COVID: It's a Matter of Time
At least the llamas on the walls of my guest room have friendly faces. I expect I’ll be talking to them soon.
This is day four of my time in isolation. Day six since the onset of symptoms.
It was a matter of time. No matter how careful I was in wearing my mask and social distancing, I had seen the virus work its way into the lives of friends and family. It was relentless in finding any small opening in which to infect another unsuspecting soul.
For me, and for six of my family members (three siblings, two in-laws, and a niece), the virus was unmerciful in its timing. It didn’t care that we were already going through the difficult process of admitting Mom, who has Alzheimer’s disease and was recently diagnosed with cancer, into the care of hospice. We sat around the table with the nurse practitioner, answering difficult questions about our wishes for our mom’s end-of-life, while the invisible droplets scattered about finding any little crevice they could sneak through, ready to do battle against us. It was just a matter of time.
Six days later, we were informed of the nurse practitioner’s positive test result. At the same time, the first fevers started cropping up. One by one, my family members dropped out of sight. The words “quarantine” and “isolation” became part of our hourly conversations. Some were able to get tested right away. Others had to wait two or three days to find a test site. And then we waited for the results.
And we waited.
With the threat of the virus in the home, Mom’s live-in caregiver opted to take some time off and steer clear. We couldn’t really blame her. I was without symptoms, so I packed my suitcase and enough yogurt and Diet Dr. Pepper to get me through a week, and I became Mom’s nurse.
Mom: Are you a nurse?
Me: No, Mom. But I worked as a nurse’s aide for a while.
Mom: Well, you act like a nurse.
(I took that as a compliment.)
Finally, after waiting a grueling four to six days, the results started coming back. Positive. Positive. Positive. Mine was negative. Positive. Positive. And one “assumed positive” although the rapid test said negative.
My two-week quarantine started over on the day before my sister’s fever appeared. We had been together caring for Mom that day, unaware at the time that any of us had been exposed. On Sunday night, day ten of my quarantine stay with Mom, I started feeling...not right. Fatigue, body aches, stuffy head, runny nose. Was it a head cold? I had no fever like the rest of my family members, who by then were all, thankfully, on the mend.
Minute by minute. Hour by hour. The days at Mom’s passed slowly. But when it was time for me to go home, when my sister could come out of isolation and relieve me, I realized how fast the time had gone. How these were some of the last precious days I would spend with Mom. And I wanted to hang on. To turn back the clock. To hear her little jokes again and write them all down so they wouldn’t slip through my memory like droplets through a mask.
After hours spent searching online Monday night, I was able to schedule one of the last two remaining COVID test slots in the entire city of South Bend (or so it seemed) for Tuesday, the day I would be driving home.
With the noise of the highway to my right, and the pharmacist’s voice crackling over the pharmacy drive-thru speaker to my left, I managed to follow the instructions for swabbing my left nostril (holding the swab with my left hand) and then my right nostril (holding the swab with my right hand). I dropped the swab into the test tube, capped it off, and slipped the whole works into the test receptacle. Done.
The website said turnaround time for results was two to three days. I was willing to wait. It was just a matter of time. I’d soon know my fate.
***
Fast forward three days. I’ve been checking for my results no less than three times an hour. And every time I see the words “No test results” my blood pressure goes up another notch. I’m getting antsy. How long must I isolate in this room?
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me? (Ps. 13:1)
My sisters are tag-team caring for Mom. My husband is delivering food to me three times a day (bless his heart). My kids want to know what the plans are for Thanksgiving. Will they be able to come down? Everyone is asking if I’ve heard anything yet.
I finally decide to call the pharmacy. Maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong place. Maybe there’s a phone number I can call. Maybe they can look up my results.
The kind pharmacy assistant gives me news I do not want to hear. “Oh, I’m sorry. But the lab has been telling us it’s taking five to seven days for results.”
“What??? No!!!! Their website clearly says two to three days!”
“I’m sorry. You’re not the first person who has told me that. That’s all I know. Again, I’m so sorry. Good-bye.” Click.
I’m about to explode. I’m now forced to look at llamas for another two to four days. Of course, it would be at least that long if I’m positive, and since I’ve now started running a fever, I’m pretty sure I know what my results will be anyway. It’s just a matter of time.
It’s then I realize how time has come to rule my life. How I am anxious when I am not in control of time. How I’m fine with frittering away my time scrolling through social media or watching Netflix, but how I boil with anger when someone (who’s probably working as hard as they can right now in a very busy lab) messes with my time. Like it’s MY time.
And so, I’m trying a different approach. I’m reminding myself that time is a gift.
Even during a pandemic that has robbed us of so much, we are still given the same 24 hours in a day; 1,440 minutes; 86,400 seconds. Each day, hour, minute, second...are gifts to us. How we choose to use them, even if we’re waiting for the next big thing or the next small thing, is up to us.
As I wait for my mom’s final day, as I wait for my COVID test results, as I wait for my next meal to arrive at the door of the llama room, I can choose to be grateful. Grateful for the 83 years Mom has had on this earth and the ten recent days I could spend caring for her. Grateful I’m at home waiting for results and not in the hospital with this illness. And grateful for a family and husband who loves and cares for me.
Waiting is not easy. I quickly slip back into anxiously checking the time and voicing my frustration to the llamas. I realize that being grateful is not my usual m.o.
But I will persevere.
On this matter of time, I choose gratitude.
But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me. (Ps. 13: 5-6)
What has tried your patience recently? Does time seem scarce to you? Have you had difficulty waiting for something big (or small) to happen?
In these situations, how will you choose gratitude?
Update: One week after my symptoms appeared, five days after I was tested, I received my test results. They were positive for COVID. I’m feeling a little better today and am thankful this seems to be a mild case. We have temporary coverage for Mom’s care. The kids are busy making alternative arrangements for Thanksgiving. And Tom and I are counting the days until we can be together, for real, again.