Waiting hours

Two nights away from the family for the first time in eleven months does unfortunately not mean business travel has started again.  A night in the hospital is somewhere between a night in a hotel and a night on a plane.  The bed is comfortable enough but sleep is mediocre.  Three old men in various states of decrepitude coughed, moaned and snored all night.  There was no breakfast waiting for me when I woke up.  Instead, it was a nurse by my bed.

The intervention would be today, she said, but no one could yet say when.  I was asked to change into one of these hospital gowns that leave one’s  backside dangerously exposed and hold out for further developments.  No problem, I had nothing urgent to do anyway.  For me, days in the hospital are like days on the plane, restful and relaxing.

At home, things were going their expected ways.  When Flucha called last night, the children told me with glee in their eyes that they had been watching peliculas.  That they use the Spanish work even when they speak to me in German tells you where this habit comes from.  It’s ok for me that the rules are relaxed a bit when I’m not around, as long as the children don’t start seeing me as a kill-joy.  I want to limit their screen time, but I don’t want them to grow up as cavemen.

One of the first things I did in the hospital upon checking into my room was a covid test.  I had read too many stories to be relaxed about this.  I knew I’d get a plastic stick rammed up my nose until it almost reaches the brain.  The doctor uses this to remove mucus from the upper throat to test for virus RNA by amplification with polymerase chain reaction.

I was extremely apprehensive, expecting excruciating pain.  It didn’t help when the doctor said the procedure would be rather uncomfortable.  Had I listened to her carefully, I would have been more relaxed.  The procedure was indeed uncomfortable.  Sticks don’t belong up noses, I keep telling my children.  But it wasn’t painful at all.  A few hours later, I knew the result.  I am negative.  This does unfortunately not excuse me from having to wear a mask all day.

There is still no word on the intervention.  Nurses come and go, ignoring me.  Catering brings breakfast for everyone but me.  It is 8 o’clock by now.  Outside, everything is the pale grey of a foggy day.  The Alps are nowhere to be seen.  I remain in bed, waiting for what might happen.