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The Introverted Duckling

My experience with a false-negative COVID-19 test (or two), and a productivity-obsessed society


Five years ago I literally dragged myself to work with a golf-ball sized abscess on my thigh. This odd, less-than-little sign from the universe that something was very wrong with my body, was causing me so much pain and fever that painkillers weren't giving me a single ounce of relief.


It wasn't like I hadn't tried to take a sick day. I was told that "we're just too understaffed at the moment" by the manager of the nursery chain I was working for at the time. I'd even tried to take a measly couple of hours to squeeze in a doctor's appointment, but this request was also rebuffed. It wasn't surprising, really. Our 8 hour shifts would regularly become 10 hours without so much as a please and thank you. And any such 'changes' were rarely reflected on our payslips.


I remember getting through my shift, somehow. I had become numb to the pain, really, and every time I looked at the abscess it was like seeing it on someone else's body. A ghastly blackish red, surrounded by a rough square of bright red skin that felt hot to the touch. I felt run down; exhausted, even. But sadly, I'd become accustomed to this exhaustion. It seemed like just a normal part of an average week of work. You woke up feeling exhausted, you went to bed feeling exhausted. After all; who didn't?


Thankfully, miraculously, I was due to travel up to Scotland at the end of my shift. I'd taken a week's holiday; I'd had to book it months before, working it out between my colleagues and myself. That morning, before embarking on the 1.5 hour journey to work, I'd packed a small suitcase and had trundled it to work. The purple-and-white floral design and the enticing metal handle - a small, comforting piece of home and hope that was waiting for me in the staff-room - was my ticket to freedom. It wouldn't be long now. I was counting down the hours until I would get to sleep during the whole train journey up.


It seemed almost funny - but not unexpected - that towards the end of my shift I was asked to help another member of staff shift some furniture from one room into another. I remember limping and using every last ounce of strength I could muster to manoeuvre chests of drawers into designated areas while the manager stood and commanded us. When it was done, I was finally free to go. I took my little suitcase and I headed for the train station, as fast as my painful leg would take me.


Seven hours later, my mum, being a retired nurse, took one look at my abscess and drove me straight to hospital. She didn't say much, just got on her jacket and fetched her car keys and told me where we were headed. I wasn't surprised, really. I wasn't anything. I'd had to numb for feelings for far too long.


Within twelve hours I was operated on; my abscess slit open and its gangrenous contents removed. For the next few days I remained in hospital, being fed on a diet of antibiotics and painkillers strong enough to make me feel like I was floating in some parallel universe, where doctors and students also floated in and out to gape at my battle wound and check my dressing.


I would have to spend the next four months going back and forth from health centres and doctor's surgeries where they would 'pack' and re-dress my abscess wound. They weren't able to stitch it up because there had to be a way for any remaining infection to get out.


This was definitely one of the more traumatic experiences of my life. But boy, has it become of the biggest lessons of my life.


I truly believe things happen for a reason. My body freaked out for a reason. I was under far too much stress. Your body isn't made to push and push and push and function on such a minimal amount of rest. Despite what some companies and managers might believe, you're not a human robot whose sole purpose is to help meet quotas, generate revenue and keep things going like a well-oiled cog,


They never found a cause for my abscess. They tested me for diabetes. They actually tested me three times. Doctors were puzzled. They tried the usual rubbish of blaming it on my weight. (Don't doctors love the idea of blaming any illness they don't/won't understand on our body's refusal to meet the ideal patriarchal size 0 stereotype?!) Later, when I told this to one of the kind nurses who actually validated my feelings about everything, she was horrified. Of course I'm not overweight, she told me. OK, maybe I wasn't at the lower end of the BMI scale, but nothing to cause concern. Nothing that would result in a bizarre illness like this one.


When I tentatively suggested to this same nurse that I thought that maybe my abscesses had been stress-related, she was in full agreement. I saw her many times over the next few weeks and months and her kindness really helped me to get through a dark time in my life. She actually was influential in helping me to make the decision to hand in my notice and not go back to the nursery. It took a near-death experience (apparently I'd been worryingly near sepsis) to wake up to the fact that I DESERVED BETTER. That I didn't need to push past inhumane limits, or to say yes to everything, or to keep everyone else happy at the expense of my own health and happiness.


This is a lesson which I've been trying to put into practice ever since. It's such a hard thing for me to do. Nature and nurture has made me into a bit of a people-pleaser and for a long time I haven't been able to identify my own, true feelings and desires. I've come a long way, but I still feel guilty about saying 'no', or spending too long on the sofa on a Saturday watching Netflix, or turning down a new class because I'm teaching enough as it is.


Recently, another incident has made me reflect on all of this again. It started last week. I went out running on Monday and came back with a rash all over my thighs. I've had a similar thing before, so I knew how to treat it. But it was still... weird. The next day I was teaching a class online, and began to feel like I was drenching in sweat. I woke up the next morning with a temperature. Instantly, my alarm bells went off. Seeing as I had just gone back to the centre to teach after months of working from home, the idea that I could have caught COVID didn't seem like an impossibility.


I called my line manager. She said if I only had a temperature, but nothing else, then I should be OK to come in, but that she would speak with the health officer just to be sure. Luckily, the health officer advised me to stay off anyway and get a test.


To be honest, I didn't feel too bad, but I did as she suggested anyway, took the day off and went to get a test. All the while I felt so incredibly guilty. This time, it was mixed in with feelings of regret and sadness as I truly love the job I do at the moment. Working with young assylum seekers, I feel like I'm finally doing something worthwhile and meaningful. I didn't want to let the boys down, but I had to do the right thing.


The next day, the results of my test came back. Negative. I was surprised, and I wasn't. By this time I'd developed symptoms of an upset stomach. My fever went up and down all day, but mostly up. I went to bed in the afternoon and slept for three hours.


I called my manager and said I could come back to work. Even though I wasn't feeling great, I thought that I was well enough to get through a day's work, since it was Friday and I could rest at the weekend. My day of teaching went alright, but I was counting down the hours until I could get home and rest.


I decided I had a stomach bug. After all, my test had come back negative, and tests didn't lie. By this point Max was also beginning to have the same symptoms. An upset stomach, a temperature, exhaustion. But since stomach bugs only tend to last for 48-hours, I thought we'd be better by Sunday.


I think Saturday and Sunday were my worst days. I felt awful. Moving felt like pulling myself through tar. My temperature went up to the late 37's. As someone who's average body temperature sits around the late 35's/early 36's, I felt HOT. Still, I didn't have COVID. I'd be better soon.


Monday is the one day I don't have classes. I use it to plan, send emails and do paperwork. Except this Monday, I didn't. I rested, watched a lot of TV, and felt generally awful. Still, I hoped I'd be well enough to go back to work the next day.


As I still felt terrible when I woke up on Tuesday, I knew something was wrong. I called my manager again. This time she didn't sound too happy, but I said I would get another test and let her know the result.


When my result came back negative - again! - I felt really confused. What on earth could it be? I'd also started to develop a new abscess. One that looked as if it wasn't going to just go away on its own. It had that tell-tale warmth and redness to it. I knew my body was struggling with something, but what? I felt like I was going crazy!


I knew I'd need to see a doctor about my abscess, so I tried to schedule an appointment. Unfortunately they were fully booked, so they referred me to the hospital. I actually packed an overnight bag, almost expecting to be told I would have to have another operation. My abscess wasn't looking good at all.


The doctor was an absolute angel in human form. I had been really anxious about getting a diagnosis and a possible upcoming operation, but she put all my fears to rest with an almost instant diagnosis. She said that it was OBVIOUS I had COVID. I burst out crying with relief. All those days of feeling like I was making it all up... and of feeling terrible. I think we've been made to feel like the tests are infallible, but she assured me that the ones you do on your own (I had self-tested both times) produce many false negatives. All my symptoms, the rash, the sweating, the exhaustion; apparently they're so common. Especially in 'milder' cases. We've been so indoctrinated to think that it's all about the coughing. But apparently it presents itself in so many different ways.


She gave me a doctor's note for work and a supplication to rest as much as possible. I've been feeling guilty for wanting to rest, since I couldn't possibly have anything as bad as COVID!, but actually my body's been screaming out for rest. It's been struggling to fight the infection. Hence the rash and the abscess. Luckily all I need for the latter is a course of antiobiotics.


Dare I say, I actually think there could be an illness around which is just as bad as COVID, and that's society's obsession with productivity. We put 'super-producers' on pedestals. We guilt-trip ourselves for feeling tired, or spending a day reading instead of doing the housework, when X, Y, Z has three children, a full-time job, works out every day and spends all her free-time writing a novel.


Because we all feel so much pressure to fill our time with productivity, we pressure others to do the same. We might not send unpleasant emails to our employees, but we may use a tone of voice which implies, "We all know you're making this up, Karen!" And don't get me started on mental illness. It's like none of us are allowed to have a bad day. Especially in Britain, where a cup of tea and a biscuit is supposed to fix everything.


Anyway, I've stopped feeling guilty for taking this time off work, probably because I have a doctor's note. I wish it wasn't like that. I wish we didn't feel the need to justify to anyone - especially ourselves - why we need to just stop and sit something out. I hope it doesn't take another episode of being unwell to remind myself that my health and happiness should ALWAYS come first.


Love, me and the Rona.





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