Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
Year after year, we get the same medical advice from our doctors. “Get your flu shot.” “Lose weight.” “Lay off carbs.” “Give us your copay.” But last Friday, my trusted medical professionals added something new.
Weeks before, I woke up with swollen glands, congested lungs and actor Sam Elliott’s subterranean speaking voice, so I booked a COVID-19 test at the drugstore. Allegedly, the rapid one.
They promised I’d have the results within 24 hours, but that didn’t happen. Not that day. Not the next day, and not the day after that. The mega monster drug chain sent my swab to one of their labs, but no one could tell me which one. Even if they could, the labs don’t send results. Another enormous conglomerate, presumably too preoccupied to answer stupid customer questions (like whether or not the test was positive) does that. A recording tells the recently swabbed to be patient, because everybody and their poodle is waiting for results, too. Just stay home, and eventually, we might let you know. Of course, if this is a medical emergency, please hang up and call someone who cares.
If you were sick in ancient times, before COVID (BC), your doctor would see you for a cough. Now, signs are posted at the entrance: “If you are sick or suspect you have COVID, KEEP OUT. Go to hospital and infect them.” No one wants to see you unless you are perfectly healthy. (Can’t say I blame them.)
It occurred to me that this is an opportunity for entrepreneurs to set up by the side of the road to offer while-you-wait COVID tests. You just need Q-tips and some food dye. Maybe even a Santa suit to be festive. While the customer paces anxiously, you sneak away to dip her snotted Q-tip in green dye. Be sure your gaze is ominous when you return with the bright green result, which must mean something deadly. Then, instruct her to stay home for 10 days and collect your money. You could make a killing! Since you’re telling everybody to stay quarantined, you probably won’t be killing anyone else, which is very nice of you and no worse than some drugstores.
After spending three mucous-filled weeks in exile, I finally asked for my doctor’s help getting rid of my mystery malady. When I showed up for my appointment, the nurse-turned-bouncer at the reception desk had me repeat everything I said on the phone. Yes, I’m vaccinated. Yes, I had a COVID-19 test. No, I never got the results.
Then she said something I’d never heard in a medical establishment before. “Go wait by the dumpster.”
So I moved my car to the invitation-only dumpster out back and waited. And waited. A few feet away, some nurses were enjoying a smoke and Cheez Doodles break at a rotting picnic table. Seemed like getting COVID-19 from me would be a comparatively minor health challenge, but I kept my car windows closed until another nurse outfitted for a Level 4 biohazard arrived with a swab long enough to scrape my brain through my foot.
She left me with a headache and the standard advisory: “Stay home. We’ll call you.”
One week later, after a lonely month in quarantine drowning in phlegm, I got the result: COVID negative. Of course, I still don’t know what I do have.
For future reference, never admit to being sick to your doctor if you want help. At least not till you make it past the bouncer. Tell that person you have a wart.
Jan A. Igoe wishes everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, vibrant health and a COVID-free 2022. Thanks for reading and be sure to join us at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop. We love hearing from you.