Pre-Op

       There I am with a Q-Tip on progesterone stuck up my nose.

      Around me, other folks sit in cars waiting their turn.  Walking among the cars, moon-walkers in spacesuits wield the overgrown Q-Tips.  Once the Q-Tip has been withdrawn from its 20-second journey up both nostrils, it is placed in a sealable bag and the moonwalker carries it back to the building housing the lab.

     Still other workers in civilian dress, carrying clipboards and wearing masks, interview drivers waiting in line through the open window.  When the interview is completed, the clipboard bearer pins a sticky note on the windshield.

     Soon, yet another worker brings out a label and checks with the driver with a sticky note on his windshield to be sure the information is correct. If the label passes inspection, it is place under the windshield wiper.

     The drivers who have had their fix of coke, or whatever is on the Q-Tips, moves on and the line of cars inches forward.  The patient drivers have waited in line for over an hour when they reach this point.  What could be on those Q-Tips to entice folks to sit in line for over an hour in order to get it?

       Had I drawn this picture a year ago, I would be credited with a piece of science fiction.  Today, ho hum, it’s daily reality.   Anyone headed for the OR has to take a COVID test before being admitted to the hospital.

       My journey to the hour-long line began in January when I could only reach my right foot to dry my toes after a shower, or to tie the laces on the shoe of my right foot, with difficulty.  I had pain in right hip and knee, too.  My personal physician, who serves as a traffic cop directing me to this specialist and that specialist, sent me first for an X-ray and then to a sports doctor.

    The sports specialist's verdict: arthritis.   He gave me four alternatives:  exercise, physical therapy, steroid injections, or hip replacement surgery.  He said, ultimately, hip replacement was THE answer.  I tried the first two alternatives with mixed results. I really didn’t care for the third option.

  Answering my request, the sports doctor recommended a surgeon to me.  It took two or three weeks to get in to see the surgeon.  After consulting with him, I was placed in another waiting line, this time waiting for the doctor and the hospital’s availability.

     About two weeks ago, I went in for my pre-op meeting, where I took an EKG and a blood test.  I also  received a packet of information delineating many do’s and don’ts. The hospital would call me sometime next week, which proved to be Monday, one week ahead of the surgery date.

     Much of what I heard from the hospital repeated what I heard at the pre-op meeting, but I also had to schedule a date to get my COVID test.  Go between 9 and 10 a.m. I was instructed.  That time is reserved for pre-op patients.

      I had already scheduled the final meeting before surgery with the physical therapist at 8:15 on that date, so once I was done with the PT, I headed immediately to the lab thinking to get there right at 9.  Actually, I was early, arriving at 8:55.

       Only to find a string of cars waiting in line.  I pulled up behind the last car which was sitting in an intersection.  After I had sat there for about five minutes, three or four more cars pulled in behind me.  A guy came walking along and asked me to park on the adjacent street at a right angle with the string of cars.  He had the other cars behind me follow, so we had a string of cars heading north, and a string of cars heading west, all waiting in line for the COVID test.

       Yet another man went down the line checking with every driver to be sure that we all were in the correct line.  Nine to ten was supposedly reserved for patients with instructions from their doctor to do the test before being admitted to a hospital or clinic for some procedure, including surgery.  A car or two pulled out of the line and went away.  Oh, wrong line!

     I turned the corner and moved up.  After about twenty minutes, I advanced far enough to see a sign along the curb that said, “About an hour wait from this point.”  It was fairly accurate, too.  In about an hour, I had reached the point where the traffic was divided into two lanes. 

     A masked clipboard bearer approached me and took all my information, including picture ID, and insurance cards I had at the ready according to my hospital instructions.  I inched forward another car length or two.  A masked young lady came with a printed label which together we inspected to be sure I was the right person and the information was all correct.  She placed the label under the windshield wiper and I inched forward some more.

     Then it was my turn.  A moon walker approached and took the label from under the wiper blade.  I rolled down the window and removed my mask.  The rather petite lady occupying the space costume asked me to replace the mask, just over my mouth, as I might cough during the swab.           

     After the mask was in place, I looked up as instructed, and in went the swab.  She twirled it as she verbally counted to ten.  She removed the swab and told me that when I was ready, we would do the other nostril.  I was ready, and into the other nostril went the swab, and the verbal ten count was repeated.

      The swab went into a plastic bag and was sealed.  The lady wished me good day and headed for the lab with my swab.  I rolled up the window and departed.  In the distance. I could see the line of cars waiting.

     (I now am in a position to understand why the granddaughter, who had to take a swab test twice last March, first at the urgent care place and then again at the emergency room where they sent her, balked at going to the ER a second time.  "My nose is clean.  I don't have any boogers," she cried.  Yes, I understand. Unfortunately, her tests were flu tests.  They did not have a COVID test yet at that time.)

     Later, the lab report on my health online account stated that my swab was taken at 10:08 a.m.  I had been there an hour and fifteen minutes.  Not too bad, considering the number of tests they had taken in that time.  My test was negative.

      I slightly violated the instructions to self-quarantine after the COVID test by going to Lowe’s for some screws to complete a fence repair my neighbor and I had started last week.  Otherwise, I have been a good boy.

     On Friday, the hospital called to say surgery was still scheduled for Monday, but that could change if there was a surge of COVID patients admitted to the hospital over the weekend.  The lady said she would call me on Sunday to tell me for sure if the surgery was cancelled or still on.

     It’s Sunday, and I await the call.

     “It’s a strange, strange world we live in Master Jack.”