Sheena McGinley
Testing times: How I got checked
IT STARTED last Tuesday. Chills, low-grade temperature, scratchy throat, dry cough.
Wednesday night brought shortness of breath, chest pressure and the inability to end a sentence without gasping.
It couldn’t be it, could it? Being a mum of two, working from home, with a wildly mundane routine consisting of school pick-ups and trips to the supermarket, where could I have possibly picked coronavirus up from?
Concerned about passing anything on, I rang the HSE on Thursday morning.
Despite the symptoms fitting the criteria, I hadn’t been to an “affected region” or been “in contact with a confirmed case”, and was therefore told to ring the doctor.
However, by that time, Leo Varadkar had made his dawn address outside the White House, and getting through to my GP, or indeed the HSE, was understandably nigh impossible.
The breathing difficulties were such that, when I did manage to get through, I was told to ring 999.
Then the dutiful GP pointed out that breathing difficulties would probably fall under the emergency remit. I rang, sheepishly apologising to the operator, amidst a flurry of wheezing.
When the ambulance service arrived, they asked me to put on a mask. Then the banter began.
After checking the vitals, they listened to my chest. “Have you any pain?” “Yes, on my right.”
They confirmed there was a “crackle” in my lung and added “we can bring you to hospital if you want, but I don’t think it’s necessary”.
I said if they didn’t think it necessary, I’d happily stay put. They suggested a “G&T in the garden away from the kids” before saying “if you get any worse, call us again”.
After a particularly arduous weekend, feeling like there was a small elephant sitting on my chest, I got on to my GP again. Finally, after numerous attempts, a test was organised.
On Monday afternoon, at 4.15pm, I received a call asking if I was in a position to be in Tallaght Stadium by 5pm. I was then given a reference number.
Unable to drive myself due to dizziness, the kids were herded into the back seat, snacks were dispensed and the husband careened up the M50.
Turning into the car park of Tallaght Stadium was surreal. It was vacant, apart from a few cars lined up in front of an ambulance, and four people in protective hazmats.
We were directed into a car space and I showed them my reference number through the windshield. Myself and my husband were handed face masks, before receiving two more for the kids.
This was the moment that broke me. There was the three-year-old and the sevenyear-old, sitting in their car seats, asking why they needed to put “these things on”, while grappling with the strings.
I would’ve done anything to not have put them through that, but what was the alternative? There was no time to arrange childcare, not that we would’ve put someone in that position.
I was then asked to get out of the car. Following one of the hazmats into the grounds, I was led into what appeared to be a changing room, filled with approximately six people – all suitably suited. I was asked to take a seat, and my vitals were taken. Then the swab appeared. The official apologised for what was coming but, to be honest, it was fine. After swabbing the throat, it was inserted into my nostril.
Lastly, I was handed a plastic ziplock bag containing extra face masks, a six-page handout on what to do between now and receiving the test results and a black bin bag.
I was told to stay in a room by myself, with a mask on. During this unprecedented and, frankly, beyond bizarre time, we must do what’s asked of us.
After swabbing the throat, it was inserted into my nostril