Tag Archives: coronavirus

Daily Life, Florida

Pandemic Diary – the Quest for a Test

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Now that I have quarantined at my house in central Florida for almost two weeks, I’m ready to get out of here. I want to drive to my sister’s home near Destin, where I can hunker down with her family. I look forward to giggles with my sassy little niece, Annesley, and informative chats about lizards with my precocious nephew, Will. Their new pool is also calling my name. However, I want to be sure I’m virus-free before invading their space.

Everyone has been telling me how easy it is to get a Covid-19 test in the States, and sure enough, when I googled it yesterday, I found an online interface where I could register for drive-up testing at several locations. I filled out the form, chose a location, clicked on one of the available appointments, and was sent to another form. It took all of two minutes to complete the process, but when I clicked “submit,” a message popped up saying, “Sorry, that time is no longer available. Please choose a new time.” When I followed those directions, it wiped all my information off the forms, and I had to start over. Which I did. ELEVEN times!

I now knew my mom’s mobile number, my health insurance membership number, and my rental car license plate by heart, but I still didn’t have an appointment.

I googled again and found the number for the Florida Department of Health. I learned that I could get free covid testing with no appointment at one of three locations between 9 a.m. and 2 p.m.  “The Clermont site has already used up all their tests for the day, though,” I was told. I asked about the other two sites. One was more than an hour’s drive, but the other – about 30 minutes away – still had tests available.

It was 9:30 a.m. I grabbed my keys and my mask and hit the road. When I arrived at the health department around 10 a.m., a big sign informed me, “COVID testing closed.” Another note explained the 100 tests allocated for the day had already been used. When I got home, I called the health department office to find out how early I would need to arrive to get one of the coveted tests. “Oh just be here by 9, and you’ll be fine,” the receptionist said.

This morning, I was on the road by 8:10 a.m. I packed a book, planning to hang out in my car till the clinic opened. Instead, I arrived to find a full parking lot and a line of masked test seekers. The “COVID testing closed” sign was still posted, so I almost turned around to drive home. Instead, I parked and started preparing a firm but civil reaction if someone informed me that I was too late. Lucky for me, that didn’t happen.

It should say 9 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. ’cause if you’re any later, you are not getting tested!
Waiting in line.

A nurse handed me a baggie with a blank label on it. She told me to write my name, phone number, and birthdate and then proceed to another nurse, Rosanna, who gave the instructions. Open the baggie, take out a swab, and stick it up both nostrils. “How high do we have to stick it?” I asked. I had heard you practically have to touch your brain. “As high as you’re comfortable,” she answered. “Just clean out your boogers.” 

Boogerless, I took a little liquid-filled vial out of the baggie and popped my swab inside. I handed my baggie back to Rosanna, and I was finished. It looked like another 20 people behind me in line would get the last of the tests; a health department worker was sending everyone else away at 9:40 a.m.

Shoutout to Rosanna! Thank you!!

Once I got over my crankiness at the state of Florida for making this process so frustrating, I rather enjoyed my drive home. I guess I hadn’t realized how close I was to a beautiful stretch of countryside.

My parents have lived in this retirement community for several years. Although I have visited many times, we usually hung out at their house or the pool. We didn’t venture far beyond the subdivision gates. When Tony and I bought a house just up the street from my mother, we advertised it as a seasonal rental, so we haven’t gotten emotionally invested enough to learn about the area. For example, I had no idea a huge national forest is practically in our backyard! 

According to the U.S. Forest Service, the Ocala National Forest “is the southernmost forest in the continental United States and protects the world’s largest contiguous sand pine scrub forest. The forest has more than 600 lakes, rivers, and springs, including three first-magnitude springs where visitors can swim, snorkel, and dive in crystalline waters year round.” (I just looked it up. A first-magnitude spring is the largest kind of spring, discharging at least 64.6 million gallons of water per day.) Wait, what?! How do I not know about this place?

In addition to boasting some gorgeous trees and springs, which frankly were enough to get me super excited, the Ocala National Forest also features several recreation areas, an historic mill house on the National Register of Historic Places, an archaeological site with evidence of pre-Columbian settlements, and an interpretive trail through the area that inspired Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings to write her Pulitzer Prize-winning book, The Yearling. (Check out this story from NPR.) 

Hold on … Fun? Nature? Cultural heritage? Literature? Those are my favorite things! Another favorite thing? Horses. And guess where you can find the Ocala 100-Mile Horse Trail? As soon as I win the lottery, I am buying a horse and getting on that trail. Can’t wait.

On my two trips to the health department, I passed through part of the national forest and witnessed other spirit-nourishing scenes, as well. An eagle’s nest, perched at the top of a towering tree. Acres of bee boxes. A flock of shorn sheep (I wasn’t even sure what I was seeing at first!). Sandhill cranes, including a baby (!) strolling through the fields. Horses grazing, cows snoozing in the shade. And lakes! So many lakes. In typical fashion, I was quite giddy and may have shrieked a bit with delight.

So, lesson learned. Every cloud has a silver lining … blah, blah, blah. Instead of moaning about having to drive 30 minutes for a covid test, I am rejoicing to discover so much beauty right around the corner. For now, I will wait for my test results and fantasize about the day when the parks reopen and we can all get back out there to soak it up.

Florida, On the Road

Stress Balding in My Dreams

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Last night, I dreamt I was getting ready for a family party. As I ran my hairbrush over the top of my head, my hair peeled off like a wig, leaving a bald, scabby patch. I shrieked and showed my sister, who said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But you can probably comb your hair over to cover it up.” This morning, I asked the internet to interpret my dream. Here’s the general consensus:

“Another interpretation of the meaning of losing your hair in a dream is fear of losing control or feelings of helplessness. If you dream about losing your hair it could indicate that you are afraid of a situation in your life or that you feel powerless in a particular situation in your life.” (zeroinonnutrition.com)

Hmmm … You think?! 

Do you think I might “have a fear of losing control’ because I have been on lockdown in a three-bedroom apartment with my husband and cat for 14 weeks? We started “distance learning” in mid March. At first, I thought it sounded fun and easy, but I soon realized I would work harder and longer hours than I ever have in my career. I got emails from eighth graders at 10 p.m. wanting feedback on essays that were due at 8 a.m. the next day. At first, I refused. However, it didn’t take long to figure out those teens slept late and worked in the evenings. If that’s what their pubescent brains and bodies needed, I had to play along. I felt gloomy and lonely and hopeless. Finally I stopped wallowing and started getting up earlier to practice yoga. Nothing crazy, just a gentle morning wake-up practice. I felt the transformation right away. I faced each day with a little more optimism, a little less self-pity. Yet, there was no denying I was trapped with an introvert (my husband) and a narcissist (my cat). Both needed a lot of attention, but neither had the skill set to fill my emotional void.

Do you think I am “afraid of a situation in my life” because I am the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and South American winter is right around the corner? Tony and I had agreed to spend our “winter break” in Chile. We were relatively comfortable and safe. We could and did get whatever we needed delivered to our door: organic produce, beer and wine, groceries, a computer dongle, even two jigsaw puzzles. For a while, we could leave the building with our masks on, but the explosion of coronavirus cases in Santiago led to an extended quarantine. We had to go online for governmental approval to leave the house, which we did three times. It was no joke. I even got pulled over on my bike during one of my outings so the officer could confirm I had legitimate permission. As our beautiful sunny autumn turned gray and chilly, I visualized spending the next couple months in that apartment. I wouldn’t just be lonely and anxious. I would be lonely, anxious, and cold. Despite my reservations about traveling and hunkering down with Floridian covid-deniers, I impulsively got online and booked tickets to Orlando. 

Do you think I might feel “powerless” because I put my fate in the hands of a bankrupt airline? To be fair, the flight from Santiago to Miami on Latam Airlines impressed me. The flight attendants all wore masks and ensured passengers were able to maintain some personal space. Passengers were required to wear masks, and some went full hazmat. There was no drink service or complicated meal tray. We got a bottle of water and a tray of ravioli. I took off my mask to wolf down the food and then quickly put it back on. In Miami, we disembarked by row rather than crowding together in the usual crush to get off the plane. The airport felt relatively safe. Nearly everyone wore masks and seemed to avoid crowding together. After collecting our luggage, we were all funneled into a security area where officers completely unpacked our bags, presumably looking for drugs. I had forgotten about the Brita filters I brought home to recycle. They do look suspicious. The officer stabbed one with his knife, releasing a pile of carbon sand, and then politely encouraged me to repack and move on to my connecting flight. That was weird and stressful, but nonthreatening from a virus perspective.

Do you think I might have “feelings of helplessness” because I was getting on a plane with a whole lot of people who don’t seem to care about social distancing and wear their face masks more like chin guards? Once American Airlines started boarding for Orlando, I realized my sense of security was about to evaporate. About half the passengers wore masks; fewer wore masks correctly, actually covering their mouths and noses. I was wearing an N-95 medical mask with another cloth mask on top. Yes, two masks. While waiting for my group to board, I overheard a couple girls snickering behind my back. I turned around to see they were staring at me while wearing their own masks down around their lower lips. I wanted to yell, “I just traveled from a country with 167,000 cases and more than 3,000 deaths. I am terrified that I’m transporting this virus to Florida. I am double masking for you! You’re welcome!” I felt so deflated knowing that whatever I do to protect myself and others, I am at the mercy of these people who don’t take it seriously. 

Anyway, I am quarantining at my house in Florida, and it really is a lovely little place. I got up this morning for my usual yoga practice. I drank coffee outside, listening to the birds. I drove to Walmart for a non-contact grocery pickup, which was convenient and safe, much to my relief. I did a sudoku puzzle, worked on report card comments, scrubbed and refilled the bird bath, lounged outside with a book, Facetimed with a good friend, and called my sister to tell her about my dream. I’m about to pop some sweet potatoes in the oven. Life could be worse. 

Still, uncertainty is my nemesis. The website’s interpretation was spot on. And so, until life returns to some version of normal, I suppose I will wake from disturbing haircuts with a better understanding of why they haunt my dreams.