Wednesday, August 5, 2020

I spend the day entangled with my health system. Their kafkaesque circuitry may be what's brought out this unusual number of cockroaches. I escort the big bugs outside, then go back to crawling through briars of phone systems, websites, and texts. In the morning, my phone beeps. It’s a message from my family. They’ve read the local Hebrew papers. There’s an official announcement: two people with the virus were at the mall supermarket on Friday afternoon. So was I. Anyone who was there has to go into isolation for two weeks. I’m not clear on the details of how this works. I imagine that I’ll have to get tested, but I don’t know where or when. I send a text to my team at work: I’m now in isolation. I’ll be working from home. Fortunately, that seems easier today. My internet connection is steady. My landlord, who had been digging in his garden and messing with the cables under it, has gotten into woodworking instead. He’s taking a long time to build something in the backyard. I try to find virus information online. What I can understand is vague, at best. I call the health system hotline. The phone tree should lead to an English speaker. It doesn’t. I call the Ministry of Health. They almost get me to an English speaker, but then drop the call. The health system website looks promising, with the help of online translation, but each path that I try leads me to a page that translates to “Due to a glitch in data communications, we are unable to complete your request.” I get through to an English speaker on the nurses’ line. He tells me that I have to speak to a doctor. The doctors’ line doesn’t open until 4 PM. I continue to work until then, getting things done no less efficiently than I do at the office. I call the doctors’ line just after four. An automated system takes my information. A text tells me that they will call me back within two hours. Or perhaps later. Probably tonight. After three hours, a doctor calls me. He speaks just enough English that we can communicate. Yes, I have to isolate through next Friday. No, I can’t get tested unless I show symptoms. If I do, I should call them back. Oh, well. I’m prepared for this. I’ve kept my quarantine stash of necessities stocked. I’m almost out of coffee, but I’ve arranged with a relative to get me some. He can drop it off on my doorstep so we don’t have actual contact. I’m precise about the amount I need, the type, the grind, and the store. It beats guessing. I let the family know what’s happening, then get back to Facebook. The government is livestreaming a wedding with a small well-distanced party on the roof of City Hall. Today is officially Love Day. At least I don’t have a romantic dinner to cancel.