“I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested…” – MMB
Despite the most reassuring assurances from a most trustworthy source that all discussions of covid would disappear after November 3rd, it seems that democratic hoax is still around. At least that was my impression as I watched the nurse stab my baby in the brain with a sword / swab up the nose a few days ago. It was most likely just a common bug causing Catherine’s fever, but these days we can’t take anything for granted. Less than half an hour later, as I was back home talking to Sai about the uneventful doctor’s appointment, the pediatrician called back to tell us that our little girl’s rapid test was positive. Well that sucks…
It’s possible that it was a false positive, so we were instructed to bring our eight-month old back to the doctor’s office, along with her big brother for PCR (polymerase chain reaction) tests. Catherine did not enjoy the first invasion of her nasal cavity, nor did the second improve her disposition. Theodore did not like the looks of the procedure after watching his sister squirm then scream, building up his own awful anticipation as the nurse next approached him with her horrible white-tipped wand. I realized my mistake in making him watch rather than suffering first in ignorance of what was happening, but it was too late. The boy fought with every fiber of his three and a half years of strength to escape my grasp as I cruelly held him tight while Nurse Ratched rammed her T-tip (three steps larger than a Q-tip) up his nose. The boy screamed like a banshee, as a nasal prod will bring out the most feminine of Irish spirits in anyone.
Sai wisely waited in the car (the doctor’s office limits number of people), before berating me for returning empty-handed. Forgive me, but I thought covid protocol was to avoid positive people as much as possible; why would I want one or maybe even two in the car with me? Dr. Hannah informed me that it was doubtful in her expert opinion that Catherine’s rapid test was a false positive in light of her symptoms from the night before (high fever). So we took our sick daughter and our potentially sick son back home to quarantine for the foreseeable future.
The treatment order for Catherine was unchanged from her initial non-covid diagnosis – plenty of fluids, dose her with baby Tylenol or Motrin if the fever worsened at night, and as long as she did not exhibit other problems such as difficulty breathing, no further actions were warranted. In other words, we were on our own to find our hydroxychloroquine or helicopter ride to Walter Reed.
I informed my office and Sai told the daycare, as well as the few people we’d been in contact with in recent days. I’ve always been antisocial, and covid only helped, yet it still led to a half dozen people needing to get their own tests. If there are approximately 16.5 million people who’ve had it out of a population of approximately 330 million in the USA, then if you’ve encountered ten people, there’s a better than 50% chance that one of you has been positive, by my count. Despite my aversion to people, I’ve seen more than ten this past week. But I still didn’t think the youngest of the bunch would be the first to test positive.
Catherine was born at the end of March, as the initial wave of coronavirus craziness was starting out. Hospital visitors were a non-starter. Family and friends could only see her via video or picture. Sai’s family has never met her, and only a few members of my large family have had the privilege of her presence. There were Christmas plans to expand her circle slightly, but Uncle Keith and Aunt Jade had already canceled their trip before she was diagnosed as dangerous. The two-week quarantine covers Christmas, so that we will be alone in our little bubble through this holiday as well. Clearly Catherine has inherited my antisocial genes and is doing everything she can to avoid having to see people. I’ve warned Uncle Keith that I can’t predict what she’ll cook up to sabotage his wedding next year, but it’ll probably be apocalyptic.
Aside from taking our cues from our orange-tan in chief, we’ve been pretty good about wearing our masks in accordance with Sir Fauci’s guidance, with the exception of my occasional runs outside (most of my running has been maskless and shirtless (sorry for the ugly imagery) on the treadmill). A couple of weeks ago, during a 6 a.m. trail run, I crossed paths with a cross woman who demanded I step aside to let her pass with her unleashed dog. She called me an asshole for not wearing a mask. I very well may be (okay I am) an asshole, but the CDC guidelines as I understand them describe exposure risk as more than fifteen minutes in a closed environment within six feet of an infected person. A split second passing outside hardly qualifies. When I did not see her the following week, I joked that she must have succumbed to covid. Is karma real? For the record, tastelessly joking about someone’s well-being is hardly the same as wishing them ill-will, right?
Speaking of tasteless, Sai may have been symptomatic without my realization. When she recently claimed she didn’t smell Catherine’s poopy diapers, I really thought she was just trying to get out of changing the stinky baby. You know the adages – he who smelt it dealt with it? Thou whose nose knows changes the clothes? Sai’s sense of smell has always been inferior to mine, otherwise there is no way that she could enjoy durian. (For the uninitiated, durian is literally the forbidden fruit, as it has been prohibited from hotels, airplanes, subways, and buses. Yet it still stinks its way into my house regularly, reaching my olfactory from anywhere in the abode.)
Two days after diagnosis, Catherine is still feeling a little under the weather, whereby she is a little more clingy than usual, even allowing daddy to hold her when mommy is around. But otherwise, she is almost back to normal. No more fever. Besides telling me every night how much he did not like that test, Teddy still seems okay. Sai and I however are feeling the effects. Is it psychosomatic? When you’re thinking about the fact that you’re sharing the air with an infected vector, no matter how cute she may be, you’re bound to discover symptoms that might not otherwise cross your mind. Locking Catherine in the basement was for some reason not an acceptable option (Catherine usually manages to get some food in her mouth, and we can roll bottles down the steps to her…). So here we are, holding her closely as she coughs and sneezes in our faces. Time will tell if the illness is real or mental. Mental illness does run in my family, but that’s another story.
My throat started to feel a tickle yesterday. Every cough portended something worse. We’re both feeling achy. I was advised not to bother getting tested for a few days, until after the kids are in the clear from symptoms. The assumption seems to be that I am as good as positive, with or without an actual test result, so long as I’m living with a positive person. I’ve always been a pessimist, so this positive outlook is really frustrating. Meanwhile, the nasally-probed people from my network have been coming back negative, which is some relief. It doesn’t seem fair that everyone else has had to endure the swab but I haven’t, so I’m going to let Teddy start shoving pointy objects up my nose for (his) fun.
We’ve hung a coronavirus wreath on the front door to show holiday spirit and to scare away carolers. If any of you friends and family happen to drive by in the coming days and see Sai’s Amazon boxes stacking up more than usual, please call child protective services to come rescue the kids. Otherwise, hopefully we’ll beat this bad beat, and be back in action before the new year. “I’ve got a feeling ’21 is going to be a good year.”
Stay safe, happy holidays, yada yada yada.
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 