Life in a COVID- Hot Spot: Week 15 – Testing
Our hot spot is cooling just a little: elective surgeries that were canceled or discouraged are now going forward. I have an extremely minor surgery rescheduled for this week, but before going forward with it, I must be tested to make sure I am not, within a few days of the surgery, infected with the novel coronavirus. So I make an appointment to be tested.
The closest testing spot which will guarantee results before the scheduled surgery is about 15 miles up the road. It is a drive-thru procedure. I let the scheduling nurse know what kind of car I will be in, and whether I will be the driver or the passenger. Husband decides to be the driver.
We show up on time and are waved through the hospital’s parking garage to the test site – a tent staffed by young aides in hospital scrubs, face masks, and polymer shields. I signal to the aide with my photo ID and medical group member card. She comes to the passenger window and asks me to show her the cards so that my name shows – she is not supposed to touch the cards with her surgical gloves. She asks me to confirm my birth date. I pass inspection.
I lower my window, and my face mask. Her eyes are smiling, though her mask hides it. “This will be uncomfortable, but quick,” she says. “Open your mouth and say ‘Aah.'” She inserts a cotton swab on a long stick into the back of my mouth. Not so bad. Then she inserts the same or a similar swab into my left nostril. Waaay in. Tickle prickle want to sneeze. Then into my right nostril. Tickle prickle want to sneeze. “That’s it. You’re done.” Results in 2-4 days – in time to qualify or disqualify my minor surgery. If I test positive, a lot more than my minor surgery will be up-ended. Cross fingers.
I read the disheartening news articles at the end of May about the George Floyd protests gone awry. I read about looters standing with crowbars at the ready as peaceful protesters marched down the streets of San Francisco and Oakland . They were waiting for the right moment to turn and smash a window for plunder. I read about rubber bullets and tear gas and arson and professional criminals driving up in vans to strip computer shops and appliance stores of their goods.
Before the Lockdown, we lived in six of the rooms in our nine-room house. We slept in the bedroom, and used the adjoining bathroom. We watched TV in the TV room (den, to real estate agents.) We cooked in the kitchen, ate in the dining room, read and had our pre-dinner glasses of wine in the living room.
The TV room is still where we watch TV, but it is also my exercise studio, as my thrice-weekly exercise class has moved to Zoom. And it also serves as a chldren’s library, as I have collected all the children’s books in the house and spread them out on the sofa as resource for my bi-weekly Skype Story Time with my toddler grand-daughter.
Allyson Johnson 