Well, it was bound to happen. I'm surprised it took so long.
I finally went for my first drive-thru COVID-19 test.
I hadn't been exposed—at least, not as far as I know—but I'm slated to possibly make a guest appearance at a reality TV show taping next week. And like any responsible production, they wanted to make sure I wasn't contaminated.
Honestly, I'd thought I would've gotten sick by now. After having been such a sickly kid—and after having caught every cold, flu, sinus infection, and pneumonia while living in New York State—I just assumed I was a sitting duck for the coronavirus.
And although I don't know that I've come in contact with anyone who's been infected, I still got pretty nervous as I drove through the testing site at the local VA campus. I chuckled at how it was set up like the parking lot at Disneyland—or like one of those drive-thru haunts that made their debut this Halloween.
I've never even gotten tested for the flu—not to mention something so much more serious. And it just felt crazy to me to be holding onto my own "BIOHAZARD" bag as I scraped my gums, cheeks, tongue, and throat with a "flocked" swab and placed it into my own specimen jar.
In a movie, all the volunteers (recruited by Sean Penn's C.O.R.E. organization, a.k.a. Community Organized Relief Effort) would've been wearing hazmat suits. Instead, they were hunkered down in makeshift booths handing out bags with those grabbers that old people use.
I got my results the very next day—and fortunately, I tested negative.
For now.
But there's no peace of mind that comes with this negative test result.
Today, I went swimming in Santa Monica and stopped into the swim store to buy a new swim cap. Tomorrow I'll be swimming again.
And this weekend—well, who knows what I'll encounter?
I'm being as careful as I can be without losing my mind. But am I just delaying the inevitable?
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