I went down and couldn’t get up. Sweating, shaking, fever, sick. It felt like I got hit by a Mike Tyson hook. Then, after it was clear my ills couldn’t possibly have been too much of Mr George Clooney’s tequila, the question: am I sick? Like sick-sick? Like Covid-19 sick? 

Don’t get me wrong, just like any other human being, I have had this thought 15,000 times a day. Like any other Jewish human, I’ve had it 45,000 times a day. So the idea wasn’t new, and it did seem unlikely. I have been for-real quarantined, like, for-real for-real – gloves and mask, Cloroxing all the packages of my ridiculous Instagram purchases, moved my family out of the city, quarantined. But, fuck, man, I’m throwing up, like, a lot. Again, not something I’m exactly foreign to, which you’d know if you frequented a bar in Tucson, Arizona called Gentle Ben’s from 2000-2002.

But on top of all the sick, I am sweating and shivering at the same time. And now it’s been more than 24 hours, which can’t be good. Having coronavirus now would not be very good at all, though I wouldn’t mind sharing some space on any list with Messrs Idris Elba and Tom Hanks.

With my wife, three children, a mother-in-law and her 95-year-old father in the same house, it would not be ideal for me to go down with a powerfully contagious and potentially fatal virus, no. Oh, and did I forget to mention that, in addition to them, my pregnant sister-in-law and her husband and child have all been quarantined here in this house since 12 March! So, we are all full up. No room at the inn for ol’ corona. And besides, corona seems like it would be shitty at parties. But, wow, I’m not even thinking about food? Me? With no appetite? We’ve got to go to urgent care.

I could tell the mood changed in the house here. Previously, the consensus was that idiot Adam drank and smoked too much on the night of his TV show finale and is paying the price. All true, but when my mother-in-law came to take my temperature in an ensemble of garbage bags like Mother Teresa dressed up as some Scream villain, I knew something was up. Fever was too high. My wife loaded me in the car out of the back of the house because she didn’t want the kids to worry – which, too late. (We took the Model X, a quick flex before dying.)

The staff at Southampton Urgent Medical Care couldn’t have been kinder, more efficient and empathetic. But, as you may have heard, there are no tests in the US, so I may have the ’rona and I may not. Back home, I was isolated in the basement. My children had already put my picture on their iPads like they did our dog’s when he died. I was left to think about the Instagram Live of the previous evening during which, for a full 10 minutes, I did a bit speculating that Mr Ben Affleck has Covid, so, I get it, I deserve this.

It’s been five days now. My fever is low, but there. My headache is ever present. I still sweat and shiver at the same time, but with less frequency and intensity. My senses of smell and taste have remained throughout. So, if this is corona, it is a very mild case. My father, who is one of the finest physicians in all of New Jersey (he made me write that), is going to have tests soon and then I’ll know what’s what.

My amazing wife and family are taking care of the children. Daniella has even started this fun thing where she is counting every day I am down in the basement as another she gets to go to Cabo with her friends Lauren and Val, without any husbands or kids. Truly, she is doing the job of one thousand women, homeschooling three kids under eight and handling the fear and anxiety of this pandemic, and I will marvel at her for the rest of my life.

The friends that I’ve told I’m not feeling well have been calling non-stop. And the friends that I haven’t told, I’m sorry you have to find out we’re not that close this way. I just didn’t want to scare anybody. Especially without knowing exactly what it is I have, and have to report. With so many people having so little information, I didn’t want to add worry. In the past decade, I’ve had swine flu and viral meningitis, had a spinal tap, lost a parent and an in-law, and been arrested for drug possession. I tend to scare the people I love.

After 72 hours fever-free, I moved back upstairs. My appetite slowly crept back and I’ve even had a glass or two of Mr Clooney’s tequila. This week, I may even work out, maybe? I don’t know, honestly. I’m sure I’m physically capable of it at this point, but, man, it’s kind of cold and rainy, and also, where is Mr Ben Affleck getting all these iced coffees? Go home, Batman! Maybe skip getting your picture taken for two seconds during a global pandemic and make your coffee at home. You are going to get someone’s grandma killed.

I think the main thing that I learnt during my vision quest in the basement is that we are all scared. Our kids are scared, our parents are scared, our first responders are scared, the receptionist at the doctor’s office who asks for your information is fucking scared. No one knows anything and there is no information and still no tests! So, yes, we’ll get through this together, but most of us have never felt more alone. 

When I was in that basement with nothing to do but sweat and shiver, I was so frightened. I thought, What if I killed my wife’s grandfather by giving him Covid-19 from an Instacart pack of blueberries? But I didn’t have any sort of epiphany about combating terror, if you’re wondering. I know that building up an André the Giant-level tolerance for Ativan doesn’t exactly help.

One thing, though, has helped me, both in the basement and now that I’m back in the paralysis of quarantined dad life. A couple weeks ago, my daughter, GG, noticed that we were getting a lot of deliveries, like more than usual – which means it must have been a lot because the only thing GG has noticed in her whole seven years is if she’s received a package.

One morning, without saying anything to anyone, GG grabbed an empty shoe box and filled it with snacks and drinks. She then set it outside our front door with a pack of Lysol wipes and wrote on the box, “Thank you package people, here are some snacks for your drives”. I think about this 100 times a day and I always smile. See, there is good in the world, even if she did give the delivery drivers the red Doritos and baby carrot packs she doesn’t like. She still thought it might be nice for them to have something and gave what she could.

In the next couple months, it’s going to get really hard and really confusing, and probably even scarier. Maybe we do just all need some snacks for our drives. Who knows where they will come from, and who knows where our drives will take us. Hopefully, we will all just wake up and breathe.