Remember when I said, "I hoped the housing process would be a simple three part series" but I had a feeling it might be a "seven part series with intermission?" Yeah, I hate being right sometimes. Good News! All deposits and signatures have transpired and the first week in September, the Guinea Pig Palace should be ours! (Zac refuses to celebrate until we have keys in hand) Bad News... we had our brush with Covid.
Last weekend, Friday night to be exact, I started to feel ill. I had a headache, the chills and gnarly stomach cramps. Damn it! Sick on a Friday night, what a way to kick off the weekend! I get in bed with my day clothes on, and by late that night, I am full on sick with fever and all those things I won't mention because I am a lady. Just know it was not pretty, nor was it one of my finer moments. Saturday, I felt a bit better which made me think it was just a little 24 hour blip. Then suddenly, Avah became ill too and I took another nose dive after lunch time. Sunday was more of the same, just an up and down roller coaster of symptoms. Since the inception of Covid, Zac and I don't really know the rules anymore? It seems like these days you either have Covid, or you don't. It has all been deduced to two clear categories. There is no such thing as just catching the run-of-the-mill flu. It's almost passé. The flu fell off the map with landline phones, beepers and blockbuster. So on Sunday night, I pose the question to Zac. Does he tell his office I am sick? Do we share our position when I don't really have any symptoms of Covid outside of the fever? We weigh the pros and cons and decide communication is the key, and so we give a play-by-play of the weekend's bathroom activities. It's embarrassing. Im blushing while writing this.
There goes the flood gates. Zac is required to stay home and requested to order a test through the UK Covid Site. An Italian doctor from his office calls us to get a run-down of my symptoms. Have you ever heard an Italian say the word "diarrhea"? Add it to your bucket list, it is a must. Zac and I can barely control ourselves as he continues to probe for the description of my "diaaaa-raaaay-ah," The moral of the hard-to-understand conversation is that we must order tests immediately. This in itself proves to be a battle as we do not fit the criteria to order a test online. Zac spends the next hour on the phone ordering EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US, a Covid test. It takes a few days. When it arrives, I have to laugh, it came from none other than AMAZON! I was expecting a fun pair of shoes I ordered, but no, fun factoid, Amazon has also cornered the disease market. You win Amazon. You have officially taken over the world. After opening the tests, we realize this is going to be a feat. We must register and perform all tests, then immediately take the repackaged tests to a specific drop point. That drop point currently closes in 1 hour. So if we want to get our results back quickly, and return the land of the living, we have to get cracking.
We read the instructions. Theses are British instructions. So imagine our surprise when it asks us to use a "torch" to see the back of the throat. That seems pretty damn dangerous if you ask me. My throat will surely be sore after "torching" it. Contracting Covid would seem like less of a problem at this point. All laughter aside, our big dilemma is getting our kids on board. Being amazing parents, we decide that we should lead by example. So we line our kids up on the couch, explain to them the situation, and tell them its not so bad just watch us. Bad decision. While holding my phone for light, I swab Zac's throat being careful not to touch his tongue or gums as it will invalidate the test. He immediately starts to loudly gag, tears streaming down his face, his body starts convulsing while we are both hysterically laughing. I am crossing my legs and hobbling around holding the test swab like a magical fairy wand. (Oh please Lord don't make me pee on myself. I've had three kids. It happens.) We catch our composure, only to notice that our kids are watching in shear HORROR. They have slack mouth, saucer eyes and a white pallor. We assure them, it's really "NOT that BAD! Daddy just wasn't ready!" We are crushing it so far. We continue to read for the next instruction. "Testee must then place the cotton swab deep into the nose." Im sorry, WHAT?! We use the same swab I just shoved down his throat for his nose? We couldn't spring for two cotton swabs Amazon? Not in your budget? Should we have selected the VIP Covid Testing kit? This is too much. I can't even make eye contact with my children. On top of that, Zac hates, HATES, anyone touching his nose. So he will have to perform this portion of the test himself so we stay married. It proves to be equally as horrible as the first round.
Okay, let's try this again on Momma. I ready myself. I must prove to my kids this is no big deal and we are tough. I mean hell, I had three kids, whats a little swab?? Zac positions his "torch." Don't think for a second he doesn't jump at the chance for a couple of "thats what she said jokes." They are peppered throughout the preparation of my testing kit. He goes to swab me, he looks almost excited. When I say I gagged so loud and so hard it gave me whiplash, I am not exaggerating. All is officially lost. Leading by example has gone to shit. We just need to push through this because we are against a time clock. After completing my test, we test the girls. Avah does so-so, Arden, with her ginormous Muppet Mouth barely notices we tested her for anything. Im officially worried about Arden. Next up, we have the one we have all been dreading... Asher, the four year old.
This is an all-hands-on-deck effort. The girls are distracting him while I am using my phone for light over Zac's shoulder. We explain the process to him again, as if it will make it any better. He looks at us, stone faced. The clearance for us to get the swab past his tongue without touching his gums is small. Zac has great aim, but this will be a challenge. (See babe, I can make dumb jokes too.) We all mimic the "AHHHHHH" sound to try to coax him to follow. He does, but as soon as the swab gets close, his tongue retreats back into his mouth like a turtle in its shell. This is similar to nailing jello to a freaking wall. We try several times. No luck. He almost looks at us like we are the problem. I attempt to hold down his tongue with my thumb to help Zac's clearance. It feels like I am playing thumb war with an indignant slug. This is gross and we still have no success. Suddenly, Zac just goes for it. He basically assaults Asher's tonsils sending him into tears and a coughing fit. Why were we so convicted to tell his office about my stomach bug??? I cant even remember now?
We finish all 5 tests with 10 minutes to spare, just enough time to make it to the drop site. Zac and I decide to go together as it is right down the street, and we all seem to need a moment of solitude after that emotional and physical fiasco. Zac packs a black duffle bag of tests like we are shuffling cartel money. This feels dangerous and a little exiting. We quickly walk down to the drop site. Looking around to see if anyone is watching, we empty the contents of the bag quickly into the bright red mailbox. (We look suspicious AS HELL.) Once the "eagle had landed," we walked giggling back to the apartment. How does this stuff happen to us?
For more good news, all the tests were negative! (We had little doubt.) Avah and I just had the stomach bug after all. Bad news, I was so turned on by the whole clandestine drop off, Zac now has the stomach bug too. C'est La Vie! At least the Guinea Pig Palace is ours!
(Keep Safe Everyone)
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