Obervations in the time of COVID-19, Part 1
I went to my physical therapy appointment today as scheduled four weeks ago, the day after I had surgery to repair a fractured tibia plateau & torn meniscus. My PT folks are at a local clinic that does urgent care, but is not in any way a hospital. I decided to go even though I generally think we should all be acting like we're on house arrest, because there's a non-zero chance that I'll walk with a limp for the rest of my life if I don't get this recovery right.
Driving in to park I saw for the first time an actual drive-thru testing setup. The clinic has put up a big tent like you'd see for a wedding or event, and the tent covers five parking spaces. Apparently, people who have been prescreened can drive up and park, and clinicians in hazmat gear do the nasal swab thing thru the window. (I don't know what prescreening looks like in Utah right now -- it's still very difficult at best to get tested -- and I assume the test is the swab, though I didn't see it performed, because I don't think anyone is doing antigen tests yet, at least in Utah.)
Because the five spaces under the pavilion were full, a line of 10 or so cars snaked back towards the parking lot's entrance. I crutched past a few of the people waiting. Two of them at least were hooked up to oxygen, and that's when it occurred to me how terrifying it must be. How terrifying to know that, with a breathing condition that already requires an oxygen supply, you're probably in the highest possible risk category. How terrifying to know that, in that risk group, the true questioned you're waiting to have answered isn't really whether you have C-19, but rather whether you're going to be alive in two weeks. We're headed for dark days.
Driving in to park I saw for the first time an actual drive-thru testing setup. The clinic has put up a big tent like you'd see for a wedding or event, and the tent covers five parking spaces. Apparently, people who have been prescreened can drive up and park, and clinicians in hazmat gear do the nasal swab thing thru the window. (I don't know what prescreening looks like in Utah right now -- it's still very difficult at best to get tested -- and I assume the test is the swab, though I didn't see it performed, because I don't think anyone is doing antigen tests yet, at least in Utah.)
Because the five spaces under the pavilion were full, a line of 10 or so cars snaked back towards the parking lot's entrance. I crutched past a few of the people waiting. Two of them at least were hooked up to oxygen, and that's when it occurred to me how terrifying it must be. How terrifying to know that, with a breathing condition that already requires an oxygen supply, you're probably in the highest possible risk category. How terrifying to know that, in that risk group, the true questioned you're waiting to have answered isn't really whether you have C-19, but rather whether you're going to be alive in two weeks. We're headed for dark days.
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