Or, some more rambling thoughts on one of my favourite subjects — permissions
September 8, 2020. 7 AM in a pretty home in Bombay, the city that was adding 5,000 new Covid-19 cases every day.
Prashanth and I got RT-PCR tests done yesterday, and the results should come in this afternoon. The anxiety is like a ton of bricks in my chest. The neighbour downstairs was diagnosed with Covid-19 yesterday, and there is a massive white banner right outside our building. We decided to get tested because there is a possibility that we might have been in contact with the neighbour but more importantly because we’re exhausted of feeling so exhausted. Over the last two weeks, we have been whining non-stop to each other about how tired we feel. Both of us have multiple points of aches and pains. We’ve had fever too — it comes and goes, and is never higher than 100 degrees. We decided to stop the guesswork and get the test done yesterday.
I feel awful. We thought we had done everything right. We’ve stopped socialising in March, we go out a couple of times a week to buy grocery, but we go out masked. I wash my hands every couple of hours, even when I’m at home working at my desk. The wonderful human who used to come home to cook and clean for us is on infinite paid vacation. And yet, here we are. Reminds me of the Sharma uncle in the movie Queen who never smoked, drank or partied and yet got a massive stroke at age 40? (It feels so unpleasant making a Kangana Ranaut movie reference now — how things change).
The test itself was so unpleasant, ughh. The swabs going down my nose and throat felt like a violation. I have new waves of compassion and empathy for my frontline health worker friends, and everyone else who has to get this test done on themselves more than once.
I’m feeling truly terrified as I wait for the test results. I don’t know what to hope for. Whatever the outcome, I dread the weeks ahead. Even a negative result is frightening — because then, what is causing all these horrible aches and tiredness? Are we turning into hypochondriacs? Is there another pandemic in the works and we’re patient zero? Could it be a false negative result, and should we get tested again?
What if one of is positive and the other negative? Is that worse than both of us being positive? How will we manage our isolation? I love this home, but it is tiny. It feels horribly inadequate for home quarantine. Are there hotels for Covid-19 patients? Will I need to look for a doctor who can monitor us remotely? Will they give us one of these drugs which have so much conflicting data?
As my panic rises, my mind throws up a small crumb of comfort. If the test result is positive, I will cancel all my work commitments (and zoom calls) for the next two weeks, put my laptop away, clear out my work desk and unpack the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle that got delivered weeks ago. What a ridiculous bit of evidence of the invisible, probably non-existent bonds I’ve tied myself to. I can give myself permission to play with the puzzle only if I am sick.
3 PM, same day, same place
The test results are here. Both negative. Strangely, magically, all signs and symptoms disappeared as soon as we saw the test results. So now I know that the list of my symptoms when I’m experiencing anxiety includes fever. Prashanth rinsed out the cocktail shaker and made us gin cocktails. I unpacked my 1000-piece puzzle.
