Some thoughts after I tested positive for Covid 19, roughly 6 weeks ago.
Testing. When I was the sickest, I tested negative on a rapid test. Six days later, when I started to feel better, I tested positive on a more reliable PCR test. This leads to so many questions. Would I have tested positive on a PCR test done at the beginning? Or was I asymptomatic after I tested positive because I got better so quickly? Who knows? We seem to trust rapid tests when they read negative, but when they are positive the medical authorities – the provincial health department – waits for the result of a PCR test to confirm or deny it. The main thing is I got through it. I worry less now in certain situations, such as when I’m one-on-one with someone in my apartment, or when I’m sharing the elevator with other residents. I still wear a mask everywhere else. I know that I’m susceptible to other variants and to anything else that might be lurking out there. I could get it again after my 90 days are up in July.
The system. New Brunswick’s healthcare system is in a bad way. No surprise there. The four hours I spent in the ER are a case in point. Because it was already full, I had to wait in the hallway until a bed became available. You’re not considered admitted until you are in a bed. That means as long as I was in the hallway, I was still under the care of the paramedics who brought me in. They could not leave until I was admitted. That crew spent the rest of their shift babysitting me. When it ended, they were replaced by another. This is one very small example of a system that is cracking and crumbling. Covid simply made it worse.
Fear. We had two official outbreaks where I live. The first one was over fairly quickly after a couple of weeks. After a brief, week-long outbreak holiday, the second one set in and was much more serious. Everyone who didn’t get it the first time got it now, residents and 22 staff included.
The mood was heavy and oppressive. Pretty much everyone on my floor was in isolation – all 12 of us. This affected the entire building full of about 80 residents. The PSWs had to put fresh PPE on every time they entered another apartment, and then take it off again when they left. This was incredibly time-consuming especially during meals.
With so many staff members out sick it was all hands on deck to fill in where needed. The maintenance guy worked in the kitchen. The activities coordinator, physio assistants, and front desk staff all cheerfully took on the duties of a PSW helping us residents with ADLs 24/7. As front-line workers if they had any concern for their own health, we certainly didn’t hear about it. I never knew who was going to turn up when I called for help. I was just grateful that someone did answer the call, even though chances were pretty good that he or she wouldn’t know how, and I would have to talk them through the process. The possibility of no one answering my call, or cooking or delivering my supper, or doing my laundry, was a constant threat. We’ve all heard the terrible stories about neglected residents in LTC. Fortunately for me, it never happened. The people who work here are absolute rock stars, going above and beyond whenever necessary, and helping us laugh at the crazy circumstances of life during a pandemic.
The fear factor about my own health was a strange combination of resignation, terror, depression and invincibility. For the first time in weeks I went grocery shopping on Thursday morning. I woke up with a sore throat on Friday. Bizarrely, instead of attacking it with the home remedies I would normally use – such as zinc lozenges, gargling with hydrogen peroxide – I resigned myself to the prospect of getting sick anyways. At that point it seemed inevitable. My negative rapid test Saturday morning gave me a false sense of security. The terror began Saturday night when I had trouble swallowing and clearing my airway of mucus. I won’t go into the details again because they were in my previous post. Depression set in at the end of the week when I felt crappy physically and my spirits were low. I woke up Saturday and felt much better, fortunately, because my PCR test was positive. If I’d known this the day before, then I would have worried a great deal more. Because my symptoms were vanishing quickly, however, I started to feel a little bit like wonder woman. Some 10 days later, I felt physically and emotionally drained. Covid 19 had taken a toll.