How a positive test result forced me to be more positive — Julie Kaplan
I distinctly remember the first time I learned about coronavirus. I was in my Spanish language class in Madrid, listening to peers attempt to explain news articles in a foreign language. A boy in my class talked about a new virus that had suddenly struck China and spread through a large chunk of the population. At the time, this virus seemed so far away. My friends and I even joked about the article, wondering why someone would ever eat bat soup and how this was forecasted to penetrate society. And then the virus hit Europe. And then it hit Italy. And then, it hit mainland Spain. A short 8 weeks later from that Spanish class, I had a one way flight booked home.
Everyone says abroad is the best 4 months of your life. Ever since visiting my brother 10 years ago when he was studying in Seville, I had dreamed about abroad and the trips I would go on. I have always kept an itinerary in my head, adding places each time I saw someone post about “the best trip they had ever gone on.” Suddenly, I had to cancel all these plans. No more Amsterdam, no more Lisbon, no more Barcelona. I didn’t stop crying for a week thinking about how all of these sights would go unseen, and how my semester would be cut in half.
3,582 miles later, I landed in New York. The first thing my mom told me when I got off of the plane was that I had an 8 am appointment the next morning to get a COVID19 test. Until we got the results, I would be sleeping in the “orange room.” The orange room is a brightly painted, tangerine-orange room in my house that has really been used for a plethora of things. When extended family came over for the holidays, they would sleep in the orange room. When I wanted to play video games with friends, we would play in the orange room. The room consists of a large couch with a small coffee table in the center, a TV, and a bumper pool/poker table hybrid in the back of the room. Now, it’s my studio apartment. The couch is my bed, the coffee table is my dining room, and the hybrid table is my school.
I thought my mom was absolutely crazy for making me get a test and isolate myself. All I needed was a hug from my family, and somehow now I could only wave at them through the french glass doors of the room. I thought there was no way I could have the virus, and that I would spend four days maximum in the orange room. Four days turned into eight days, and still I hadn’t gotten my test results. My back ached from the slouchy couch I used as a bed (I have now upgraded to a mattress on the floor), and I longed to make Shabbat dinner with my brothers. However, I still have managed to stay positive. I’ve realized quarantine is a great time to start things I’m usually too busy to do. Every morning, my friend Alex and I worked out together and caught up via Facetime, and I managed to escape the orange room and go on walks to the beach. I have been binging a lot of Netflix and focusing on what makes me happy. That is how I’ve kept sane.
On day eight of isolation, the doctor told me I tested positive for COVID19. I wasn’t quite sure how to feel. I came to terms with having the virus, but wasn’t sure how others would react. People often say that telling people you are positive for COVID19 is like telling them you have an STI; you are suddenly an unclean and unkept human that no one wants to associate themselves with. You didn’t wash your hand while singing Happy Birthday. You kept touching your face. You weren’t wiping down surfaces. I was worried my support system would completely fade.
I get the occasional text saying “You tested positive? That’s definitely a rumor someone started because that can’t be true.” I couldn’t understand why contracting a rapidly spreading virus was all of a sudden a point of weakness. I realized that now more than ever, I needed to focus on myself first and maintain positivity. Otherwise, I would crumble into pieces.
Focusing on yourself can be tough. It’s hard to admit that you aren’t feeling 100% you. It took me a few days to realize that I needed to do things that made me happy and feel good in this new “normal.”
No, it’s not Dublin on St. Patrick’s Day, or even board games with my brothers downstairs, but it’s a start to remaining positive. For now, the orange room will have to do.
