On Confusion and Covid Tests

Photo credit:
https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/
20200323/new-test-will-give
-covid-19-results-in-45-minutes

Turns out "confusion" is on the ever-vague list of Covid-19 symptoms, down near the bottom, where no one sees it.  So if anyone asks, and my test turns out to be positive, I'll have a legitimate excuse for one of the most embarrassing mistakes I've made in a very long time.

The backstory is that several days ago, I started running a pretty high fever after a couple of days of what I thought was occasional allergic coughing.  It's been as high as 103 at a few points, but the fact that I was managing with Tylenol and home remedies wasn't good enough for the people who worry about me, and I was pressured to go get tested.  Not that I was morally opposed to the test; I just have a thing about doctors and doctors' offices and avoid them whenever I can.  Telehealth is my best friend.  Plus, I just didn't feel well enough to be hassled with it.  I was taking care of myself, I could breathe, I was coherent...but I caved.

My first attempt was Saturday morning.  I called early in the morning to try to schedule it, only to be told they were already out of the day's tests, and to "call back first thing in the morning."  So...I set my alarm on Sunday, and called at 8:01, only to be asked if I was in the parking lot.  I wasn't.  I was in my bed in my birthday suit trying to keep the fever down.  She then told me to "get here quickly."  I threw on leggings and a top, threw my contacts in my eyes, and raced out the door, breaking the speed limit on the way a few times, just knowing I'd get all the way there to be told they had run out.

I arrived to a mostly empty parking lot, patting myself on the back for beating the crowds.  The only other people I saw as I went through the telephone registration with a very nice lady were a guy on crutches and a meth-head with an ankle bracelet.  Reassuring.  After several minutes of waiting, she said, "Okay, they have a room for you ready.  Put your mask on and come to the door."  I masked up, locked up ('cause, you know...meth-heads and crutch-guy), and trotted myself to the door, wishing all the while I had taken time to put on underwear. My mom was right.  "Clean underwear every time you leave the house."

Nurse Nancy with the bad hair came to the door (and please...who am I to talk, with a three-day-old messy bun and unfettered boobies, probably scaring the-meth heads more than they scared me)...and looked at me quizzically.  I explained that I had just checked in...and she continued to look at me like I had four heads.  The long story short...I was in The Wrong Place.  (Hey, Trump can do it; that makes it okay, right?) Well, hell...I jumped back in the car (Note:  I use verbs like "jump," "trot," and "race," when I really only move at a one-speed hobble.) and tried to make it the 3.2 miles to The Right Place before they gave my spot away.

Only, Nurse Courtney got all impatient and called me back with a, "Where the hell are you," attitude, and I when apologetically explained that I had been in the wrong parking lot, she was taken aback!  Wrong parking lot, wrong street, wrong side of town, wrong SIGN on the building...all wrong.  But I made it, finally, and understood then how they ran out the day before.  Never mind that there's a Starbucks drive-thru in the same parking lot, so the traffic was exaggerated, but I nearly left in panic.  There were just too many damn people.  But I hung in there.  I masked up, went to the door to wait awkwardly with my arms crossed across my chest and hoping there were no seam holes in my leggings facing the full parking lot.  Someone soon called back and told me a provider would see me in my car.  (I TOLD you my hair was a mess!)

Several minutes...or chunks of an hour...I saw a PPE-clad provider start visiting cars, and I was relieved that it was finally going to happen.  Until, that is, she tested the tough guy next to me in his pickup truck, and he CRIED afterward.  Oooof!  Julie the PA eventually came to my car, and was very sweet.  I checked out well...oxygen level was strong, chest clear, just a mild temperature.  My heart rate was a little high...but after all the running, trotting, jumping, and racing, of course it would be.  Then, the dreaded test...which was a breeze!  A throat culture for strep is much, much worse.  I told her the guy cried...and we agreed that men just can't handle the things that we women can.

Long story short...I'm home isolating and waiting for up to seven days.  Of course, because I got tested, I feel a thousand times better than yesterday and the results will be negative, and I suppose that's what I should be hoping for.  In a weird way, a positive result would make the hassle worth it, and would also give me some peace of mind that maybe I CAN handle this virus.  Either way, here I sit, clearly not confused, but also questioning my reading ability.