I’ve been tested for COVID-19

Since the Ontario government has decreed that anyone wishing to visit a relative in long-term care must pass a COVID-19 test, I devoted this morning to procuring proof that I was free of the dreaded virus.

I consulted the website for Testing Centres and chose Branson Hospital at Bathurst and Finch for three reasons: 1. Since it is no longer a functioning hospital I reasoned it would be less busy and would not be full of sick people.  2. It had free parking. 3. It is located opposite Northview Collegiate where I spent my first 4 years of teaching so I knew the route by heart and thought I may as well mix a dash of nostalgia with my 21^st century angst.

I arrived at Branson about 8:20 and could see 6 people in the outside line in front of me; I assumed there were at least that many inside as well.  A nurse came along and handed me a mask; obviously my cloth version, although much prettier than the blue paper one, was not acceptable.  After about 15 minutes, I entered the hospital; it was as dilapidated as the outside had suggested. The walls were covered in old and new signage instructing us to wash our hands, stay socially distanced and either proceed directly to the testing area or sit on the abandoned chairs and wait for the triage nurse (who hadn’t been seen for the past several years).  By hopping from red circle to red circle I arrived at the registration desk and was entered into the data bank. I then jumped back into the line and proceeded to the St. Peter portal where I was instructed to remove my gloves and sanitize my hands before entering.

All of the staff wore complete PPE: long blue gowns, white hairnets, plexiglass face visors, masks, gloves, etc. so that all you could see of their person was a pair of eyes, usually behind glasses. But they all exuded a certain extraterrestrial benevolence.  When motioned to do so, I sat down and my blood pressure and temperature were taken; they must have been satisfactory for I was then replaced on the cog line and as I waited for my next circle to be vacated I had time to assess my surroundings. A series of white paper and duck-taped tents had been jerry rigged in what obviously used to be a hospital ward now stripped of inner walls and halls.  The floors, crisscrossed with yellow, black and red arrows and polka dotted with the aforementioned red circles, were a mishmash of dirty linoleums of inharmonious patterns.  Muffled voices bounced softly off the oddly angled temporary partitions.

What appeared to be a male robot pointed to the large, inverted V-slit that was the entrance to tent #4.  Inside, it was about 10 feet square with a large, grimy window and remnants of oxygen, vital signs monitors and electrical outlets along the remaining cracked and dirty plaster wall.  A single plastic chair stood a little off-centre in the middle.  At each step along the way I had been warmly addressed as Marjorie but the smallish, blue female robot who popped in called me Lynda. I was shocked by that and wondered if we had met at some unmasked time in our lives but didn’t have long to ponder that question as she shoved a piece of paper into my hands containing instructions on how to get my results on line within 24 to 48 hours. Then she efficiently instructed me to lower my mask, stuck a long swab up my nose and disappeared.  It was all over in about 30 seconds and I was free to leave my white paper abode and follow the arrows to the front door and daylight.