I'm scheduled for minor surgery on Monday to correct my misbehaving left eye that wants to wander off on its own adventures. (Amblyopia is a wonderful word! As if my eye is on a casual afternoon stroll!)
The surgery requires a COVID test, so 261 days into blogging my way through the pandemic, I had my first COVID test Friday afternoon.
The most challenging part of my experience was finding the building. Google Maps shot me past the destination, then twisted me back to a small building that has been converted to a full-time COVID testing center.
The receptionist greeted me by praising my accordion mask (he wore one printed with science beakers). He said he'd like to find a saxophone version. Others behind the desk chimed in to discuss the various instruments they'd played in high school marching band.
The mood was decidedly upbeat, considering we were hunkered in a testing center in a state under its highest COVID numbers yet, on a day when the United States saw nearly 3000 deaths from the virus.
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After checking in, I was directed to a room where my nurse asked me if I could provide a saliva spit sample.
I was confident I could!
But then she asked if I'd eaten anything in the past 15 minutes.
"I ate some candies while driving in," I admitted. "I wouldn't have if I'd known..." I felt guilty! I could still taste the Sweedish Fish on my tongue.
She said we would switch to a nasal swab to assure an accurate test result. "I'll be very gentle," she promised, then donned a full-body disposable plastic gown to prepare for the procedure.
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My friend Emma described her COVID nasal swab as something akin to a power drill up the sinus.
Fortunately, my diminutive nurse comported herself as the gentlest of yoga instructors; she exuded tender calm.
She moved in like a ninja, sneaking the long-stemmed swab far into my nasal passage before I even felt it. She then gave it an expert swirl.
I fought the urge to sneeze, but otherwise, the swabbing was far less miserable than say, a mammogram, a dental anesthetic, or (god forbid) a colonoscopy prep.
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"Have you been able to stay healthy?" I asked my nurse as we closed our time together.
She said she has not yet contracted the virus; she is well PPE'd when she works in the hospital. She said that when I'd leave the room, she would spray down every surface: my chair, the door, her work table.
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Today I learned that my son Harrison's girlfriend, an emergency-room pediatric nurse in Des Moines, has been told her hospital will receive COVID vaccines as early as Dec. 12.
I want to say I see light at the end of this tunnel.
But it might just be my amblyopia.
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
Oh, look what the baby can do!
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