Breakfast with Amber

April 2021: So I Might Have Gone Into Quarantine for Having Pinkeye

Spring has come around once again. The temperatures are rising, the flowers are blooming, and nature has decided that it's my time to suffer. It must be something about the trees in San Antonio because I never had seasonal allergies this bad while I was in Houston except for one year in high school where I began wondering why my eyes itched so much. I also neglected to mention last year when I was moving back home due to COVID that I was an allergy-ridden wreck the morning we drove out of there. I was blowing my nose every five minutes, and I spent the whole time wondering when I could take my next allergy pill. That is what spring at Trinity is like.

This is something I forgot when I moved back onto campus after ten months at home. We were required to wear masks everywhere, which kept the pollen from attacking my nose, but my eyes were stinging like crazy. I also have zero self-control when it comes to relieving itches, whether they be on my skin or in my eyes, so I was constantly rubbing my eyes hoping the itch would go away. Even though I knew it would just make it worse, I could not control myself. This would become a problem.

You see, I was lying on my couch-bed watching my nightly episode of Star Trek: Voyager when I felt this strange sensation in my left eye, like there was an eyelash stuck in it. I tried blinking a few times, but it still wouldn't go away. Then I decided to get up and go to the bathroom and see if I could remove the eyelash with my hand using the aid of the mirror. No matter how many times I got up and checked, I couldn't even see the eyelash. This thoroughly dampered my enjoyment of that night's Voyager episode because not only was I not watching it, there's also a loud fan that turns on whenever you turn on the bathroom light, so I couldn't hear it, either.

Once the episode was over, I decided that maybe the eyelash would probably make its way out of my eye while I slept. It was about 1:35 am when I woke up to go to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror. My left eye was red and swollen. This was not going to go away on its own. I needed to call Health Services.

I called at 8 am that morning when Health Services finally opened. I told them what had happened to my eye, and the long and short of their answer was, "That's a symptom of COVID. We need you to come over to Murchison Hall and get tested."

I wasn't feeling any other symptoms, but I went anyway since they really wanted me to. First, though, I had to take that darned survey. "Have you tested positive for COVID in the past 14 days?" "No." "Have you come in contact with anyone who has tested positive for COVID in the past 14 days?" "No." "Are you experiencing any of the following symptoms?"

And lo and behold, "red/itchy eyes" was at the bottom of the list. I didn't want to answer yes because I knew I'd be barred from going into Mabee, and I wanted to eat food. On the other hand, I'm not a liar, so I said yes anyway.

Instead of the green badge I was used to seeing every day, I was given a red badge telling me I wasn't allowed in any public buildings and I should go see the COVID team now. Alright, okay, sheesh. I'm going.

Murchison Hall was where the COVID response team had set up camp. The room I went into looked like a college dorm room with beds, desks, and a table lamp bathing everything in dim light. However, instead of college students there, there were doctors armed with nasal swabs. These weren't the short control test swabs, either. These were the big boys. It felt like they were two inches away from touching my brain, but I was able to sit there for the ten seconds it took them to explore the deepest recesses of my nose. They told me I had to quarantine until I got the results in about 24 hours and sent me on my way.

I guess I wasn't going to Mabee after all. Instead of scrambled eggs, I microwaved a pack of Hormel spaghetti and meat sauce for breakfast. I also happened to have a test in English that day, which I would have to take virtually. That meant I had one hand holding a fork lifting spaghetti into my mouth and the other on the touchpad of my laptop answering questions about The Scarlet Letter and Zora Neale Hurston.