summer at camp covid

I had a late night pri­or Sun­day. And then I was quar­an­tined for a few days.

Oh, and get this:

I too have felt the sharp pain of a cot­ton swab down my gul­let.

COVID test­ing is a quag­mire.

For one thing it’s a slog to even get and you need to know se­cret phras­es.

in­sur­ance: “It’s a 2 week wait­ing list.”

me: “Some­one coughed on me. I have sick fam­i­ly mem­bers*, how can I get one to­day?”

*covid19 is cur­rent­ly reek­ing hav­oc on the Latin com­mu­ni­ty.

(we’re es­sen­tial, af­ter­all)

doc: “Hmm, does your heart still hurt?”

(It nev­er has)

me: “… what?”

doc: “I’m wor­ried that your pre­ex­ist­ing health con­di­tion may put you at high risk –

(he winks, I can hear him over the re­ceiv­er)

“… bet­ter send you to the ER.”

me: “I need that test. My mom can’t get this, let’s do it.”

The ER isn’t sim­ply the ER any­more.

We’re talk­ing sealed tent struc­tures and doc­tors with full Cher­nobyl gear. This trig­gered ex­is­ten­tial fears in­grained in me from watch­ing ET as a child.

I had a mask but the Vad­er docs and this mas­sive triage tent just made me turn white.

(which is no­table on a brown per­son)

FYI: If you ex­ag­ger­ate symp­toms or if you’re sim­ply a hypochon­dri­ac with free time, know that you (in my case, my well-mean­ing doc­tor) just signed on for a slew of oth­er tests.

·   Blood work
·   Xrays
·   EKG
·   Covid swab test, but with big­ger swabs and more vig­or­ous sam­ple col­lect­ing be­cause they can tell you (or your doc­tor) lied.

I couldn’t stop sweat­ing.

The EKG was near­ly im­pos­si­ble to ad­min­is­ter with my damp skin.

me: “I think I’m good, can I leave Camp COVID now Lord Vad­er?”

doc: “Yeah, your EKG is good wait out­side.”

Cue:
12 min of bask­ing in UV light be­cause:

1.  I heard it kills virus­es.

2.  My DNA finds your yel­low sun far su­pe­ri­or to our red one.

(Mex­i­co has a red sun, no joke)

In all se­ri­ous­ness, my time wait­ing out­side the triage tent was aw­ful.

This pan­dem­ic is burn­ing through our most frag­ile pop­u­la­tions. I saw three el­der­ly peo­ple go into that tent, frail, pa­per thin skin, and hor­ri­fied.

I’m not sure if they’ll leave.

A mask. That’s the least we can do.

I’d sug­gest every­thing else but what I wit­nessed proves we’re not fol­low­ing any ad­vice as a pop­u­lace.

“They can be a great peo­ple …”
—Jor El

For the record, I think the best thing about Amer­i­cans is their in­di­vid­u­al­ism.

As an im­mi­grant, you come here with noth­ing but grit, and some­how that’s enough.

Grit has a val­ue here.

I love that.

But one per­son can’t save our strick­en pop­u­lace. It’s a team ef­fort.

Wear the mask. En­cour­age oth­ers, lead by ex­am­ple.

I got my test re­sults yes­ter­day.

— neg­a­tive —

So pleased, but then again I am a ger­mo­phobe.

I’m still up­set at the con­di­tions that sent me to Camp COVID, some­one pur­pose­ly coughed on me, as a joke.

Scene:

me: “… can you please put on your mask?”

jerk: “… I can’t live like that – cough.”

(stu­pid laugh)

Not fun­ny or ap­pro­pri­ate.

His joke kept me away from my fam­i­ly for three days.

As I’m writ­ing this my cousin, an­oth­er es­sen­tial em­ploy­ee is in the ER.

He test­ed pos­i­tive. He isn’t do­ing well.

That’s it.

I’m not re­al­ly pleased or hope­ful at the mo­ment.

I just want you to wear a mask so my mom doesn’t get sick.

 

—louis her­nan­dez

Flom­mist Louis Her­dan­dez is ob­sessed with go­ing Bauhaus and be­com­ing The Ma­chine. Prefer­ably a drill press. Copy­right © 2020 Louis Her­nan­dez. Foto by flom­mist Dan­ny Joe Gib­son.

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