This, Seriously, Scares The Shit Out Of Me

[Dutch Lock Down Day One Hundred Ninety]

One of the biggest reasons why I didn’t stop counting the Dutch Lock Down number was because it was practically guaranteed that we’d have a second wave of COVID this fall.

I didn’t think it’d be the soon.

But first the news:

I’m having trouble writing this one today.

Last week was more upsetting than I revealed. And the procrastination I’m doing this morning tells me that it’s something I really need to push through and just write.

It’s going to be a rambler.

The Leander family has been sick off and on since March, but our gauge for whether or not we panic’d and called the doctor or thought we had COVID has always been our temperature. We haven’t had an elevated temp even though we’ve had odd digestive symptoms and running noses and plenty of coughs and, well, all the other symptoms of a common cold.

Until this past Thursday morning when First Minion woke up vomiting.

P got up with him initially, but at three thirty, I took over cause, hey, I’m getting up at five anyway, yeah?

I took him downstairs, set up a bucket, and took his temperature.

38

My brain turned left.

I handled most of the process well enough – emailed work, called his school, notified the after school program he wouldn’t be there – but that’s where it ends.

In NORMAL times, I would’ve called the GP at eight. Got an appointment. Gone in.

Prevented the entire rest of the wasted day.

Because we’re not in NORMAL times, we’re in COVID times and we’ve been living under the impression that all symptoms are pretty much fine except in combination with a temp.

And now he has a temp AND vomiting AND phlegm.

In COVID times, if you have symptoms, you get tested.

So I called the main testing number. And because I had literally just read an article about how the covid testing line is super slammed, especially in the morning, I was not surprised that I couldn’t get through at all.

“Please call back in thirty minutes.”

For the next TWO HOURS I called every fifteen minutes while I worked and P took care of First Minion.

Then I get through and wait on hold for forty minutes and the line drops.

THEN I get through, wait for forty minutes and get a person! Who says they can’t help me. Because he’s under seven and doesn’t have a DigiD. I’m supposed to call the province’s GGD – he gives me the direct number but also tries to transfer me.

They tell him to call back in thirty minutes.

I call back immediately.

I can’t get through.

For TWO HOURS.

Finally, I get through to a person who doesn’t want to give him a test because “it’s very traumatic and not as reliable for people under seven”.

“Oke. I want him to get the test.”

“We might be able to give you the test instead – if you have it, he has it and vice versa.”

“Oke, I’ll take the test.”

“Do you have any symptoms?”

“Not at all.”

“Let me talk to my colleague.”

I wait thankfully a very short time before she’s back, “Oke, we’ll schedule a test for your son.”

It’s Thursday. The soonest test is SUNDAY.

FINE.

Literally, one of P’s colleagues had COVID. Her symptoms lasted twenty four hours. But she managed to get tested *that day* and the results were positive.

Also, if you’re scheduled for a test, you and ANYONE YOU LIVE WITH is now on quarantine – no going out, no walks, no grocery store, no daycare, no school – until the results arrive. Which is 24-48 hours later.

Test on Sunday?

Quarantine until Tuesday.

I booked the test and then went to inspect First Minion for ANY OTHER REASON for the fever and vomiting.

Cause phlegm is with us always.

#ThreeYoungKids #TwoYearOlds #FullTimeDayCare #School

On Wednesday at some point, he fell down and scrapped his knees. We don’t know what actually happened because First Minion doesn’t remember. It’s okay, he doesn’t remember what he had for lunch. Immediately after lunch. We wouldn’t have noticed either except he came home with a bandaid on his knee and the other knee, without a bandaid, looked kind of like it needed one.

I looked under the bandaid.

I’m pretty sure it was just slapped on in response. Without cleaning it. Or adding an antibiotic anything. And it was such a large bandaid that it sealed all the way around.

It’s not surprising that it was infected.

I grabbed our left over antibiotic cream, smeered the hell out of it, slapped on a new bandaid and got onto the phone to cancel the COVID test.

Okay, so I could cancel that via the main line, right?

RIGHT?!?

It took around an hour to get through on the main line – better than the morning and no dropped call, but … OW. And, nope, you need to call the GGD back. And while that only took a mere thirty minutes, and the message is relayed, their system crashed.

She wrote down everything and I prepped myself to be scolded for missing an appointment that wouldn’t be cancelled.

It was properly cancelled at some point.

I called the doctor’s main line at four. First Minion got an appointment for the next morning because now it’s the end of the day.

By bedtime, his temperature is back to normal. The next day he goes into the doctor, they give him antibacterial things and bandages.

I feel stupid. Paranoid. And forgiving.

Yes, I acted out of fear and panic and paranoia, but that’s also where we are. And the next time there’s a temperature, I’ll call my doctor first.

The state of COVID testing here in the Netherlands scares the shit out of me. The second wave scares me a lot, but I’m mostly terrified around how I’ll do if the schools and daycares shut down again. That was NOT my best.

But, mostly, I’m worried about my family back in the States.

Who know for a fact that they came into contact with a person who tested positive for COVID. Who are in the risk group.

And now all we can do is wait.

And hope.