Uncomfortably Uncertain and the Power of Ohm.

Thanks to jetlag, my body clock ensures that 2am every single day is wake up time. Wake up and BAM, heart starts pounding, anxiety sets in and there’s no hope of getting back to sleep, save a sleeping pill, which I am stubbornly refusing for now.

I wasn’t going to write another blog post today. I am stressed, on edge, riding the highs, lows and highs of travel in COVID times. We just want to get out of here and into the soothing salt water with sunshine to boot. Real exercise, fresh food, fresh air that isn’t coated in PM2.5.

These are uncertain times. Uncertainty for me is incredibly uncomfortable. Yet, this is what my soul was asking for- to get out of my comfort zone. To relinquish control. I’m listening to my soul, but it isn’t easy!

Arriving foreigners and Indonesian nationals alike must undergo a PCR-RT test upon arrival into Indonesia. In addition, you must undergo mandatory 4 nights in quarantine, at one of several hotels designated by the government of Indonesia. Foreigners pay for this themselves. Indonesian citizens are guests of the government.

If your first PCR-RT test is negative, you get to stay in your hotel until day 4, when you test again. Essentially, before you get your “get out of quarantine free” card, you must do a 2^nd PCR-RT test. If this is also negative, off you go on your adventures, newly armed with a piece of paper from the doc saying you are of no danger to society… for now.

Yesterday, we had our first PCR-RT test. It was supposed to happen on the 31^st, when we first arrived. The doctors had left the building already, so we were told we would have our test the next day, on the 1^st. At 3pm on the 1^st, as instructed, we duly arrived to Floor Five, the scene of dreaded brain-tickling nasal swabs, and filled out all our paper- and online- forms.

We sat, and waited our turn. Observed the gags, the snorts, the sneezes and the groans of those unfortunate enough to arrive before us. At 4.05pm the doctors packed up all their stuff and left. Our consolation prize: “don’t worry, you will only need to do ONE test”. We were elated!

Next day, Sunday, we turned up as directed, 2.45pm on Floor Five. No docs. They arrived a couple hours later. At 6pm, we got the Q-tip up the schnoz, and in the back of the throat. We discovered that in fact, our Costa Rican swab experience was a walk in the park. If only our Costa Rican Microbiologist (without the preservative on the Q-tip) was here with us. This crew were brutal.

Again, as a mom, I felt guilty and selfish for making this trip happen. It would have been easy, comfortable and safe, staying home. Krypto, Finn’s black and white poodle would also be happy… but he didn’t know how good life was going to be with Matt, the guy staying in our house while we are gone!

Finn- brave boy he is, endured the procedure but found it remarkably uncomfortable. The effects lingered for an hour or so after, as his body rejected the foreign invaders’ lingering presence. The swab tip made of polyester or rayon, is most definitely alien. Despite it all, he declared that if he didn’t want to go fishing so badly, this whole process would be unbearable. I suspect the same for Ian, but the thought of those blue barrels keep him going.

My experience was unpleasant, but not as much as Ian and Finn’s. Maybe it’s because nothing really compares to childbirth. And childbirth taught me that making noise helps- so I OHMMMMM my way through my nose-pick PCRs. I think it is something about the vibration the ohm sound makes, or maybe something it does to the brain, but I do recommend it. Though a strange thing in a banquet room full of strangers awaiting their fate, I stand by it as a way to minimize the discomfort. And for the back of the throat gag-reflex… the trick is to smile. SO very counterintuitive but when you smile, you can’t vomit. Who knew?!

Uncertainty rumbled up the telephone line today, January 2^nd, when the receptionist called to beckon us to Floor 22 for our 2^nd swab test. My heart skipped a beat and a golf ball formed in the pit of my stomach. What? “No, no no”, I responded, and explained how we were told we just need to do one test, and how the quarantine doctor said so, after deserting us in Floor Five!

Unfortunately, no one could corroborate this declaration so we readied ourselves to go through it all again. I felt bad for Finn and Ian. I knew I would be fine, but it sucks watching your loved ones in situations that make them feel yuck. Though it puzzles me that Ian takes stitches in the face with the grace of a guru yet this PCR test gets him way more flustered.

We duly filled out the paperwork, then attempted to fill out the digital forms again. No luck (or was it good luck?!). It turns out that because we had been prepared and registered on the first day, with forms filled out and submitted, that they were unable to process us for another test after all.

Saved by a technological glitch, maybe? Apparently, we just had to go through all the motions again in order for it to become clear. I now have the doctor on Whatsapp and he promised to create the appropriate document as soon as our test results come back negative. His job is to then generate the official letter confirming our health status as clear and good to be released into the world once again.

Now, we just sit and wait for those test results to ping the inbox.

Uncertain.

Uncomfortable.

I guess it’s time to ohm some more!