In 2003, I was quarantined for SARS, and wrote a funny story about it.  I’m thinking we could all use a laugh right now, so I am publishing my short memoir on this blog. Each day for the next week I will add a new installment until you have the whole story, unedited from the original entries in my Diary of a SARS Quarantine.

Day 1 The Phone Call

Have had hectic day. With four children between the ages of 2 and 16 years, every day is hectic. Am particularly crabby because lecture series at Roy Thompson Hall tonight has been cancelled, giving stay-at home mom no excuse to abandon husband and children for evening. All possible speakers for lecture have backed out. Debbie Reynolds, Carrie Fisher, Fran Drescher , even Janet Reno reneged, and all because of SARS. Can’t believe they couldn’t find someone to speak. Would go to see a stick of furniture lecture if it meant a night out of the house.

Have just finished collection of outraged emails to various friends calling proposed speakers “scaredy-cats” and “sucky babies.” Speakers have more chance of winning the lottery than contracting SARS on Roy Thompson Hall stage. Phone rings.

I’ve won the lottery.

“Hello, is this Carole O’Cinneide?”

“Yes”

“Did you attend a Power Yoga/Pilates class last Thursday?”

Now, this is question self was not expecting. Feel like suspect in Law and Order rerun being interrogated by Briscoe. Think. Have no motive. Have not murdered anyone. Decide to answer without lawyer present.

“Yes” I reply.

“This is Toronto Public Health. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I have some bad news….”

Someone in my Yoga class has suspected SARS. I am officially in quarantine. Do not assume the lotus position. Do not collect $200.

“Your quarantine will only last for 7 days, as 3 days have already elapsed since your exposure”

“But, what about the other three days?” I ask.

“Well, if you develop symptoms then we will have to do a contact list of all the places you were during those initial three days and act accordingly” replies sunny dispositioned public health person.

I don’t feel so sunny. Think of all places self has been since yoga class. List includes daughter’s playschool, Coleman Folding Trailer Showroom and Toronto Gay/Lesbian Film Festival. Am already anticipating giggling Public Health personnel placing self on speaker phone while contact list is made. Further anticipate entire gay/lesbian community being put in quarantine because of one stupid straight woman who went to see Spanish subtitle film called “My Mother Likes Women.”

Sunny Public Health begins the 10 Commandments of Quarantine.

Thou shalt not leave the house or thy backyard.

Thou shalt not receive visitors.

Thou shalt avoid direct contact with family members.

Thou shalt wear a mask when in the room with said family members.

Thou shalt wash hands till skin threatens to rub off.

Thou shalt take temperature twice daily.

Thou shalt not share cutlery, towels or cups.

Thou shalt sleep alone.

Thou shalt report any symptoms.

Thou shalt not freak out.

Put down phone and immediately break tenth commandment. Recover in time for totally unsuspecting husband coming through the door.

“Honey, we’ve got a problem.”

Go to bed without kissing children or husband goodnight. Can hear two-year-old crying piteously outside bedroom for mommy, but masks have not arrived yet, so can’t open door.

Want to go back in time and not go to yoga class.

Want to take back calling Janet Reno a “sucky baby.”

Want a hug more than any time in my whole life.

CHECK IN TOMORROW AFTER 9 AM EST FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF DIARY OF A SARS QUARANTINE!