My Two Cents

I was so sick last week. I thought I had never been that sick before until I remembered that I have that thought at least every other year. As nearly any symptom could be a sign of Covid, we made appointments for both of us to be tested the next day. Our county is offering free, drive-through testing to local residents. I also made an on-line request for an appointment with my doctor, or her designate.

The next day, we drove over to the Richmond Civic Center parking lot and saw the white tents. There was no one else there to take the test, no line whatsoever. We drove to the check in tent – mask required, stay in car with windows closed – and held our driver’s licenses up to the window. I don’t know if she was just checking our birthdates or our addresses as well. The woman disappeared into the tent for a few minutes and returned with two baggies containing I couldn’t tell what and secured them under our windshield. She directed us to drive to a different tent where a suited, masked, and shielded worker removed the baggies and indicated it was time to roll down the windows. To our surprise, it was self testing. She gave each of us two large Q-tips and told us to use one in each nostril and to circle around for 15 seconds in each. It tickled. She put them back in the designated baggies and told us we’d have the results in one or two days.

The day after that I felt slightly better but did not cancel my telehealth appointment with the designated nurse practitioner. She said it was most likely I had a viral or bacterial infection and unlikely I had Covid. While I thought the same, I wasn’t able to stop my mind from wandering down all kinds of dismal roads.

The next day we each received the results of our tests – both negative. I felt slightly better that day.

This week, on Tuesday, I couldn’t get back to sleep when I woke up at 4 so I went to the kitchen and made Irish Soda Bread. MA said it’s the best loaf so far. Today I feel fine and grateful, grateful, grateful.

At 8pm each night for months now, it’s time for the howl. I’m not sure if there is supposed to be a meaning, like “we support all of you hospital workers” or if it is just to let our neighbors know that we are still here.

When I step outside – always on the deck with a view of the hills and the water – I hear a stranger in the distance “ow, ow, owwwww.” So I respond “ow, ow, owwwww, ow, ow” which means I hear you and I raise you two. I get a response back “ow, ow, owwwww,ow, ow, owwwwww” which signals the end of the exchange – that is enough of a dialog for me.

From the wharf, one or two of the tankers or tugs joins in with a toot of a fog horn. In my mind I picture a monstrous whale breaching the water and letting out a deep moan.

I go back inside and MA tells me to”stop with your antics.” She refers to activities that I do that she wouldn’t do as my “antics.” I inform her that I was engaged in “community relations,” not antics.

One night we were out on the deck, probably had just finished dinner at the high table, overlooking the Bay, when the howling began. I was surprised that I convinced her to join in. She let out one long howl and we both started laughing.

“There! Doesn’t that make you feel better about everything?”