The War Room

 Sunday, November 22 - Dry cough started at 1pm 

Monday, November 23 - Strange, must be a fluke.   Cough gone.

Tuesday, November 24 - Sore throat

Wednesday, November 25 - Sore throat is the same

Thursday, November 26 - Sore throat doesn't seem to want to go away

Friday, November 27 - Worrying.   Sore throat hasn't changed and chest is really tight.  Feels like there is a clamp on my chest and I'm having to use too much energy to teach.  My breathing is shallow and it's scary.

Saturday, November 28 - Couldn't teach.   Asked my partner to teach because I didn't have enough air.   Made appointment for COVID test.   Really scared about my breathing.

Sunday, November 29 - I seem to feel okay first thing in the morning but get worse at the day goes on.  Breathing continues to be a challenge.   Tightness in my chest.  Sore throat seems better today though.   

COVID test scheduled for 4:25pm at Joseph Brant hospital.

***

I am lying in bed at 8pm on Saturday night with a cup of lavender tea and tears falling down my cheeks.  Every time I inhale it feels like there is a raw burning running all the way down the back of my windpipe.  My heart is pounding and with every increase in worry, my heart rate beats faster.   I have had laryngitis a zillion times and lost my voice.  I have had bronchitis, pneumonia and strept throat.  

This feels like none of those things.   

I'm alone.   I'm scared.   I'm panicking.  I'm crying.

No way this is happening.   You do NOT get to do this to me now.   I don't get to see sunrise for one month and then I'm on a goddamn ventilator in the hospital.   

NO NO NO - this cannot be happening.

What am I going to do?

As I'm sitting, rather productively, with my cup of lavender tea crying that my death bed is on the horizon, all these thoughts start to cross my mind.

I have no benefits.

Oh my god.   I have no benefits.   Will Canada cover me if I end up in the hospital?   Of course.   Of course now I'm going into hospital.  Thank you 2020 for finishing me off.  Go.  To.   Hell.

My will.

Do I have a will?   Where is my will?

OMG No.

No please don't let me be a COVID statistic.

I'm not dying.

I am not going into the hospital.

Dear God, please.   You have to do something.   

Oh my God.   

The people that live here.

Carol and Matt on the 2nd floor.   Matt is in a wheelchair.   Oh my God.  I'm going to kill Matt.   

It's going to be like the movie Contagion.

I'm going to kill everyone who lives in Pearl Street.

They are going to touch the elevator buttons and oh my God, everyone is going to die.

All because of me.

More tears.   

More panic.   

More tightness in my chest.

Once I've convinced myself that I have killed off everyone who lives in my building, run out of tears and curled myself into a ball on the floor, I decide to get a grip in typical Sarah-Lee style.

Sarah Louise, you need to get your shit together.   Come on now.   Let's make a plan.

(Please note that all the facts written here are no word of a lie and I'm seriously this delusional (or extremely prepared) that this all took place.)

Okay, okay.   Let's pretend this is real.   You go to the hospital tomorrow and you are tested and you have COVID.   You may or may not end up hospitalized.   What do you need to do?

I pack a bag.

Because I am NOT coming home in the same outfit I go into the hospital in.   In my bag, I have a journal and a pen (because I'm totally going to live and tell about this story one day), my standard uniform (a pair of tights and long sleeve shirt), my glasses because sadly I cannot see, a key to my apartment so I can get back in it, and a bag of almonds (because God knows when they will feed me at the hospital and I might need a snack).

I put my toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter, so it's ready as a last minute throw in and stuff a couple packs of contacts in the bag.  And a scrunchie.   My hair could look dreadful and this could be a short term fix.  I go to get the latest book I'm reading and have to tell myself off.   Sarah, you cannot breathe.   If you are well enough to be lounging around in tights reading, you can GO HOME.  Leave the book.  

I put the book back down.

Then I make a "Who to call in case of emergency list" - which I realize starts as "this is the one person to call who will look after everything" and ends up well, crap if I call my family and I call this person, someone needs to call this person and that person isn't connected to this person and what if I died and no one was notified I was in the hospital???? That would be awful.   Not that I could have a funeral anyways since we aren't allowed anyone there.   Nor could I hold my own funeral since I will be dead.  Sarah, someone will notify your friends."

The list is two pages and then I write at the bottom of it "Michelle, please call anyone else from my life I missed and don't tell them they weren't on this list."  I mean, honestly, I'm fairly traumatized - I'm certainly not trying to harm anyone I haven't told.

I'm now feeling rather proud of myself by this point.

HA.   Take that COVID.   I'm going to have a full on Emergency Plan written and prepared.

While I'm at it, my Dad was fairly concerned about how I was going to escape my unit in a fire since I don't have a balcony so I put a hammer in the drawer beside my bed just in case I need to break the window in case of fire.

Well, how about that?   My Emergency Plan now has a fire chapter also.   Damn, I'm efficient.

"In case of fire, take hammer from bedside drawer and break window.   Go onto rooftop and remember to take cell phone and call 9-1-1".

Actually, my emergency plan also has a B&E chapter too.

"See fire tab.   Also works for burglars".

I then decide to do 10 minutes of meditation which completely backfires because as I'm lying in corpse pose (perhaps not the best choice), I can hear my breathing and think "this probably is exactly how it sounds when you're on a ventilator.   Loud breathing in your head but you can't get out."

I lasted two minutes and decided alive pose was better than corpse pose.

As I look around my place with my bag packed at the door and my emergency list by my purse, I decide it's time to say out loud that I mean business.

I WANT TO BE VERY VERY CLEAR HERE.   I WILL MAKE YOU A DEAL.  (Don't we all make deals when we feel despair?   "I will never ever drink again."   "I will never, ever".  Famous last words.)

I WILL MAKE YOU A DEAL.

IF YOU GET ME OUT OF THIS THIS TIME, I PROMISE YOU I WILL RISE TO THE BEST POSSIBLE VERSION OF MYSELF AND RELEASE ANYTHING THAT HOLDS ME BACK.  

DO NOT LET ME DIE FROM COVID.

I'M JUST GETTING STARTED AND I WILL BE DAMNED TO BE TAKEN OUT NOW. 

I am certain there is a God is up there somewhere just figuring out what on earth he is going to do with me.

After all my swearing and praying, which are dancing quite nicely together, I go to bed.

***

I pull into Joseph Brant hospital and I have to say, I'm quite impressed.

It's kind of like curbside pick-up meets the X-files.

As I park in parking spot #3, I walk through the white plastic tent looking thingy, past the guard (he's not a guard, but a medical looking person) and into the reception.  They are all quite friendly here, dressed in full protective gear head to toe (obviously Service is a value of theirs) and they direct me into the testing room.

I'm terrified.   Oh, I didn't mention that yet.

Well, all those Facebook posts going around about Q-tips piercing brains don't exactly make getting a COVID test top of my priority list unless I CAN'T BREATHE.

I'm seriously terrified. 

In about 8 seconds, the test is over.   My brain is not pierced and bleeding.  The nurse tells me it is "just like getting water up your nose underwater" of which she is WRONG.  It is nothing like getting water up your nose.  It is everything like sticking a Q-tip up your nose.  But it is NOT like a Q-tip piercing the lining of your brain.

I have told 3 people that I had the test done last week and everyone says the same thing.   

How was the test?

The answer is - it's totally fine and not the horror show depicted on Facebook.

I mean, it's not something I would want to do often, but it's tolerable.

I am in and out of the hospital and back to my vehicle curbside in about 6 minutes.

The last words the Doctor said to me was "You are quarantined until your results come through."

***

After feeling like an escaped convict returning home in plastic gloves (looking out for all the people I haven't killed yet), I close the door behind me where I am now officially stuck until further notice.

I did it.   I went for the test.   I made a plan.   I've done all I can.  The rest shakes out as it does.  

I need to take my garbage out.

I can't take out my garbage.   That's an unnecessary trip out into the wilderness.  I could call Carol and Matt.   No, no I can't do that.   Can you imagine?  "Um, I think I have COVID.   Can you take my garbage out - just thought it would be safer."   

No, NO ONE can know.

Okay, garbage stays put for now.

Okay, what do I have for food?

A bag of rice, some yoghurt, grass fed butter, coffee, almonds and microwave popcorn and some dinners I've already frozen.  

(Note to self - add freezing meals to Emergency Plan for Quarantine chapter).

I look around my place and decide I'm winning this battle.

This is officially my War Room.

I'm going to cross off the days on my calendar and I'm going to survive solitary lock up.   I can do this.     

Gym.   No problem.   I can do body weight exercises and yoga.  You know, like they show you in "Orange is the New Black" when they are in prison.  Everyone is doing push ups.   I will do lots of push ups.   I will be so fit by the time this Quarantine is over.

Sarah, you cannot breathe.

Oh yeah.   Right.  That small thing.

But I've changed my attitude.

I am winning this war.

I feel confident now.

***

For the longest 48 hours of my life, I waited for my COVID test results and did not leave my place, nor ask anyone for help, while I thought through the future.

There is a scene in Grease (one of my favourite movies of all time) where Rizzo is on a ferris wheel and as the bucket is coming down, she yells out to Kenickie "FALSE ALARM.   I'M NOT PREGNANT."

After hitting refresh for 48 hours straight on the Ontario COVID result website - the second I saw the negative test response,  I felt just like Rizzo and wanted to yell at the top of my lungs to everyone I know "I DON'T HAVE COVID!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It's like a second lease on life.

I'm a pretty grateful person to start with, but that day I was over-the-top grateful about everything.   

I'm so grateful I can leave my place.

I'm so grateful I can go to the grocery store.

I'm so grateful I can walk freely by the waterfront again. (see gorgeous sunrise photo attached from my next time outdoors).

I'm so grateful I can go to the main lobby for my Amazon packages and take out my garbage.

So many little things we take for granted.

I was also reminded during this process that it isn't just my mask.   It's also the obsessive hand sanitizer I'm (to be honest) not as proficient with, and need to remember.   I put a hand sanitizer in my car, purse and front hallway as a secondary measure I need to be more conscious of.  I'm great at the whole mask thing, but get in my car, throw it on the seat, and probably touch my face 700 times between my place and the grocery store.   

So, fair enough, I will amp up my COVID game.

One of two things has happened with my sore throat and breathing problems from the past two weeks.   (Well, 3 if you count that my test results are incorrect but I don't like that option).  

1) I was sober for the month of November.   Zero drinks 30 days.   I bought all of these herbal, non caffeinated teas from a little New Age shop in Hamilton.  Lavender, Mint, Licorice and who knows what else.   (I didn't know what to buy, so shocker, I bought all of them and have an array of twenty types of tea now - most of which I do not like.)  There is a slight possibility I have an allergy to something in these teas that has caused inflammation in my esophagus.  

Moral of the story if it's option #1 - Drink wine, not tea.

2) We recently added a third course we teach to our Managers across Canada virtually.  The third course is 3 full days, instead of two, and longer sessions.  It is "possible" that sitting and talking all day with this extended period of time has worn on my vocal cords (Me, talk too much??  No, it can't be.)  (Be Quiet Sarah.   Ugh.  There is it again.)  There is something called Vocal Cord Disorder that happens to teachers, lawyers, speakers, singers - where you are straining your vocal cords and it can cause breathing issues.   Not laryngitis where you are hoarse but the actual vocal cords are inflamed.  I also believe that sitting I might not be speaking from my diaphragm but actually from my throat, so perhaps standing may help.

Moral of the story if it's option #2 - Everything needs a rest to recover and overuse of anything will appear loud and clear if it's strained.

I personally prefer option #1 as the answer, but we all know it is far more likely it the latter.

The best news is that after 5 days of not teaching, I'm good as new and ready for a new class of students tomorrow.

And guess what?

The universe didn't kill me off for 2020 with COVID as a year end Christmas present. 

(....yet, and we are going to try and keep it that way).  

Instead, I got a permanent job offer Friday, one that includes benefits I can use if this virus does get to me this Winter.  

Not bad Universe.   

Not bad.

Maybe 2020 has a silver lining after all.