by MK
It all came as a surprise. My husband and I both work online, and the only break in our home routine is taking our 3-year-old to school, going to buy food, and picking her up. We hand sanitize religiously, disinfect all surfaces, and even our grocery; all the things anxious 30-somethings do while caught in the midst of a pandemic.
“Maria, ASUGI just called.”
“ASUGI as in the ‘health department’?”
“Yeah. Apparently there’s a hotspot at Vasilisa’s school and they want us to get tested.”
“Wow.”
How did that happen? Weren’t other people cleaning their surfaces as religiously as we were? And wearing masks above their noses and below their chins? And sneezing in their elbows cautiously?
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The health department went like clockwork. As soon as someone tested positive at our daughter’s school, they instantly traced all possible “contagiati” and scheduled our tests the next day.
We got our swabs in one of those big white tents around town. Fast and easy (as we hoped the results would be).
I started feeling a little queasy towards the evening. But I can have an anxious mind so I thought, maybe that’s nothing. Or should I call the emergency number just in case?
The next morning the results came in.
“Looks like we’re positive!”
“Are you serious?”
Incredulous, I looked at the results on Sesamo.
“I guess we’ll be staying in for a bit” my husband said with what seemed like irony mixed with relief. Neither of us are big on crowds or gatherings so staying in is really not a big deal. For us.
“Can I go back to school now?” asked our 3-year-old a week into our isolation game.
“Not yet, honey. We have to wait until the doctor says we’re ok.”
“But I want to go!” she screamed in disappointment.
It’s hard to explain to a child what viruses, swabs, and pandemics are all about without losing her attention in a split second. And what odd things to learn at 3!
“Well, you know, these little droplets that…”
“I want to go to school!”
We got our second swab two weeks into our quarantine, when all our symptoms were gone, and we still tested positive.
All three of us had been missing the outside like crazy by then, and taking a ride to the San Giovanni hub was like going on a mini-vacation.
“Look! The trees have flowers on them!” commented Vasilisa.
We got back high on our ride and both Fra and Vasilisa went for a short nap. Instantly I knew I wanted to go for a run but the results were not back in yet so I couldn’t go out.
After last spring’s experience of running on my balcony, never would I ever think that I’d be using its 7-meter surface as a track again. But as soon as my symptoms were gone, my legs were aching for a run.
The sun was shining and we do have a nice view of the park so really “it’s like running in the woods”, I told myself as I laced up.
It feels odd at first doing 5 second laps, but once you pick up the rhythm, and your lungs fill with fresh air, there’s nothing better. I saw some dog walkers in the park looking at me skipping back and forth with curiosity.
“I’ll be back to woods in no time” I thought as I was trying not to feel embarrassed by my balcony savoir faire.
That night I started feeling fatigued, and got some odd chest pains.
“Why don’t you call Guardia Medica?” suggested my husband as he listened to me enlisting symptoms anxiously.
“Good evening. So I am a runner… I mean, I have Covid. I tested twice. Yes, and today I ran on my balcony for 30 minutes. And…”
“We’ll have the doctor call you back”.
Oh, I thought I was telling my story to the doctor.
Around 11 pm, as I have googled all possible symptoms of a heart attack, the phone finally rang.
“But signora don’t you know you’re not allowed to go out? There are fines for that!”
“No, you don’t understand, I ran the 5 km on my balcony.”
“So, your balcony is 5 meters long? What are your symptoms?”
I guess I had that one coming. What were the chances that a doctor on the other line would feel a sense of running comradery towards my story?
“So, I was thinking I might have symptoms of a heart attack or maybe arrhythmia. Or I also have these symptoms… ”
“Signora,” the female practitioner on the other side of the phone was getting impatient. “To me you sound fine. If you get other symptoms call the emergency number.”
“Oh, ok.”
I woke up the next day feeling fine.
“We’re still positive” my husband called out from the other room.
“Can I go to the park now?” our child, who’d gotten used to piggybacking her way around the house, was getting a bit antsy.
“Oh boy. I need a run.”
It was our 21st day of isolation, and all three of us got used to our routines. I would skip and jump on the balcony during my family’s nap times, Vasilisa would use us as toys for most of the day, both my husband and I would work late nights to make up for kinda-hard-to manage days when every meal was like the Yalta Conference and the table like enemy terrain, mined with vegetables that could go off in your face (courtesy of “pasta and pesto only” toddler). We’d get our food delivered by local stores and helpful friends. We knew we were lucky, and none of us complained (well, almost).
“Maria!” I heard my husband scream.
“What? I’m just starting my 5k as I just cleared up the terrace of toys, and…”
“We’re negative!”
“Did you say… did you say we’re negative?”
Wait, does this mean after weeks at home I actually have to go outside? My heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was arrhythmia?
