THE COVID LINE-UP

 

1. Feel like crap. 2. Headache. 3. Feel like crap.
4. Headache. 5. Feel like crap.

In the past four weeks, I've been hit with a series of viruses -- sinus, nasal, throat, G.I. -- that usually play out over the course of a year. The only week I felt well was when my wife Sue had one of her once-a-decade colds, so at least I was able to care for her without feeling like crap.

The current virus has coincided with a weird sleeping pattern. Falling asleep rather quickly, before waking again after what feels like several hours, only to discover that only 30 or so minutes have passed.

When it's sleepytime up North.

The rest of the night finds me tossing in bed (or, as with last night, the couch, just so Sue didn't have to hear me cough), with my sense of time utterly skewed. What feels like 90 minutes is actually 10, and vice versa. I yearn for sleep, only to find myself waking up and realizing I just had a weird dream. It's not an exaggeration to say I never know when I'm awake or asleep.

By Tuesday morning, I started to wonder if omicron had taken over my life, so I went to CityMD Urgent Care on East 86th to make an appointment for a COVID test. I was placed on a virtual line with an expected wait time of only 14 hours.

Caution: The blue testing tent isn't as close as it appears.

Sue texted that I try the pop-up testing tent on 3rd Avenue. I went to the end of the line, near 85th, figuring it would be better to wait in the cold for a while than have to go out again around 11:00 pm for the other test.

But was it? It depends on your stamina. I wasn't feeling well, but at least I was masked, and dressed for winter, right down to my thermal underwear. I would look behind me from time to time to see how many people were giving up, while trying to count how far behind I was from the tent.

Infinity isn't just the name of the testing site, but the
wait time.

The optimist in me, which never gets things right, was hoping for a 45-minute wait. It wasn't until the 30-minute mark when a text from Sue asked how much longer I thought it would be.

"40 minutes", I typed. You know, as if it would really happen if I said so. 

The real time was 60 minutes. Just before it was my turn, a guy walking toward us said, "There's a testing tent on 87th with no line." Thanks for the head's up 90 minutes late, but I'll wait here, thank you.

The testing folks were very professional, and ready with the swabs. But unlike the other tests I've gotten, these swabs appeared to be a foot long -- and there were four of them. 

Before I could even prepare, each one went into my nostrils and felt like they were brushing up behind my eye. Never had I felt so violated. And yet if this is what it took to find out my COVID status, my honor would have to suffer.

Twenty minutes later, I received an email: NEGATIVE. For everything I went through -- a 90-minute wait in the cold; foggy eyeglasses; foot-long sticks up my nose -- it was almost a letdown. 

I really should shave before I take
these selfies, just so I look a little
less hideous.

Well, I needed to find out anyway, since I had an appointment that afternoon with my dermatologist. A few weeks earlier, Sue had noticed a little spot on my nostril, similar to one she'd had several years ago, which turned out to be basil cell carcinoma. 

No need to cancel the appointment now; it was time for second biopsy on the right side of my face in the last few weeks. If it turns out benign, all I'll have is a little nick on my nostril which should heal fairly soon. If not, then it's another go-round with the surgeon, where I should open up a checking account.

As for now, I've got a Band-Aid on my nostril which will be hidden by a mask when I go out. Or if I go out. Did I tell you I feel like crap?

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