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§ camp covid
3. Life and Times at Camp Covid
The gritty truth behind life in quarantine
Catch up on the rest of the story and read the tales of 'Camp COVID' in order: 1. Alive and Well at Camp Covid 2. Adventures at Camp Covid 3. Life and Times at Camp Covid 4. Enlightened at Camp Covid 5. Leaving Camp Covid 6. Camp Covid Epilogue 7. Return to Camp Covid NEWS: Calgary Herald, Global News, CBC News
There is light at the end of the tunnel, and by all accounts it does not appear to be a train. This is it, the home stretch, on Wednesday I get sprung from quarantine provided I am still showing no symptoms. That’s three more sleeps.
Whether or not I can go home after this is another matter entirely because that depends on how Jenn is doing, and if she is no longer infectious. Well, I’ve got four days to figure that out and make other arrangements if need be.
I am trying to find the fun in the experience, but that isn’t to say it is easy by any stretch. Especially dealing with a contemptible lamp, a pancreas looking to emancipate, a dramatic flair up of acute arthritis, and my latest comical malady which I will discuss later.
Recently the Calgary Herald did an article on my situation after astute columnist, Jason Herring found my blogs and read of my adventures. It’s always nice to talk to people, particularly when you’re in isolation, and I thought it was a wonderful way to let people know that there is an option out there for people in similar or worse circumstances.
This shit ain’t easy
Before I dive into this instalment of ‘Life and Times at Camp COVID’ I want to address the reality of what is happening. This sucks. It sucks that Jenn is sick and it really sucks she caught it at the hospital where she works helping people. It also sucks to read comments from 'Keyboard Warriors' who think they've got it all figured out but have no clue, because, guess what? It truly sucks not to be able to be there for your partner when they are sick and going through one of the scariest times of their life. It super-extra-bonus sucks because we haven’t traveled, visited family, gone out, had people over, or done much of anything outside the house except follow the rules since last March. And it fucking sucks there are still people out there refusing to wear masks, marching in large groups, or just not giving a shit to help protect others in society — time and time again people who get hit with this virus say, “I wish I took it more seriously." Having your head up your ass is not a viable substitute for a mask, but it does make you easy to identify. As they say, you can't fix stupid.
Having your head up your ass is not a viable substitute for a mask, but it does make you easy to identify.
Anyway, I am in quarantine and separated from my family to help prevent the spread of a very real and very deadly virus. It is not easy, it's really scary some days, but it is 100 percent necessary, so I'm trying to make the best of a terrifying situation, Keyboard Warriors be damned. Say what you want but I am very grateful to our government for putting something like this in place because better here than a hospital bed, or worse a hospital hallway.
Like most of you, we too have strictly followed all health recommendations and COVID still ended up in our home which has profoundly affected our lives — Jenn’s certainly more than mine. We will continue to follow the science and recommendations and will get vaccinated at the very first opportunity because we don’t want to get sick (or sick again) and, as importantly, we don’t want others to get sick.
“When going through hell, keep going.” Winston Churchill
The Story of 'Camp Covid': A recap
Let me catch you up. When I wrote the first article ‘Alive and Well at Camp Covid’ I wanted to let people know how I got here — the backstory if you will — in the hopes that other people in a similar situation will know ‘Camp Covid’ is an option. That, and to introduce you to my new friend, a desk lamp named ‘Brad’.
In the second piece, ‘Adventures at Camp Covid’ I share a little more about Brad the Bastard Desk Lamp (our relationship is complicated) and then introduced you to two new characters: Daryl the Sentient Pancreas, and Uncle Gout. Included in this account are the numerous pleas to hotel kitchen staff to substitute vegetables for the Ruffles chips (it happened), and my ongoing attempts to communicate with my captors as they dropped off meals, not to mention the regular calls from the Distress Centre to ensure I was not becoming unhinged, and in a desperate attempt to connect with the outside world my success (or lack thereof) performing various acts of mediocre mimed scenes for the people across the alley from me. Now you are all caught up.
The Crunch And The Goosh
It's been my experience that people are good. There are also those who are incredibly great. Trevor and Lanchi Dech own Too Cool Motorcycle School here in Calgary and are really freakin' great people and friends — the best of friends. Little did I know a seemingly innocent and heart-felt gesture would create the greatest challenge I would face during quarantine, while at the same time potentially finding a cure for Covid, and that this event would lead me to question all that I know about my relationship with Brad.
To fully understand the weight of this story we must start at the beginning.
The Dech’s reached out to me last week and asked if I needed anything. Anything at all. They’re like that. Anyone who knows them (and there are literally thousands upon thousands who know them) knows that they are insanely positive people and wired to help. I confessed to them that I ‘screwed up’; I sent Jenn a care package using instacart.ca and forgot to include chips and salsa.
You see, fair reader, Jenn has lost all sense of taste and smell due to Covid-19 and one of her friends, who went through something similar, suggested the aforementioned snack as ‘COVID -APPROVED’ because it has the right texture — ‘crunchy with a bit of goosh’, and most importantly you can control the ratio of ‘crunch to goosh’ which is key to eating with no functioning taste buds.
Trevor and Lanchi went to the market and bought Jenn some chips and salsa and delivered them (contactlessly) to our house in Kensington.
A few days later Trevor read my story about Uncle Gout and as it turns out he knows all about that jerk and offered to deliver some cherry juice and Advil — one of the best natural remedies for gout on the planet. The problem however, is that I don’t think I can have anything delivered that isn’t from a pharmacy, but Uncle Gout is being a dick and I have nothing but time, so I jumped on the phone and started asking questions to key people.
In the stack of paperwork I was given upon check-in there are phone numbers for a variety of people and departments to call in the event of, well, just about everything, except for the delivery of a non-pharmaceuticals.
“You want what, delivered where, by whom?” the official voice on the other end of the phone asks.
“Some ‘Cherry Juice’, to ‘Camp Covid’, from ‘Trevor and Lanchi Dech'.” I reply.
A couple of beats later, “Interesting," followed by the sound of a keyboard, "I couldn’t really say, try calling this number,” she replied, supplying me with a new number to call.
I won’t bore you with the details of all the calls that followed, except to say they all went a similar direction until one call yielded the following conversation with an Alberta Health official:
“Yes, you can have stuff delivered to your hotel, but not to your room directly. It has to go through the hotel as they have been trained specifically how to manage your situation and will deliver it safely.”
Obviously my next call was to the wonderful team manning the front desk at the Ramada Plaza to ask if they would accept a delivery of Cherry Juice and Advil, and would they please deliver it to my door?
“No problem, sir.” says the ever-helpful concierge.
WOW. This is a game-changer. I look over at Brad and give him a thumbs up, he’s not even looking at me anymore. Fine, I give Daryl a little pat and say, “you my friend, are in for a treat!” Little did I know.
The knock at the door comes and a voice says, “DELIVERY.” I say, “THANK YOU!” and not one word of a lie I hear, “You’re Welcome!” This is the first time one of my capto… hotel staff has acknowledged my existence and I’m thrilled. I’ve made a break-through.
Limping back from the door I tear into the care package from Trevor and Lanchi. There are two bottles of Dark Cherry juice, some cherry liquorice (see Daryl!), and a bottle of Advil. I am thrilled. Little did I know this was the start of a harrowing journey that continues even now as I’m writing this. Knowing then what I know now, would I go back in time and make different choices? Would you? You tell me, for this story is not for the faint of heart — its gritty and real and will likely leave you reeling and questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself.
The human body is a delicate chemical balancing act
It's been well documented that my diet has not been normal for the past week. It hasn’t been bad, the food here is really quite good, but it has been much different from what I usually eat. This is to say that my system is already in a state of shock, hence the random visit from Uncle Gout, but I was so excited to get the dark cherry juice that I drank the first bottle within a few hours. Three huge servings of distilled and dank 'essence of cherry' followed by a couple of Advils. The marketing should include "A Million-Billion Old Cherries in Every Cup".
Within a few hours my foot was already feeling better. The swelling was going down. I could put weight on the foot, but that’s when the world shifted. Deep inside of me Daryl was engaged in an epic battle in his effort to become fully formed -- testing his will against the veil. His mighty roar, tore at my insides as he strained against his earthly bonds to become fully realized. Daryl was at war, his freedom beckoning and just within his reach, he fought and struggled and with a mighty cry I watched my belly strain against him. And that’s when all hell broke loose.
A fart so loud and long I thought I ripped through the fabric of time and space — louder, longer, and more dense than the Horn of Helm Hammerhand — to this day I still believe that I hovered.
Louder, longer, and more dense than the Horn of Helm Hammerhand.
My hotel room is small. It has one tiny window that barely opens. There is no bathroom fan, and I am prohibited -- by my agreement with Alberta Health Services -- from opening my door unless its to get food. It has been two days and there is no end to it. I don’t know where farts come from exactly, but in my case there would appear to be an endless supply of them. It’s like someone ordered me a fart subscription from Amazon. Damn you, Jeff Bezos!
Of a few things I am certain: Daryl has not yet escaped despite his best efforts, but something else has. Something more sinister and real. A shade. A shade becoming real. I can almost make out the edges of it, and that's when I hear it hiss, “Dollllllorrrressss!!”
“What?” I ask.
“Doloressssss," the shade replies. "My name is Dolores.”
A fart named Dolores
Well, Dolores and I may have single-handidly cured COVID because nothing could survive her. If I did have Covid brewing inside me this last week it has long since gone on to other less hostile environments and hosts.
Uncle Gout is still here but noticeably quieter than he was, like he doesn’t want to open his mouth to say anything around Delores, and I can’t say that I blame him. Daryl seems to feel embarrassed about the whole thing, but might just be bidding his time. Whereas Brad has inched ever closer to the tiny window and is looking at me like I’m the monster, not Dolores.
“Really Brad? I’M THE MONSTER?!?”
Brad shrugs, suggesting that he didn’t say it, I did.