The morning arrived when I had to take the Covid-19 test.
This morning.
And while I have heard horror stories about the feeling of having your brain scraped from inside your nose, the test wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be.
It wasn’t pleasant either.
I gagged on the throat swab.
It took two tries for the woman in the hazmat suit leaning though my car widow – I went to a drive-in Covid-19 testing center – to swab the back of my throat.
She was really sweet. She was on my side. Cheering me on.
“Now lean back and I’m going to swab your nose.”
Egads.
Before I had time to tense up, there was a swab stick way up my left nostril.
And then it was done.
“Have a good day.”
I said thank you, of course. And wished the three hazmat-suited lab technicians a good day.
The background to my test:
I’m a work-from-home mom and have played it pretty safe since the novel coronavirus came into my life. I don’t go to big gatherings. I wear a mask. I keep my distance.
My kids follow the rules. Wear masks when they go out.
At one outdoors, socially distanced, masked scouts meeting, one of the teens was unknowingly infected. The Covid-19 droplets may have escaped from behind her mask.
While no one said we had to test our kids who were at the meeting, we chose to. One doctor would later tell us it was a mistake to do so as our kids showed no symptoms.
One kid came out negative.
One kid came out borderline. Said kid had to be retested.
And because of the retest, the rest of us got tested, too.
And now we wait. For results.
I have never been so keen to fail a test. I hope we all get a negative result.