My Covid Christmas

I'm writing down my COVID experience, with the thought that it might be helpful to someone.

My spouse and I went to Mexico last week. My parents were planning to look after the kids for four days. The kids would be in NJ; this would just be a short trip.

Around halfway through our trip, Marc and I did a rapid test for COVID and discovered that we were both positive. We were told not to leave our room; food would travel to us; we would need to remain in quarantine and just keep testing (one test, per person, per day).

This was alarming because we didn't know how long we would show up positive. Additionally, if one of us "switched" to negative, there was the chance that the "positive" spouse would be alone in a (semi-)strange land during a pandemic.

The CDC said that you could leave after testing negative, or you could leave after five "self-quarantine" days, with "documentation of recovery," from a doctor. Marc's doctor offered to write a note; my own doctor, after arriving to a telemedicine call seventy minutes late, misquoted the CDC, refused to help, refused to offer alternate suggestions, collected her twenty dollars, and disappeared.

People wanted the CDC to be tougher, so on January 4, the CDC revised its thoughts, in a baffling way. The CDC now said: "You still don't have to test negative to end your five-day quarantine after a positive test--but you might as well test if you want to." I found this so maddening, because people who want to test don't need this sentence. They'll just test. I felt like a teacher was saying: Learn how to read if you want to. The verbiage was mealy-mouthed and really alarming.

Anyway, a few days passed, and the Barrett-Solomons were getting anxious. We found an on-line service that coyly half-promised to generate "documentation of recovery." But the service required a payment *before* the letter appeared, and the small print said, "Fully refundable, of course!" It was the exclamation point that gave me pause.

All the stress came to an end--abruptly--on Day Five. My spouse and I both scored negative tests. We began to drive to the airport, and the stress came roaring back, because the United Air website revealed that CEOs don't want you flying if you have tested positive at any time in the last five days. In other words, it doesn't matter if you have a negative test today. You need five days of negative tests before you can plan to return home.

Marc and I said: Fuck it. We're getting on the fucking plane. And no one asked for details beyond the information on our negative-test printouts. All the while, we couldn't help but recall that a flight from California to New York would require *none of this* .....no testing. A flight from Florida to Maine? No paperwork needed. This made me angry.

We're all home now, and here is what I learned:

*People don't know what they're doing. Have you met a person, anywhere, who knows what he is doing? I have not.

*Don't travel. You have books! Relax.

*One version of COVID--today--is a really mild cough. Like a little tickle in your throat. It didn't keep me from writing or tele-tutoring, or watching "The Simpsons." I've suffered more from a small zit on my back.

That's all I remember from the past week.

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Liars and Saints

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