On the subject of “don’t be afraid” I’d like to share my own experience of Covid-19. I had neither a fatal outcome nor a miracle cure, but something in-between. I have no idea how typical my experience is. (1/18)

My case was confirmed by antibody levels when I later registered to donate convalescent plasma with NHS Blood & Transplant. My symptoms began in March with ten days of fever & the taste of metal in my mouth. Headache, confusion & disorientation peaked in the second week. (2/18)

All through this time I had shortness of breath, but no pain in my chest. It felt as if my upper chest was compressed from within and without. At no point was I concerned at my degree of breathlessness, and I didn’t need hospital treatment. (3/18)

For me the striking thing about Covid-19 has been the protracted convalescence. For three months after the fever abated, I had episodes of fatigue that were extraordinary for their intensity and suddenness of onset. (4/18)

The fatigue was like being shot with a tranquiliser dart – the only thing I could do was to lie down, wherever I was, and sleep. This was no ordinary afternoon drowsiness. Sometimes it would hit me at 10 or 11am, and return once or twice a day. (5/18)

The mental confusion also returned in waves. As a novelist it could be argued that confusion is my native state ¬– we like to dress it up as creativity to give us something to do – and yet I was aware of the fog thickening. (6/18)

Now, six months after the fever stopped, the confusion and fatigue are less frequent but I still have reduced lung function. My resting heart rate is 15 bpm higher than it was. My blood oxygen level still has weird dips. (7/18)

I have days when I just… can’t. (8/18)

I also have days when I can ride my bike again, albeit slowly. My mood is good, I walk the spaniel and enjoy being with my family, I feel joyful and lucky. (9/18)

For context, I’m a 47-year-old male with no pre-existing health conditions so far as I know. Before Covid-19 I was fit, teetotal, doing 300km a week on my bike. This isn’t a boast, because none of that is me at the moment. (10/18)

A million people have died. The tragedy is so huge that it won’t fit into my head until I picture my secondary school assembly and multiply it by two thousand. Millions more survive as I do, in a diminished state. I feel like a placeholder for myself right now. (11/18)

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m taking things a day at a time, being patient, and putting the energy I have to best use. I’m accepting help, feeling gratitude, and valuing the scientists, clinicians, caregivers and teachers who are managing the reality of this pandemic. (12/18)

Now to the question of how afraid to be. Who can tell us? It’s natural to wish things simpler, to wish for a cure, for a clean distinction between sickness and recovery. But the reality is more uncertain, and the correct degree of fear depends on our personal situation. (13/18)

BAME people are at particular risk. People living alone have specific worries. Many people have no healthcare. Up to half of us have pre-existing conditions. Carers’ concerns are coloured by their responsibilities. Who’s to tell people how afraid they should be? (14/18)

People with cancer and heart disease are missing out on treatment. People without jobs are missing out on everything. Women bear a disproportionate burden in lockdown. Who’s to tell people whether they should be more afraid of the disease or the restrictive measures? (15/18)

To be fearless is fine: good for you. But it isn’t fine to tell other people that they shouldn’t be afraid. Other people are not you. (16/18)

Fear is something to recognise, not deny. Fear of death is a sign that we respect life and the lives of those in our charge – our families and fellow human beings. Fear of the wolf is what makes us good shepherds. (17/18)

Thanks for listening to my experience of Covid-19. If you’re feeling fearful then I hope you will be able to talk about it with the people around you, and to reach out for support if you need it. Fear is normal and it’s an essential part of courage. Warm wishes to all. (18/18)