All I wanted was to stick a cotton swab up my nose, hand it off to the pharmacy tech (the swab, I mean, not my nose) and be on my way.
A COVID test. Please. A simple PCR test. Was this such an astronomical ask?
Apparently, yes.
With the spring of 2022 about to start springing in Northeastern Ohio, my symptoms were of classic allergies – burning nose, eyes and throat, sandpapery tongue, a head that pulsed and pounded – but I also felt fatigue, body aches and funky stuff going on with my equilibrium.
So for just the second time since March 2020, I sought a test for COVID-19.
Of course, I had to go ONLINE to make the appointment, because, you know, you have to go ONLINE to do just about anything anymore. (How long before we have to log on to www.number1ornumber2.com before we can access a toilet?)
But in the words of my dearly departed Dad, “We’ll play their game.”
So … game on, CVS.
I went ONLINE Thursday morning and made the appointment for 4 p.m. that same day. Good deal, yes? Prepared with my ID, appointment confirmation and insurance card, I eased my 2006 Toyota Rav-4 (whom I affectionately call “Ravi”) up to the drive-through window. It was 3:55 p.m.
After a brief wait, the pharmacy tech – a tall, bespectacled young-ish man with a long dark ponytail – appeared and began to verify my appointment time, check my insurance and do God-only-knows-what-all else pharmacy worker bees do to process a prescription or a test.
It takes a few minutes, and a few minutes more. It takes enough time that I get that “nothing is easy anymore” feeling. Ponytail picks up the intercom phone – which, by the way, is a real phone phone, like you used to see in episodes of Leave It to Beaver and Dragnet and such.
“Did you get tested earlier today?”
I’m certain I misunderstood him. You know, that feeling you get when someone says something and you can’t quite make out one or two of the words?
“Excuse me?”
“Well, it’s telling me that you already had a test today, at Cleveland Clinic.”
I collected myself, my thoughts, my short list of potential replies. It is with no small amount of self-aggrandizement that I share that “Why the F— would I be here for a COVID test now if I had one at the Clinic already today?!” was not in the top five.)
Instead, in a measured tone soaked in serenity, I replied: “No, I did not have a test at the Clinic today. Per your pharmacy’s direction, I logged onto to your web site this morning and made this appointment, for right now, right here. Now.”
OK, that last “Now” … probably a little patronizing, but …. still, I give myself a B+ for the effort.
Ponytail looks back at the computer screen for several more seconds, then walks out of my sight, returning a couple minutes later with the pharmacist, Jonathan, in tow.
Jonathan asks me the same question, although it’s not exactly a question. Same tone of voice and everything. “It’s showing that you already had a test today, at Cleveland Clinic.”
I (quickly) say The Serenity Prayer and give him the same reply I gave Ponytail.
The next thing I know we are past the “you’ve already had a test today” hurdle (no clue how, or if, that issue was resolved) when Jonathan runs my insurance card. More bad news.
“It’s not accepting your Medicare insurance. Are you sure this is your most recent card? It has a date of Oct. 2021 on it.”
Yes, I assured Jonathan, it has a date of October 2021 on it because the card was issued in, believe it or not, October 2021. It doesn’t expire. If I keep the same plan, I keep the same card. Easy peasy.
Now, I realize Jonathan, Ponytail and Co. have very trying jobs. They do all they can to help. “I tell you what,” Jonathan says, “ I’m going to call the number on the Aetna insurance card and see what the deal is. Could you possibly come back in an hour?” Sure. I live, like, four blocks away. No prob.
Before pulling away, I remind Jonathan I’ll need my driver’s license back if I’m going to navigate back out onto the mean streets of Lakewood, Ohio. After realizing he’s still holding it in his right hand, he agrees. With a sheepish smile, he returns the license to me.
It’s a short drive home – but not so short that I don’t have time to start stewing about the notion that someone out there might have the cajones to rip off my identity and use my insurance card. The bastard.
I arrive home and call my saint of a Medicare advisor, Stephanie. She’ll be able to lend direction, for sure. Her sleuthing skills in the year I’ve worked with her have impressed me a lot and have helped me even more. Stephanie suggests I log onto my Cleveland Clinic MyChart account to see whether there’s any suspicious activity posted there. So I do. And there is not. All seems on the up-and-up.
We disconnect, then I try my doctor’s office. Maybe they can shed some light. But about the third ring, my phone flashes. I have an incoming call. It’s Jonathan. Already.
“So do you have Medicare Part B?” Jonathan asks. Of course I have Medicare Part B – but it hits me that I didn’t leave my general Medicare card with Jonathan. See, I have two insurance cards (see “nothing is simple anymore” above). One is my general Medicare card; the other is the Aetna Medicare Advantage card. I left only the latter with Jonathan. I should have left both of them for his reference.
I read him the info on my general Medicare card pertaining to my Part A and Part B coverage. Next thing I know, Jonathan utters something my Mom used to say all the time:
“OK, now we’re cookin’ with gas.”
Ten minutes later, I return to the drive-through window. Ponytail gloves up and gathers all elements of the package: the specially sealed swab, the teeny tube of solution in which to put the swab and several leaflets with “updated” information on COVID-19. (One is dated April 2020.) He slides it all out to me in a small paper bag.
Now March 2020 was a while ago – I don’t exactly recall what the drill was as far as the mechanics of that COVID test. Don’t ask why but now I think I’m supposed to dip the cotton swab into the solution, then do a moistened swab of each nostril and place it back into the tube. Ponytail catches me: Swirl the dry swab in both nostrils, then place the swab into the tube of solution. “And make sure you don’t touch the fuzzy end of the swab at all with your finger.”
Got it. Five swab swirls in each nostril, take the cap off the tube, place the swab into the tube of solution, replace the tube cap, put the capped tube back into the bag and send it back into Ponytail and Jonathan.
Twenty-four hours later, an email lands in my inbox: As of Oct. 21, I had tested NEGATIVE for COVID-19.
There.
Now wasn’t that easy?