the other.

You’re having fucking shower sex when people are dying; your parents called you multiple times, and you haven’t answered. The calls have since stopped coming, and you’ve assumed the phone line went dead. (You’re too afraid to check.)

But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and part of you regrets that it'd taken a worldwide pandemic to drag Mark home from work and to force what you’d been too suspended, too unprepared to say. And part of you doesn't give a fuck, because it'll kill you both in the end, even with the precautions, even with the face masks and the insulated windows and the empty streets and quarantines.

“You want to go again?” Mark says, rubbing his hair with a towel and motioning at your fingers.

You kick at him, and Mark laughs.

And after that, it just sort of slips out.

“I love you.”

You don’t know who said it first, but suddenly, you can't get enough of it, Mark kneeling in front of the couch so you’re eye-to-eye with each other and cupping your face with large, stiff hands. He kisses you, his breath still hot and a little uneven, and you love it, pulling back just a bit to fill the air between you with more, lost in the time it took you both to realize it.

It's July, and you’re running out of food, and you’re sure you’re going to Hell, lying on the couch and sucking Mark's tongue into your mouth and letting out short whimpers, but it's more than just part of you that doesn't give a fuck anymore—it's half of you, all of you.

–

The symptoms begin with a relentless sore throat and a mild headache that worsens over the course of 72 hours, when they then deteriorate into coughs and sneezes that help spread the virus when it's at its strongest state. Your temperature rises all the while, slowly at first, but steadily—one thermometer reading will never be lower than the last one, which makes for a sort of helplessness, much like the later stages of drowning, only more conscious. More aware. You're more aware. Then comes the blood, out of the nose, the mouth, then in the end, the ears, and most victims will die of some sort of asphyxiation.

You take glass after glass of tap water—in the middle of the night at first, when Mark had still been asleep, but after a while, you think it’s asinine to keep Mark in the dark—it'd be like murder, and you would rather give Mark the chance to leave if he wanted to.

It isn't easy. It isn't easy keeping composed when a little itch in the back of your throat means much more than just that, and you don't know what sort of reaction to expect. And perhaps if you mention it in passing, Mark will only come to understand the gravity of it in bits and pieces, thereby spreading the reaction through the afternoon. So when you’re sitting on the couch and  watching reruns of your favorite dramas, you carefully shifted to your own side and Mark to the other, you murmur, “My throat kind of hurts. Want some water?” between standing and sliding toward the kitchen, waiting for a yes or a no or anything, your hands shaking as you pause just before the doorway.

Mark closes his eyes and doesn't reply.

Mark closes his eyes as if he'd been expecting it.

Mark closes his eyes and motions for you to come back to the couch. And it's the gentle flick of his wrist that breaks you, who crawls back, pushing yourself up onto the cushions again. Mark catches you when your hand slips, gripping your forearm so hard it hurts, and it doesn't make your throat feel any better, but mends the little parts of you that had been waiting for redemption.

–

The Internet service providers are on and off, but you go through your cached pages and run through the symptoms with Mark in a quick and curt and stoic, or so you’d like to think, manner, until you can't speak anymore. Which is when Mark, as if he'd been expecting it, guides you over to the bed and pushes you onto it, draping a blanket over you that doesn't quite cover your feet.

“So, this is it, huh?” Mark says, his weight dipping into the mattress.

“I don't know if it's contagious yet or not,” you whisper, and Mark shrugs.

“I'll stay.”

You see a bit of a glimmer in Mark's eyes before you let your own flutter shut, but you’re half conscious through the whole evening, not really delirious or tired or sick, even. Mark stays for hours, occasionally humming and occasionally running his hand through your hair and occasionally speaking to you in a series of ‘remember whens’.

He leaves when the sun starts setting, and you hear some noises in the kitchen, then the sound of the shower turning on—you have to think about that one for a couple moments, never really having heard it from outside the bathroom before; you’ve usually showered together since moving in. And the strange muffled taps blend into one continuous, soothing hum that lulls you into a real sleep.

–

You wake up in the middle of the night with the itch in your throat more of a harsh tear and untangle Mark's fingers from around your waist.

And as you make your way to the kitchen, the blood rushes to your feet, leaving your head half light and half pounding, as if you’d doubted the disease yesterday. In the context of your entire lifespan, the pain will last for a fraction of a second. Mark will have it worse, when you leave. (If you leave.)

Under the fluorescent light, you notice the pantry door open and a bit of a mess on the counter, half-empty trash bags in the corner and stray tissues in the garbage, and through the translucent bags, you see more than tissues—as if on cue, waiting for you—white cloths. Mesh. The face masks, cut up, torn, unusable, boxes destroyed, every single one.

[stephenmccull]

Mysterious Ailment, Mysterious Relief: Vaccines Help Some Covid Long Haulers

An estimated 10% to 30% of people who get covid-19 suffer from lingering symptoms of the disease, or what’s known as “long covid.”

This story is part of a partnership that includes NPR and KHN. It can be republished for free.

Judy Dodd, who lives in New York City, is one of them. She spent nearly a year plagued by headaches, shortness of breath, extreme fatigue and problems with her sense of smell, among other symptoms.

She said she worried that this “slog through life” was going to be her new normal.

Everything changed after she got her covid vaccine.

“I was like a new person. It was the craziest thing ever,” said Dodd, referring to how many of her health problems subsided significantly after her second shot.

As the U.S. pushes to get people vaccinated, a curious benefit is emerging for those with this post-illness syndrome: Their symptoms are easing and, in some cases, fully resolving after vaccination.

It’s the latest clue in the immunological puzzle of long covid, a still poorly understood condition that leaves some who get infected with wide-ranging symptoms months after the initial illness.

The notion that a vaccine aimed at preventing the disease may also treat it has sparked optimism among patients, and scientists who study the post-illness syndrome are taking a close look at these stories.

“I didn’t expect the vaccine to make people feel better,” said Akiko Iwasaki, an immunologist at the Yale School of Medicine who’s researching long covid.

“More and more, I started hearing from people with long covid having their symptoms reduced or completely recovering, and that’s when I started to get excited because this might be a potential cure for some people.”

While promising, it’s still too early to know just how many people with long covid feel better as a result of being vaccinated and whether that amounts to a statistically meaningful difference.

In the meantime, Iwasaki and other researchers are beginning to incorporate this question into ongoing studies of long haulers by monitoring their symptoms pre- and post-vaccination and collecting blood samples to study their immune response.

There are several leading theories for why vaccines could alleviate the symptoms of long covid: It’s possible the vaccines clear up leftover virus or fragments, interrupt a damaging autoimmune response or in some other way “reset” the immune system.

“It’s all biologically plausible and, importantly, should be easy to test,” said Dr. Steven Deeks of the University of California-San Francisco, who is also studying the long-term impacts of the coronavirus on patients.

Patient Stories Offer Hope

Before getting the vaccine, Dodd, who’s in her early 50s, said she felt as if she had aged 20 years.

She had trouble returning to work, and even simple tasks left her with a crushing headache and exhaustion.

“I’d climb the subway stairs and I’d have to stop at the top, take my mask off just to get air,” Dodd said.

After she got her first dose of the Pfizer vaccine in January, many of Dodd’s symptoms flared up, so much so that she almost didn’t get her second dose.

But she did — and a few days later, she noticed her energy was back, breathing was easier and soon even her problems with smell were resolving.

“It was like the sky had opened up. The sun was out,” she said. “It’s the closest I’ve felt to pre-covid.”

In the absence of large studies, researchers are culling what information they can from patient stories, informal surveys and clinicians’ experiences. For instance, about 40% of the 577 long-covid patients contacted by the group Survivor Corps said they felt better after getting vaccinated.

Among the patients of Dr. Daniel Griffin at Columbia University Medical Center in New York, “brain fog” and gastrointestinal problems are two of the most common symptoms that seem to resolve post-vaccination.

Griffin, who is running a long-term study of post-covid illness, initially estimated that about 30% to 40% of his patients felt better. Now, he believes the number may be higher, as more patients receive their second dose and see further improvements.

“We’ve been sort of chipping away at this [long covid] by treating each symptom,” he said. “If it’s really true that at least 40% of people have significant recovery with a therapeutic vaccination, then, to date, this is the most effective intervention we have for long covid.”

A small U.K. study, not yet peer-reviewed, found about 23% of long-covid patients had an “increase in symptom resolution” post-vaccination, compared with about 15% of those who were unvaccinated.

But not all clinicians are seeing the same level of improvement.

Clinicians at post-covid clinics at the University of Washington in Seattle, Oregon Health & Science University in Portland, National Jewish Health in Denver and the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center told NPR and KHN that, so far, a small number of patients — or none at all — have reported feeling better after vaccination, but it wasn’t a widespread phenomenon.

“I’ve heard anecdotes of people feeling worse, and you can scientifically come up with an explanation for it going in either direction,” said UCSF’s Deeks.

Why Are Patients Feeling Better?

There are several theories for why vaccines could help some patients — each relying on different physiological understandings of long covid, which manifests in a variety of ways.

“The clear story is that long covid isn’t just one issue,” said Dr. Eric Topol, director of the Scripps Research Translational Institute, which is also studying long covid and the possible therapeutic effects of vaccination.

Some people have fast resting heart rates and can’t tolerate exercise. Others suffer primarily from cognitive problems, or some combination of symptoms like exhaustion, trouble sleeping and issues with smell and taste, he said.

As a result, it’s likely that different therapies will work better for some versions of long covid than others, said Deeks.

One theory is that people who are infected never fully clear the coronavirus, and a viral “reservoir,” or fragments of the virus, persist in parts of the body and cause inflammation and long-term symptoms, said Iwasaki, the Yale immunologist.

According to that explanation, the vaccine might induce an immune response that gives the body extra firepower to beat back the residual infection.

“That would actually be the most straightforward way of getting rid of the disease, because you’re getting rid of the source of inflammation,” Iwasaki said.

Griffin at Columbia Medical Center said this “viral persistence” idea is supported by what he’s seeing in his patients and hearing from other researchers and clinicians. He said patients seem to be improving after receiving any of the covid vaccines, generally about “two weeks later, when it looks like they’re having what would be an effective, protective response.”

Another possible reason that some patients improve comes from the understanding of long covid as an autoimmune condition, in which the body’s immune cells end up damaging its own tissues.

A vaccine could hypothetically kick into gear the “innate immune system” and “dampen the symptoms,” but only temporarily, said Iwasaki, who has studied the role of harmful proteins, called autoantibodies, in covid.

This self-destructive immune response happens in a subset of covid patients while they are ill, and the autoantibodies produced can circulate for months later. But it’s not yet clear how that may contribute to long covid, said John Wherry, director of the Institute for Immunology at the University of Pennsylvania.

Another theory is that the infection has “miswired” the immune system in some other way and caused chronic inflammation, perhaps like chronic fatigue syndrome, Wherry said. In that scenario, the vaccination might somehow “reset” the immune system.

With more than 77 million people fully vaccinated in the U.S., teasing apart how many of those with long covid would have improved even without any intervention is difficult.

“Right now, we have anecdotes; we’d love it to be true. Let’s wait for some real data,” said Wherry.

This story is part of a partnership that includes NPR and KHN.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

Mysterious Ailment, Mysterious Relief: Vaccines Help Some Covid Long Haulers published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[differentnutpeace]

Mysterious Ailment, Mysterious Relief: Vaccines Help Some COVID Long-Haulers

An estimated 10% to 30% of people who get COVID-19 suffer from lingering symptoms of the disease, or what's known as "long COVID." หวย บอล เกมส์ คาสิโนออนไลน์

Judy Dodd, who lives in New York City, is one of them. She spent nearly a year plagued by headaches, shortness of breath, extreme fatigue and problems with smell, among other symptoms.

She says she worried that this "slog through life" was going to be her new normal.

Everything changed after she got her COVID-19 vaccine.

"I was like a new person, it was the craziest thing ever," says Dodd, referring to how many of her health problems subsided significantly after her second shot.

And she's not alone. As the U.S. pushes to get people vaccinated, a curious benefit is emerging for those with this post-illness syndrome: Their symptoms are easing and, in some cases, fully resolving after they get vaccinated.

Judy Dodd suffered lingering symptoms of COVID-19 for nearly a year, until she got her vaccine.

Judy Dodd

It's the latest clue in the immunological puzzle of long COVID, a still poorly understood condition that leaves some who get infected with wide-ranging symptoms months after the initial illness.

The notion that a vaccine aimed at preventing the disease may also be a treatment has sparked optimism among patients, and scientists who study the post-illness syndrome are taking a close look at these stories.

"I didn't expect the vaccine to make people feel better," says Akiko Iwasaki, an immunologist at the Yale School of Medicine who's researching long COVID.

Article continues after sponsor message

"More and more, I started hearing from people with long COVID having their symptoms reduced or completely recovering, and that's when I started to get excited because this might be a potential cure for some people."

HEALTH

Iwasaki On How The Coronavirus Vaccines Affect Long-Haul COVID-19 Patients

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While promising, it's still too early to know just how many people with long COVID are feeling better as a result of being vaccinated and whether that amounts to a statistically meaningful difference.

In the meantime, Iwasaki and other researchers are beginning to incorporate this question into ongoing studies of long-haulers by monitoring their symptoms pre- and post-vaccination and collecting blood samples to study their immune response.

There are several leading theories for why vaccines could alleviate the symptoms of long COVID: It's possible the vaccine clears up leftover virus or fragments, interrupts a damaging autoimmune response, or in some other way "resets" the immune system.

"It's all biologically plausible and importantly should be easy to test," says Dr. Steven Deeks of the University of California, San Francisco, who is also studying the long-term impacts of the coronavirus on some patients.

Patient stories offer hope

Before getting the vaccine, Dodd, who's in her early 50s, says she felt like she had aged 20 years.

She had trouble returning to work and even simple tasks left her with a crushing headache and exhaustion.

"I'd climb the subway stairs and I'd have to stop at the top, take my mask off just to get air," Dodd says.

After she got her first dose of the Pfizer vaccine in January, many of Dodd's symptoms flared up, so much so that she almost didn't get her second dose.

But she did — and a few days later, she noticed her energy was back, breathing was easier and soon even her problems with smell were resolving.

"It was like the sky had opened up. The sun was out," she says. "It's the closest I've felt to pre-COVID."

SHORT WAVE

What's It Like To Be A COVID-19 'Long Hauler'

In the absence of large studies, researchers are culling what information they can from patient stories, informal surveys and clinicians' experiences. For instance, about 40% of the 577 long COVID patients contacted by the group Survivor Corps say they felt better after getting vaccinated.

Among the patients of Dr. Daniel Griffin at Columbia University Medical Center in New York City, "brain fog" and gastrointestinal problems are two of the most common symptoms that seem to resolve post-vaccination.

Griffin, who is running a long-term study of post-COVID illness, initially estimated that about 30% to 40% of his patients felt better. Now, he believes the number may be higher, as more patients receive their second dose and see further improvements.

"We've been sort of chipping away at this [long COVID] by treating each symptom," he says. "If it's really true that at least 40% of people have significant recovery with a therapeutic vaccination, then, to date, this is the most effective intervention we have for long COVID."

A small U.K. study, not yet peer-reviewed, found about 23% of long COVID patients had an "increase in symptom resolution" post-vaccination, compared to about 15% of those who were unvaccinated.

But not all clinicians are seeing the same level of improvement.

Clinicians at post-COVID clinics at the University of Washington in Seattle, Oregon Health & Science University in Portland, National Jewish Health in Denver and the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center tell NPR that so far, a small number of patients — or none at all — have reported feeling better after vaccination, but it wasn't a widespread phenomenon.

"I've heard anecdotes of people feeling worse, and you can scientifically come up with an explanation for it going in either direction," says UCSF's Deeks.

Indeed, doctors and online surveys also have found that a smaller fraction of patients say their symptoms worsened after vaccination, although generally doctors continue to advise that those with long COVID get vaccinated to protect against reinfection.

Why are patients feeling better?

There are several theories for why vaccines could help some patients — each relying on different physiological understandings of long COVID, which manifests in a variety of ways.

"The clear story is that long COVID isn't just one issue," says Dr. Eric Topol, director of the Scripps Research Translational Institute, which is also studying long COVID and the possible therapeutic effects of vaccination.

Some people have fast resting heart rates and intolerance to exercise. Others suffer primarily from cognitive problems, or some combination of symptoms like exhaustion, trouble sleeping and issues with smell and taste, he says.

As a result, it's likely that different therapies will work better for some versions of long COVID than others, says Deeks, the UCSF professor.

SHOTS - HEALTH NEWS

When Does COVID-19 Become A Disability? 'Long-Haulers' Push For Answers And Benefits

One theory is that people who are infected never fully clear the coronavirus, and a viral "reservoir," or fragments of the virus, persist in parts of the body and cause inflammation and long-term symptoms, says Iwasaki, the Yale immunologist.

According to that explanation, the vaccine might induce an immune response that gives the body extra firepower to beat back the residual infection.

"That would actually be the most straightforward way of getting rid of the disease because you're getting rid of the source of inflammation," Iwasaki says.

Griffin at Columbia Medical Center says this "viral persistence" idea is supported by what he's seeing in his patients and hearing from other researchers and clinicians. He says patients seem to be improving after receiving any of the four different COVID vaccines, generally about "two weeks later when it looks like they're having what would be an effective, protective response."

THE CORONAVIRUS CRISIS

1 Shot Or 2 Shots? 'The Vaccine That's Available To You — Get That'

Another possible reason that some patients improve comes from the understanding of long COVID as an autoimmune condition, in which the body's immune cells end up damaging its own tissues.

A vaccine could hypothetically kick into gear the "innate immune system" and "dampen the symptoms," but only temporarily, says Iwasaki, who has studied the role of harmful proteins, called autoantibodies, in COVID-19.

This self-destructive immune response happens in a subset of COVID-19 patients while they are ill, and the autoantibodies produced can circulate for months later. But it's not yet clear how that may contribute to long COVID, says John Wherry, director of the Institute for Immunology at the University of Pennsylvania.

Another theory is that the infection has "miswired" the immune system in some other way and caused chronic inflammation, perhaps like chronic fatigue syndrome, Wherry says. In that scenario, the vaccination might somehow "reset" the immune system.

With more than 53 million people fully vaccinated in the U.S., teasing apart how many of those with long COVID would have improved even without any intervention is difficult.

"Right now, we have anecdotes, we'd love it to be true, let's wait for some real data," says Wherry.

Real data — and more answers on how the vaccine might help — may come as soon as the next few months, says Topol, of the Scripps research institute.

"We have no treatment and the vaccine is the first real candidate treatment," he says. "That's why this is a desperate situation."