My wife Jane has been feeling unwell for a few weeks. Her symptoms became flu-like in recent days. We both have had our vaccinations. Her doctor yesterday suggested she have a COVID-19 test. ‘I’ll get the results almost instantly,’ she says to me. We decide to get a taxi to the Royal Adelaide Hospital straightaway.
The taxi leaves us at the entrance. There are signs saying restrictions on entering the building. There is another sign to follow the yellow arrows on the outside of the building to the COVID-19 clinic.
Tunnel vision clicks in for me.
‘Yellow arrows? What yellow arrows? Can’t see any yellow arrows,’ I say to Jane.
A kindly lady comes alongside us.
‘Are you lost? Looking for the clinic? She says. ‘It’s just past that yellow arrow around the corner.’
Suddenly the arrows and clinic are obvious.
We reach the makeshift building. A fairly senior lady with a mask on greets us. She seems to be the boss.
‘Here, put these masks on. That’s right, over the nose and mouth it goes’, she says.
(I get sinusitis, hence my nasal voice. Don’t like breathing in those things).
Jane gives her symptoms and a few details. Then the lady turns to me.
‘Have you symptoms?’ she says.
Hastily I reply, ‘No but I live with Jane though.’
‘You don’t have to be tested. It’s good if you are,’ she says. ‘You’ll need to go home straightaway. The results will take seventy-two hours. You’ll need to isolate at home that time.’
Seems over the top. However we agree to COVID-19 tests.
The senior nurse says, ‘Can I get your number?’ Maybe I was holding my phone?
‘What about Jane’s?’ I ask.
‘No I only want yours. We’ll send both results to your phone by ringing or text.’
Straightaway, you friendly writers who know me, are cringing.
The COVID-19 office is in the main building. Suddenly the friendly(?) boss lady peeks her head around a corner.
‘Your phones not ringing. It’s going to message bank, three times,’ she protests. ‘Can you come here,’ she yells.
Like a little schoolboy summoned to the headmistress’s office. Everyone is looking at me now.
Getting to the office I’m whining, ‘Phone was ringing an hour ago.’
Falls on deaf ears.
There are people behind a big glass window. I slightly lean on the shelf my side of the window.
‘Don’t lean on that shelf,’ a person says.
Stupidly I was trying to show my phone. As if they would touch it.
I’m a mumbler at the best of times. You try giving hospital admissions through a mask and thick window.
Slightly saving the day by remembering Jane’s number.
Sent back to my social distancing chair.
No air conditioning either.
Finally Jane and I are ushered into a small cubicle. They are slightly more friendly now.
They stick the thing down your throat and up your nose. Horrible!
The ordeal is over. We are given our own COVID-19 packs with masks inside.
Another nurse says, ‘Now leave your masks on until you’re home. Stay there seventy-two hours until you get your results.’
I think I know of a use for all the COVID masks when COVID-19 is done and dusted!
Wish us luck
TO BE CONTINUED…MAYBE
Burnside Writers Group 