I wasn’t afraid of catching the coronavirus — maybe that was my initial problem.

I’d heard all of the stories about people older than me who had died from the virus. I’d heard about young adults my age who now have life-long complications resulting from COVID-19.

I didn’t think it would hit me hard because I’m young. Even if I got sick, I reckoned, I wouldn’t be concerned. Vaccinated adults in their 20s seem to have fewer issues with the virus. I never thought I would be scared if I caught it myself.

Boy, was I wrong.

A few weeks ago, I caught what I suspect to be the omicron variant of coronavirus. It took me about a week and a half to return to work, although I tried to do what I could from home. There’s only about so much you can do when you’re nursing a nightmarish headache and find yourself unable to stay awake for more than five hours at a time.

That Monday night I started to feel some nausea while on my way to a meeting. I hadn’t eaten much that day, so I assumed I needed a snack. The feeling was soon followed by chills. I guessed they came from the cold weather freezing my bones. A seething headache also erupted in my skull.

I walked in to the meeting, took a seat and glanced over the agenda. Suddenly I found myself extremely hot and unable to focus on any words being spoken.

Was I going to vomit? Was I going to pass out? Possibly both.

I ducked out of there and booked it to my car. Something wasn’t right.

As soon as my car door shut, I collapsed on my steering wheel. A dizzying feeling came over me, and nausea faded in and out every other moment.

My head slid down onto the horn, and it let out a loud honk. I jumped in my seat. Thankfully no one came to check it out.

I didn’t want to cause a scene, I thought. I was just sick.

Then again, I had no idea what was happening to me. I’d never had a cold like this before.

I sent a text to CR editor and publisher Ray Cooney to let him know the situation. With my hands gripping the steering wheel, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

That’s when the flood gates opened. A full-scale panic attack enveloped me, and I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was take deep breaths and try to convince myself I would be OK.

Whether or not it would actually be OK, though, I had no idea.

Half-delirious, I found myself on my back door steps and fumbling with my keys. I soon collapsed on the couch and told my boyfriend the situation.

“Should we go to the hospital?” Justin asked.

I didn’t want to pay the medical bills if this was just a bad cold. I put Justin in charge — if I became unresponsive, he would take me there.

We never left the house that evening.

I’m thankful I got vaccinated. If I hadn’t gotten the shots, Justin likely would have needed to take me to the hospital that night.

My fever eventually subsided. It was replaced with a runny nose, sore throat, congestion and coughing. The headache and fatigue wore on for another week.

After four days of hell, I finally had an answer as to my condition.

There’s nothing like sitting in your living room, alone, staring at a positive test result on your phone.

Oh, you realize. You have COVID-19.

Just how did I catch it? No one I’d been around was sick … that I knew of.

And it’s not like I ignored the coronavirus pandemic altogether. I tried to be careful … at first.

I wore my mask in public settings, avoided large gatherings and, perhaps the most important, got vaccinated. Like everyone else, though, I started wearing my mask and social distancing at fewer and fewer events as summer hit. When case numbers began to rise, I was hesitant to don the facial covering again. I was vaccinated, after all. I should be just fine.

Then I contracted COVID-19. Mentally, I wasn’t fine.

It’s scary to lose control of your body. It is terrifying to try to sleep off something when its whole purpose is to weaken you.

I’m taking as many precautions as I can now. I don’t want to feel like that ever again.

But it leaves me wondering if more people should be afraid of getting COVID.