Comfort Zone

by Susan Weber

Crossing through town last week I found a section of Carnegie cordoned off for COVID testing. Police were on site, a massive sign said DOCTORS ORDER, cars snaked through scattered cones on a repurposed surface lot. To see the site with my naked eye was a comfort, as was visiting my CPA that morning. Just to sit across the disinfected desk from a competent professional felt humanely normal.

Today before dawn I drove to the Green Road lab for a blood test. I cruised the weirdly quiet streets, my wipers battling the rain. Nervous about being where sick people go, my plan was get in and get out fast.

In the hallway outside the lab, a woman in a cap and wet slicker leaned against the wall. She looked up from her phone to say she was there for lab work too, and hoped to beat the rush. Lights went on inside, we entered. The CDC had an extra form to sign. Did we have fever, cough, or breathing problems? Had we been to China, Italy, etc. or been with anyone who had? When the receptionist questioned the cute-capped woman about her travel, the woman said she must have checked the wrong box.

“You just wish you could travel,” I told her from six feet away.

Handing the corrected form back through the window she shrugged. “Working from home I go room to room to room. That’s about it for travel.”

When a youthful tech in blue scrubs took me back, I thanked him for taking care of me. I’d almost said, thank you for your service. He looked for a vein and took my questions in stride. The staff has daily briefings on protocol and policy. University Hospitals and Cleveland Clinic, behemoth providers and long time competitors, are teaming up to operate the testing sites. UH has more trained workers and the Clinic more equipment, so collaboration makes good sense. I said I hoped one day they’d share patient records in a common data base, something their rivalry has never allowed. That would be a lasting gift to the public, wrestled from the jaws of catastrophe—and yes, my hyperbolic brain was in full swing. For now, he said, if I have symptoms of the virus I should call my doctor, get a time slot, and show up at my designated testing site. How wise and calm the young can be.

I barely felt the needle prick, dwarfed as it was by the exponential curve on everybody’s mind. The tech asked if I preferred bandaid or wrap and lucky for me I chose the bandaid. Now the arm I won’t be coughing into wears a strip of Incredible Hulks heaving their muscles at a scary world. Make way, evil doers! Tough guys and tough girls are gearing up for combat. Did I look like a little kid who needed a superhero friend or two? I’m guessing I certainly did.

Photo by Susan Weber CC BY-SA 4.0