Getting a rapid test done in a hurry

By Alexia Saleem

“Don’t forget to get a rapid test before we go away this weekend,” read the text my sister sent me 10 days ago.

“But I had the vaccine,” I texted back.

“You need to wait three weeks before it counts as your SafePass and you only got it last week,” she responded.

Bummer, I thought to myself. It was almost 5pm and the rapid test centres would be closing in an hour.

“Come on kids, get dressed, we’re all going out,” I called out to my two five-year-olds. The pair of them, who had been happily playing one of their imaginary games, groaned.

“But why,” they asked. “We don’t want to go out.”

I didn’t blame them. Nor did I. We’d had a chilled day at home, and I’d been planning on suggesting a late afternoon movie with popcorn. The two of them hadn’t even bothered taking their pyjamas off. Now I’d have to get them dressed and out so my husband and I could get our rapid tests done.

When we arrived at the rapid test centre I inwardly groaned. The queue was huge. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been spared getting Covid but judging from how many people were there it looked like my luck might change.

It was also really hot and my son was getting cranky. I could tell we were going to be here a while and I didn’t know how I was going to entertain them. My son, still in his pyjamas, promptly threw himself on the ground and started rolling around.

“This is so boooooooring,” he said.

It is, I found myself thinking, but it’s also just the way things are and better to accept it than resist it.

Then, as if by magic, someone called out that anyone who had children was to go to the front.

Wordlessly I took my children by the hand and walked up to where I was being directed to go. I felt uncertain and wondered if I’d misheard or misunderstood. My husband told me to just go with it.

A medic saw us and ushered us to the front.

“They’ve got kids,” she called out to the lady registering people’s details.

I suddenly realised that the reason we had been allowed to jump the queue was because they’d assumed we were testing the kids. I had no intention of forcing them to have a rapid test but at the same time I didn’t want to go to the back of the queue.

I turned to my daughter and asked if she’d mind having a test. At first, she declined. I asked if we could maybe give it a go and that the lady seemed nice. Katerina looked at the nurse who smiled at her and promised to be gentle.

“Okay,” she said, as she sat on my lap to have the test. I promised her an ice cream when we were done and then silently kicked myself as I have never used food as a reward. It was not only painless, it tickled, said Katerina.

In the meantime, my son was giving the medics a heart attack as he touched everything in sight and rolled about on the floor.

“Squirt the child with disinfectant,” screamed one.

“It’s dirty here. Full of germs,” shrieked another.

Leonida looked at them seemingly perplexed about what all the fuss was about. It was his turn to be tested next and he laughed so hard he tried to push away the nurse’s hand.

As we waited for our results, the kids turned the churchyard into a playground, racing back and forth tirelessly playing tag with each other. I felt a stab of guilt mixed with profound gratitude as I saw the people who had been in front of us in the queue still waiting to take their test.

I wondered if people could tell my children were in pyjamas. My daughter was actually only in her pyjama bottoms. They’d only agreed to come out if they didn’t have to get dressed. It wasn’t worth having a battle over. I tried not to think about it too much or I’d feel self-conscious and start questioning my parenting skills.

As they whooped and screeched in delight when the sprinklers turned on to water the grass, I couldn’t help but marvel yet again at children’s capacity to be in the present moment, unencumbered by thought and judgement. How freeing.

Our results came back after 20 minutes. Negative for all four. We called to our children that it was time to go. My daughter asked if she could have an ice cream. I said no and explained I’d forgotten she’d had cake for dessert after lunch so that was enough sugar for one day.

“What about tomorrow,” she bargained.

“Yes, you can have one tomorrow,” I acquiesced.

“Yay,” they both cried out.

And just like that they both had their first rapid test. A painless and effortless experience, not the frightening and hateful one I’d falsely imagined it would be.