A couple of days ago, one of our housemates was in contact with someone that had COVID-19.
Thinking the worst, we all scrambled to get tested as soon as possible. My closest testing facility was rather deserted and we zipped through the process, giving our personal details and what not. It was cold, it was rainy, and I wanted to get out of there fast anyway.
The sample taking process is something straight out of a psychological horror thriller:
First, they scratch the back of your throat, somewhere around where your tonsils sit or, as in my case, used to sit. Open wide… there you go.
Second, they scratch the back of your nose. You wouldn’t know how deep can something go into your nose until you try this one. My main concern at this point was not getting accidentally lobotomized by that long swab.
That was it. All the while sneezing and trying to get myself composed, I was told I would receive the results in a couple of days.
1:00AM Today. The results are in. I am still negative. I intend to keep it that way as long as possible. The battle continues…