What happened on 22 July - so no chemo on 23 July

Christopher had gone for a guided walk on the Broomway on the previous Sunday. http://www.bbc.com/travel/story/20170110-why-the-broomway-is-the-most-dangerous-path-in-britain A group of eight, four were our friends and four unknown, nominally social distancing but with inevitable closer moments over the course of five hours. 

On the morning of Wednesday 22 July, he heard that one of the group had tested positive for Covid. We beetled off at lunchtime for hastily booked tests at a drive-in, but before I'd managed to get hold of anyone at the Cancer Centre to see what they thought. This was starting to feel test-greedy - I'd done a home test on Friday 17 July  prompted after notifying a cold sore on the Kings College/Zoe C-19 daily app. Then the hospital one on 21st and now one with the Kentish Town Army. This involved being given a test kit by a soldier and having to administer it ourselves, but in a hot car with the windows closed. Thank you air conditioning. I'm glad we'd already done some tests at home because I suspect it would have been an anatomy challenge too far to make a first-time search for our tonsils and nose limits in the semi-public space of a drive-in test centre. 

When I later managed to get in touch with the Clinical Nurse Specialist and she had taken further advice, the verdict was that social distancing or no, there would be no chemo for me until a two-week period had passed, and that Christopher and I should self-isolate. It was a bit of a shock at first, mostly because of the personal aspect and the mental preparation for chemo already done. But it's completely understandable - everything about avoiding Covid-19 is about risk. That may not always be translated into policy or actions in an easily comprehensible way but it's how I've been trying to follow it. As risk is a product (as in multiplication sum) of probability x consequences, the calculation changes depending on the context. So in this case, the probability might be low (social distancing etc) but real, especially accepting aerosol transmission. The consequences however, could be really severe - introducing the virus into an immune-compromised population would be unconscionable.

Much discussion and debate ensued, contrasting the course we have to take with the advice to the general population which would probably not trigger self-isolation. Indeed, we have not been contacted by the Test and Trace service. We muse on the reasons for this - maybe the positive person did not consider any 'contact' he might have had with Christopher to count as 'close contact' and therefore not merit passing to Test and Trace; maybe Test and Trace didn't think it merited follow up for the same reasons; maybe the detective work involved in contacting the walk leader for participant names was too great; maybe the Test and Trace service is not yet up to scratch??!!. 

The upshot is that we now have two goals. First, that Christopher doesn't spread anything he might have to the wider population. Second, we do our best to get me a negative Covid test on 3 August, and to be able to tell a story to the chemo staff that satisfies them enough to fill me up with toxic chemicals on 5 August. I have decamped to absent son's bedroom to avoid a daily 7-8 hours in close proximity to potential Covid contact, Christopher is working at home and not going out except to walk the dog in empty woods, the absent son has cycled over to do some shopping for us.

We're still at it - all the test results were negative as expected, but that means little, taking into account incubation periods and periods before virus shedding starts.

Of course, in a way, this feels like a temporary reprieve and I'm trying to enjoy it within very limited bounds. Brunetti detective novels now just for bedtime. When my brain's more awake, I'm reading A Time of Birds and feeling wistful about long bike rides. In preparation for the next bookclub (possibly via a good weep) I've ordered Plot 29.

The morning glories have started flowering.