Home Quarantine - Part 2

So the last I left off this long summary of events (Home Quarantine - Part 1), my ride to get swabbed was sorted. 

When my helper and I left the flat at about 120pm, there was a heavy drizzle going on. Also about that time, the kids from the school opposite were let loose for the day. Rain, kids, parents and maids picking up their uniformed angels - all these made for a messy situation.

The carpark was unexpectedly full of cars. There were people with umbrellas blocking all paths. The road leading into the block driveway was clogged up too. So I had trouble looking out for this taxi, which in my mind, looked like a regular Comfort blue or yellow cab. I had told the driver that if it rained to head to the sheltered drop off point, so that's where we waited. My phone rings and it's an automated call from Comfort informing me my taxi had arrived. Nope, I didn't see it. I walked out into the rain to check among the cars that were occupying the driveway - nope no blue or yellow cab. When I got back under the shelter, my phone rings again. It's a lady from Certis Cisco asking where I was. Just then, a large white minivan with the taxi licence plate I was provided pulled into the driveway. Suddenly, it was multitasking mayhem. I was on the phone talking to some stranger, signalling with other hand for the driver to stop, then waving to my helper to get on the minibus, while wet people were trying to make their way past us. I was wondering if some policeman was suddenly going to show up because we had left the house while on quarantine! Neurons were firing on full throttle.

The minibus was an oasis of calm. The Malay driver engulfed in full PPE greeted us as if we were business class tourists headed from Changi Airport to the Grand Hyatt. What a chap - friendly, not too outgoing, just the right amount of listening ear and responsive banter. Highlight of the quarantine so far. And we had even yet made it on to the expressway. 

My helper's mobile suddenly lets off a repetitive wail. She answers but can't quite understand what the person on the other end wants. "You speak to my boss", she says and hands me her weathered Samsung phone. Ah, Certis Cisco again. "Yes, she's with me and we're going to get our swab done." 

I wasn't quite sure what those calls were about. Were our phones' locations being monitored? Did some alarm go off somewhere? Did my neighbours rat on us? (I hadn't told them by the way. How could I since I couldn't leave my flat?)

I spent the ride to SATA in Chai Chee asking the driver what he had been up to and also complaining about my quarantine experience thus far. He mentioned something about getting lots of instructions from many people, and that sometimes miscommunication made his work complicated. Another glimpse into the mayhem behind the machine assembled to keep us virus-free. 

I also couldn't fathom why we had to travel all the way to Chai Chee for this swab from my home in the Little India area. That's a long way to go to get our nostrils poked and prodded. It was still nice to see the outside world beyond the views from my flat. 

An odd thought did creep in while on my round trip journey - what would the paramedics do if a vehicle ferrying potential Covid-19 carriers got into a nasty accident? I guess the risk assessment side of me was in the mood to ponder. 

"Ahhhh, help me!" 
"I can't, I'm not in PPE"
 Roll eyes, screaming, then death. 

It was practically deserted at SATA Chai Chee. There were 20-odd chairs laid out in front of two counters in a tented encampment around the back of the building. There were about 5 or 6 very young looking people running the show. We sorted out our identities and shuffled to the adjacent counter to get swabbed. It was an interesting sensation, but also exactly how you think it would feel if a q-tip went deep up your nose. They did both nostrils, twirling the cottony end as it plunged slightly farther than you think is comfortable. My eyes watered a little, as on cue to erode my brave face. My helper went "Oh my God", sniffling and sneezing. In less than a few minutes, we were done and back in the minivan headed home. Voila. 

Back home I relished the peace and quiet. It had been quite a first half of the day thus far. But alas, fate had laid me a test of patience which I would fail miserably. 

At about 4pm, I got a phone call. It was a nurse from my mum's ward asking me if it was ok to perform a certain procedure on my mother. 

"What? This is the first time in 3 days since my mum was admitted that you contact me to ask if you can do this to my mother?! Why hasn't anyone called to update me on her status after she left A&E?"

Yes, I was partly fuming, so the tirade continued.

"I have been calling and calling your ward for the past 3 days and no one has picked up the phone. What is the point of having a phone if no one is going to pick it up? Even the nurses at Tan Tock Seng picked up after a while."

The nurse at the other end, a man, wasn't quite expecting my reaction. I think I heard him gulp a little. Here's the best part. He asked "What is the number you dialled?" I told him the number I got for the ward from main SGH phone line. He replied that the number was wrong! Holy guacamole, Lady Gaga, and Sheena Easton! The TELEPHONE number was wrong!  (I have linked the respective music videos so you get the joke). 

I was incredulous. Within my quarantine nightmare, I was living another subset hell of misaligned expectations. Someone listed the wrong number for the ward with the main SGH phone line operator. I was half laughing and half angry at this poor man who on the receiving end of my frayed nerves now manifested as verbal displeasure from an imprisoned son asking about his seemingly kidnapped mother. 

I calmed down and explained to the nurse why the procedure he wanted to do wouldn't work on my mum. He also gave me the phone number for the room she was in - isolation cabins for suspected Covid-19 patients have their own communication line to the outside world plus a television to relieve boredom, all in what I suspect is a negative pressure environment to ensure nothing untoward escaped. A class for the price of C, sort of. 

The nurse apologised again and our call ended. Still incensed, I called the Feedback Unit number I called earlier that morning. I essentially repeated my rants, reiterating that my elderly mum had been alone in a strange place among people she didn't recognise for the past few days, that this wouldn't be good for her mental health.  I told her that the nurse didn't call me because she had done her job but because he wanted to seek my permission to do a procedure to make their lives simpler, and if that was their hospital's interpretation of patient care. That was harsh I realise in hindsight. She too apologised and promised to find out what went wrong. I too apologised for my tone but hope she comprehended by frustration. 

Patients in isolation usually may not do well because the psychological impact of being cordoned off can hinder recovery. This is especially real among the elderly. Loneliness kills. 

Later that evening, a nurse from the ward called to say sorry and she put me in touch with my mum. All good, SGH, all good. 

The next day - Day 4 - my helper informed me that no one was picking up the bags of rubbish we were leaving outside my HDB flat gate. I called the Town Council again. I recognised the same voice that attended to my predicament the previous time I called and she recognised me too. She said she'd follow up. Indeed she did, and the Bangladeshi man who does a great job taking care of this neighbourhood rings my doorbell half an hour later. He had his mobile up to his ear in one hand, and asks me why I was leaving the bags in the corner, pointing to the FairPrice plastic bag with the other hand. He looked a tad frightened. Ah, the Town Council hadn't quite helped connect the dots here. Masked up, I told the him we were on quarantine and couldn't leave the house to dump our disposables like regular civic-minded members of the community. He frowned and said "Ok". I thanked him and shut my door. 

Something new every day it seemed. 

Two days after the first Covid-19 swab, I received an SMS from MOH stating my test result. Alright one down, one more to go. 

On the plus side, though some will dispute this is indeed a positive, I discovered two shows on cable TV that I have to revel in - The Rookie on AXN, and Married At First Sight Season 6 Australia. I can sense abuse headed my way, especially because of the slightly trashy-esque reality show. Entertaining television numbs the senses and enraptures us in someone else's fantasy. That's what we need sometimes, to turn off. 

The next week or so fell into a general routine - breakfast, TV, laptop, lunch, laptop, TV, reading, dinner, TV, reading, sleep. I would call my mum daily, work out every other day, attempt at clearing stuff ala Marie Kondo. "Laptop" primarily means checking emails, looking for a job, reading newsletters I subscribe to, ripping CDs (part of Kondoism; I intend to sell away my sizeable CD collection; Stop laughing at me Spotify), writing on my blog, checking out the stock market, playing Skribbl. 

Yes, it was somewhat boring. I would find my helper staring out the window when she wasn't in the kitchen or on her phone. So much world out there. I would find myself checking my  phone for messages for signs of life for me to engage with. I was falling into the FOMO online validation trap and would consciously leave my phone aside and plunge into 

I had to order RedMart twice and both times I made the mistake of under-ordering the necessities. Ironic since I had to order non-essentials like disinfectant and beer (ok, maybe that's an essential) to make up the dollar value for free delivery. Onions, always order more onions. And atta. My helper makes fresh chappatis twice a day now. 

Three times a day, I would point my thermometer gun at my forehead and take my temperature. In a similar fashion, someone will call me on Whatsapp and ask me how hot I was. I never got warmer than 36.8 deg. There were a couple of days when no one called. They didn't miss calling my helper though. The calls became more pleasant. In fact I specifically recall a nice bubbly lady who definitely had a knack of communicating hope through her voice. She called me a few times and each time after I was thinking, that's a nice experience. I think she got that she was talking to de facto prisoners and her job was to lighten their load. 

Though one time, a temperature taker called me at 730am. In the haze of being woken up, I failed to express my shock and surprise at this early bird disturbing my dreaming. A few times towards the end of my quarantine, I was asked to turn on video so I could see said individual and he (same person twice) could see my living room. I hope he didn't notice the laundry. My unkept temperate table below:

As the days went by, it dawned on me that my final day of quarantine was a Sunday, May 16. Despite knowing that this whole anti-virus operation was a round-the-clock affair, I strangely felt that my final swab test would perilously be done too late to minimise my time indoors. Also May 13 was a public holiday. 

By Hari Raya, I had not yet received a notification from MOH about the second swab. I was worried, and I expressed my concerns to the chap who called me in the evening of the holiday to ask my weather report. He said he would look into it. I also called MOH on their IVR number 18003339999. Long and ominous, like this pandemic. The IVR had an option for "quarantine" so I hit that option and waited. And waited. The IVR prompted me to leave my number for a call back and so I did. I shall wait. 

The next day, Friday, two days before my tentative release, I called Certis Cisco to express my second swab concerns. They advised that the matter was up to MOH and not them. I use "they" because the lady I spoke to couldn't quite understand what I was asking and she got her supervisor to intervene. 

I call the MOH Covid hotline number once more. Again, everyone's busy and I'm on hold for about 5 minutes before I hear a ringing tone of hope. Someone seems to pick up but again I hear the IVR asking me to leave my number for a call back. I was in a state of WTF before calming down to appreciate my ability to foresee this calamity. One day at a time. 

A little while later, I get a phone call. It was someone from the Ministry telling me that a nurse would come to my flat in person to do a swab that day. I went wow, that's effective and impressive. He said he was calling me so that I wouldn't be surprised when someone in full PPE shows up at my door. Alrighty then, we wait. 

Late afternoon, the doorbell shocks us into action. A 30-something Chinese man in dark blue overalls was standing outside with a face shield on. Nope, no full PPE. Mask up, I let him in. He doesn't ask to wash his hands. He looked a little frazzled and a tad sweaty. He announced he was here to take our samples, started putting on his disposable purple gloves, and asked for our identification cards. 

"So how many of these do you do a day?"

"Many. Yesterday I finished at 4am." he replied, slightly out of breath. 

"4am?! You mean you go to people's house in the middle of the night to do this?"

"Yes. What to do, so many cases now."

"So after this, you're going somewhere else?" I asked, concerned that he may be worn out. 

"No, you're my last. Lucky."

Holy crap. I didn't realise how bad it must be for people like him till then. Working odd hours, going to places where they could contract the disease.  Yikes. 

He proceeded to poke our nostrils, starting with the right. He curiously said he would go deeper with the left nostril insertion. He did and it oddly set off a slight headache together with a repeat of the ever so slight tearing I had the last time my nose was accosted. 

"So you're a nurse?"

"No, I work for MOM." 

I thought I misheard and offered "MOH?"

"No, MOM. Manpower. I am not medically trained."

Another mask hidden jaw drop. Government officers were being recruited to take swabs from potential carriers. This made me wonder how ill-prepared we are for a large community outbreak, and to think we had about a year to get this right. 

Given that it was the early evening when the swab was taken, I had no expectation of let loose the next day. I told Mr MOM and he said the results usually came back in 24 hours, sometimes quicker. I sighed out loud, muffled somewhat by my cloth mask. Within 10 minutes, the giving exercise was over and I wished him well. Godspeed swabs, godspeed. 

So Saturday came and went with no news. And I woke to Sunday hopeful but also no good tidings came. Somewhat expected yet a tad disappointing. I think no one called to get our temperatures either. I started working on my first blog post, and it took hours. When I posted it and shared it on Facebook, it was after dinner. Still no SMS, and hours past the 12noon timeframe. A friend of mine called me at about 11pm, much to my surprise. She said she read the post on Facebook and called me to find out how I was doing. In that conversation, she told me to check my Covid-19 test results on Health Hub, the site or the app. Someone told her that the results were put up there first. I got online as we were talking, and lo and behold, there they were, negative. 2nd swab negative. Two minuses make a plus and I was free! 

Here's the more curious bit - the timestamp on the results posting was Saturday May 15 12:00am. That's Friday night into Saturday. I could've gone out on Sunday afternoon! And bought onions! A big failure one piece of technology talking to another. Couldn't a results posting on HealthHub trigger an SMS or at least an email? How could they withhold hope, dreams, freedom and retail therapy? Hey, someone give me that job - I would gladly be the bearer of happy news - you're free mate, quarantine's over, go mask up, live long and prosper. But yeah, technology should be connecting these dots. 

So that's more or less my tale of confinement. Perhaps these couple of posts have been an opportunity to complain about things. They expose some holes in the way the shimmering veneer that is Singapore's Covid-19 mitigation plan but I guess everyone's trying. I am hesitant to suggest that we're unprepared for a major community outbreak but at the same time, things could be better. I don't have all the information, just my experience to share. I have confidence in the powers that be know what to do. 

Perhaps an update - I got a reply from the current health minister about that email to TTSH. He said he'd follow up with the hospital.