Russian roulette is a potentially lethal game of chance in which a player places a single round in a revolver, spins the cylinder, places the muzzle against the head or body, and pulls the trigger. If the loaded chamber aligns with the barrel, the weapon will fire, killing or severely injuring the player.
- February 3, 2020: My new job starts at Blue Shield of California
- March 9, 2020: the Company notifies all employees that unless their job requires them to be in an office, it’s mandatory to work-from-home.
- March 11, 2020: The World Health Organization declares COVID-19 a pandemic.
- July / September / November 2020: my Company declares dates for returning to the office, but COVID-19 does not relent, and each day comes and goes without an end in sight.
- March 26, 2021: I receive my first dose of Pfizer vaccine
- April 21, 2021: Second dose of Pfizer vaccine
- December 8, 2021: Third dose / booster for the Pfizer vaccine
Over the course of the pandemic, I would have considered myself to be a moderate risk taker. While I didn’t lock myself in the figurative basement for 18 months, I also wasn’t out flaunting the protective measures for preventing me getting, or spreading, an airborne transmissible disease. I was careful who I was around when unmasked and followed the CDC guidelines, even when it seemed silly in retrospect. In the early days, I was religious about cleaning everything whenever I returned from going out – keys, phone, AirPods, door handles, light switches, the works. While I didn’t leave my groceries in the car overnight, I did sometimes leave alcohol in the trunk for a bit. I probably cleaned my house – that only I ever entered – more than ever in my life. That said, when my household goods were delivered in late March, 2020, I did pray as I unpacked while one of the movers coughed and hacked under his facemask – then washed my bedding on the ‘sanitize’ setting. My point being that I took my responsibility of walking the talk and effectively being the Health and Safety Director for my company very seriously.
In the summer of 2020, California fire season hit in full force and I was no longer able to go outside for exercise. With air quality over 200 (100 being ‘bad’), I found myself in my apartment 24×7, only venturing out to drive and get provisions. Solitary confinement got the best of me, and I traveled to Minnesota for a month from mid-August to mid-September. Flying pre-vaccine and when COVID restrictions were still in place. I threw caution to the wind and decamped to my home state where I could breathe clean air and work remotely from the US Central Time Zone. While I was masking, it was clear those in rural Minnesota weren’t having any of it. I thought bad thoughts about coughing and saying, “I just came from California, sure hope I didn’t give you COVID.” Instead, I just affixed my mask and carried on with my business. And, Minnesotans being Minnesotans, no one said anything to my face.
As the vaccine rolled out and the world slowly began to return to the new normal, my venturing into people-y areas started back up. Not without trepidation, I began to travel a bit more. In November 2021, international flights were finally back in force and travel restrictions eased. This started the riskier behaviors. I started my new job in Philadelphia and after two weeks, took off for my first vacation outside the country since January of 2020. Flying to Malta and spending time with my BFF doing things like spa days, tours and other activities contained elements of risk. Following our vacation, I set off on a tour of my company’s sites in England. Only one of the offices required masking, the others claiming that people just stayed 6-feet apart (uh, huh). That said, I successfully tested negative 3 times within 2 weeks (leaving the US, arriving in the UK and returning to the US).
Following the Malta trip, my adult children and I booked a lovely Christmas holiday in San Francisco with my grandson. We spent the first few days at my place, but then headed into the city for the full experience. Following their departure home, I got the California alert that I was around someone with COVID. Not very helpful given that we did a lot while there, and I had no way of knowing what level of risk this involved. That said, none of us seemed to get sick and we carried on with our lives. Of course, all of us had just gotten the booster, so maybe that helped over the ‘festive period.’
I returned to the UK for another business trip in March, and included several shows in London. While masking was a bit hit or miss, I kept mine on in crowded places and successfully tested negative in order to return to the US as planned. After that trip, I headed to Washington DC, taking a train down so I didn’t need to deal with traffic. I had been planning to spend Easter at the National Cathedral since it reopened to public worship. I had a lovely weekend attending services, fully masked, and spending a lot of time outdoors. It was interesting to me that sharing the common cup during the Communion was deemed ‘safe.’ Over the past several months of in-person worship, I had seen varying responses – some having people intinct (dipping the bread in a cup) and others saying that wasn’t safe because your fingers could touch the wine and spread COVID. Then, there were churches where they were actually drinking from the same cup – eeeww! We were assured that it was deemed ok since they wiped the rim after each person, but I decided to forgo any of the wine since neither option seemed sensible, or sanitary, to me. I returned home from Easter and felt fine – no sign of the dreaded plague.
And, as is inevitable, my luck finally ran out and the bullet entered the chamber. The last weekend of April, I made my way up to New Hampshire for a visit to Keene (where I lived for 8 years, and my kids grew up) to attend a memorial service for an early coach/mentor of mine. The gathering was in a pub he used to frequent, and was packed with people (he touched a lot of lives). It made me very nervous, so I masked up, but it seemed very people-y and much too close for comfort.
Due to a business meeting planned after I had arranged to go to New Hampshire, I ended up flying out of Boston to go to London. There ensued two weeks of very long meetings. I had a lovely weekend with a work colleague and her husband in Nottingham, but overall, the trip was exhausting. I’m sure the fact that I didn’t want to be there and that I had spent a weekend celebrating the life of an incredible man who suffered a slow death over seven years (due to ALS) didn’t help my mental state. Towards the end, I decided to spend the last two full days in London. I worked from the hotel, but went out to see Oklahoma (the new version) as well as had dinner with my cousin who was there for work too. We met up in a very crowded restaurant and spent a couple hours eating, drinking, and generally catching up. I was continuing to mask on public transport and whenever around lots of people, but during meals, there’s not an option to eat and drink with a mask on.
The next morning, I traveled out to Heathrow to get my pre-flight COVID test. My practice has been to book the last night at a hotel near the airport and to get the test done within the 24-hour window so that I’m certain I’ll be able to depart on time. My throat felt scratchy, and I had a bit of a headache – classic seasonal allergy symptoms. I did my test and headed to the airport hotel. Since I hadn’t been up early enough to run outdoors, I quickly did a gym workout and carried on with my various work calls. However, I could feel myself getting achy, and I was growing very tired as the day wore on. By the time my test results finally came through, I wasn’t actually surprised. Yes, indeed, I was ‘positive for the virus’ according to the PCR test I had done.
My mind reeled with all this meant. Ten more days in the UK – either until I tested negative or until I could get clearance that I was recovered enough to travel (ten days after diagnosis/positive test according to the CDC definition). While I wasn’t required to stay-put by the UK health agency, I didn’t feel up to moving to another hotel and didn’t think it right to expose a taxi driver or train passengers to my germs. I messaged down to the hotel reception and was told that for the ‘COVID rate,’ I had to stay in my room for 5 days and order room service. I confirmed that I’d do it and prepared a laundry bag (no clean clothes after over two weeks on the road) as well as an order for Boots Pharmacy to get necessities like a thermometer, vitamins and tea. I let my work colleagues know that I wasn’t returning home as planned and prayed for a mild case.
The next two days, I had a fever and slept most of the time. I didn’t have a great deal of congestion, but felt a bit of a cough as well as a continuing headache, achy joints and general fatigue. Monday, I logged into work, but was taking power naps between calls and not feeling like I could really focus. My cousin recommended I get on the antiviral drugs so I connected to a British doctor to try to get them (no thanks to my Aetna International health plan that required me to search for doctors nearest to where I was and call them until I found one that would do a Teledoc appointment. Yes, when you’re in a foreign country and sick with COVID, while also trying to work, you need to find a doctor for yourself – but, they will cover the costs). Fortunately, my boss stepped in and connected me with my company’s UK-based international health plan and within 30 minutes, I was on the phone with a doctor. Unfortunately, the criteria for getting anti virals in the UK is much stricter and he refused to prescribe them. So, while I was happy that I got an immediate response, I wasn’t any further along than I was at the start.
The high point of the first 3 days was the fact I got to see the Eurovision finals, which aren’t broadcast in the US (well done, Ukraine, and nice job UK). I also was able to see the special horse show for the Queen’s jubilee, another television event that would never be broadcast in the US. So, there were some bright moments between naps. I also worked my way through the room service menu which wasn’t terribly extensive, so the fact I also lost my appetite helped ensure I wasn’t going through it too quickly.
By the 4th day, I turned the corner and the fever was finally gone. While I was still tired, I felt more recovered and looked forward to being released from quarantine. Day 5 was difficult as I counted the hours towards moving hotels. My first hotel didn’t have a room for me for ten full days, so I had to move. The move was a good sign of isolation being over, and I was also going to a part of the area around the airport where there are more hotels, so more food options within walking distance. I debated going back into the City, but didn’t feel up to the effort to take the train and transfer for ‘just’ 5 more days. So, I booked a taxi and moved to a new airport hotel. After that, things got easier. My boss and I met up at Richmond Park, one of the Royal parks where I had actually run a ten-mile race right before moving back to the US. We did a 10k walk and solved world hunger – well, not exactly, but it was a good opportunity to talk strategy and share our observations since we both joined the company around the same time. Afterwards, I stayed in the area and enjoyed a day out, though it was pretty tiring after so many days of minimal activity.
As my ‘day 10’ approached, I started to think about returning to the US. The CDC guidance was that you had to test negative or have a very detailed recovery certificate signed by a doctor. I checked with our company doctors, but the head doctor decided he wasn’t comfortable having one of our own team of doctors do it (thanks, buddy, appreciate it). The doctor I consulted earlier for the anti virals refused to respond. The certificate is designed to say that someone who was diagnosed with COVID is sufficiently recovered to travel, since the CDC says you’re not contagious after 5 days. In the end, I took a leap of faith and paid $75 to buy a certificate from an online service. I knew it was risky and could be a scam, but I also knew the chances of me testing negative were slim. I didn’t want to stay longer since my trip to Shenandoah National Park over Memorial Day weekend was quickly approaching. So, with the certificate in hand, I scheduled a lateral flow test and thereby ensured I had both a plan A and B.
Sure enough, my COVID test was positive again. Not surprising since I’d read you can test positive for several weeks after recovering. I then attempted to check in for my flight. American Airlines didn’t have an option to say ‘I have a recovery certificate,’ they only had a check-box for I had a negative COVID test. I then tried VeriFly and got a notice back that they couldn’t process recovery certificates. Ok, fine, I’ll just contact American. I decided to use their chat feature and got a representative who informed me that the ‘only’ choice was a negative test. I tried to argue with him, and he said he’d check his supervisor – yep, negative test or no flight. I quoted the CDC guidance and asked if they were seriously applying a stricter standard than the CDC, and he still said, no. Frustrated, I contacted the US travel agent for my company, who once again was decidedly unhelpful. My boss (God love her), connected me to the UK travel agent who assured me that as long as my recovery certificate covered all the required elements, the American Airlines website for travel agents said it was either the test or the certificate. I also tried the customer service line and waited 2 hours for a return call. This was from an American (by accent, I could tell she wasn’t in a call center in India), and she said I should be all set, but that I couldn’t check in online (which I already knew). Since I had booked my taxi for the next day, before I did my COVID test, I decided that I’d pack up and head to the airport for my flight. I figured that if they didn’t accept the certificate, I’d book a flight to Spain and shift my vacation plan. No matter what, I was intent on getting out of the UK after 4 weeks there in not great circumstances.
The next day, I headed to the airport. The first agent I encountered asked for my negative test certificate. When I said I had a recovery certificate, he seemed skeptical. Thankfully, his counterpart checking other travelers said it was ok for me to go through. At the check-in, the agent read the document in great detail, but then nodded, handed it back to me and checked my suitcase through. Whew! I was on my way, finally!
The flight itself was relatively uneventful. While I wasn’t going home directly, I was at least going to the US. As we landed in Boston, and taxied to the gate, an announcement was made – the CDC was waiting for us and was checking vaccine cards and negative test certificates! Ugh! I clutched my recovery certificate and headed for the jetway. Thankfully, there were only two CDC agents and a long queue. The gate agents gestured me through – don’t want passengers backing up onto the plane. I breathed a sigh of relief and kept going. I made my way to Global Entry, and for the first time ever, the border guard decided to ask me questions. The first was easy enough, ‘where are you arriving from?’ My brain, still reeling from everything that had happened wasn’t grasping much, so I blurted out ‘Logan.’ Then realized, no, that’s the airport where I am. I then said Boston – ugh! Still wrong. Finally, I shook my head and said, ‘Sorry, long day. I’m coming back from London.’ He didn’t seem reassured and asked if I had anything to declare. I said, a firm ‘no.’ He looked at my Ted Baker bag and asked what was in it, I pulled out the shirt I’d bought in Heathrow and said, ‘It’s just a shirt.’ I didn’t add, ‘It’s not worth $800, believe me.’ He finally decided to let me go and I was free at last! After a month away, I was finally getting closer to home.
While getting COVID was probably inevitable, I feel fortunate that I was able to avoid it for two years. Many of my friends and coworkers had already had it at least once, and several also got it around the time that I did. I was very fortunate to have a mild case – that, or my immune system was strong enough to fight it. I also had manageable symptoms, and even though I lost my appetite (had to remind myself to eat at least two meals a day), I didn’t lose my sense of taste or smell. I know that there is a popular assumption that once you’ve had it, you have immunity for at least a few months, but the latest subvariant of Omicron is proving those assumptions wrong, so I’m still masking up whenever I’m around large groups of people. It’s unfortunate that the popular opinion is that the pandemic is either over (it isn’t) or that you’re going to get it anyway, so there’s no reason to take any precautions (yeah, let’s go back to not washing our hands after using the toilet. . .).
So, I’ll count my blessings, stock up on facemasks and keep the hand sanitizer handy. I won’t stop traveling, but I’ll continue trying my best to avoid getting any viruses, COVID included.
