That sinking feeling

“The next flight to Perth is on April 24th, that’s 18 days away”. I pause, not knowing quite what to say to the Qantas operator who has just delivered this blow. I glance over my shoulder at Jode. It is day 11. We are due to come out of quarantine on Easter Sunday, April 12.

We’ve had our noses firmly pointed towards home for the last few days. We’d even organised some food deliveries for next week, an organic veggie box and some spelt bread mix for baking bread. We’ve allowed ourselves to imagine being home.

My stomach is in free fall and I can tell from the colour of Jode’s face that she is feelingly similarly. Now what? 

We ring the 1800 help line number that is our liaison point with the world. It has been set up specifically for those of us in locked quarantine. We’ve already spoken to them earlier in the day, prior to our Qantas call. We had in that earlier call been checking again for news of promised details regarding our exit from here. There are no specific details about the process to be gleaned, but it is confirmed that we are leaving on Sunday, and there are vague words about we will be assisted with our arrangements. We stress that it is now one working day away from Easter and that we have to book flights. 

We decide we will go ahead and book flights regardless. Although we had assumed we would be released on Sunday, being locked up makes you weirdly lacking in confidence regarding the way the days get counted. Jode, who has been monitoring flights for about the last week  goes online to book. The flights to Perth are gone, for Sunday, Monday and every other day until April 24. 

This time it is us, not Jeremy on the phone to Qantas for hours. We had tried to talk ourselves back from the panic. Perhaps they have a new procedure given the state border closure, so you can’t book online. No, the operator is merely confirming what we had already seen online. Even if we had booked our own flights earlier, the Sunday flight and many others had been cancelled that day. Virgin had done much the same. 

Back to our 1800 number where we are on the line to a woman on her first day on the helpline. We hear much the same story as previously but are looking for crumbs. We stress the importance of knowing who is responsible for getting us home. Will the government be assisting us to get home? Or will they be putting us in a taxi and waving goodbye? Do they know about the flights, or rather the lack of them? How many West Aussies are in the same boat as us? Where does this leave us when the Premier has specifically said we must be home within 24 hours of leaving quarantine? Is anyone working on this? 

Jode and I have worked hard to be courteous to all the people who have interacted with us in these past 11 days. Not to let our anxiety and frustration affect our interactions. They are doing their job, we were the first intake, and we know it’s been one long scramble. This has included the police officer who turned away our care package on Day 2 (which then only eventuated on Day 7) through to the nurse, the hotel staff, and the various 1800 number personnel we have interacted with. We even call out thank you for every meal to the delivery person as they disappear down the corridor. 

But this time I am angry. Angry at our predicament. Made worse by our anticipation of being home, our helplessness and lack of control. The rug pulled out from under us again. I remain courteous, but am not impressed when told I can ring the Department and am given a 1300 number. “Who are you then?” I ask her. “I thought you were the department”. Actually the helpline is a different department we are told, not DHHS after all. After some to’ing and fro’ing while she checks answers to various questions, I manage to escalate to speak to her team leader. He calls me back. I get few answers. We will be assisted with our ‘exit’ transport, and we will hear more no less than 12 hours before we go. This is not reassuring, exit transport appears to fall far short of getting us home. And the time frame is ridiculous. 

Dinner arrives in the middle of this, lukewarm and definitely not one of their best. We try to eat some, knowing it will be worse when it is cold. 

We start scrambling. Talking to friends, checking with the kids, trying to contact politicians, exploring social media possibilities, and checking flights. Via Adelaide, via anywhere? It looks like we can get a flight to Sydney and on to Perth the next day. Will their quarantine arrangements allow this? Are hotels still open? Will it get us back within the magic 24 hour window? The Qantas site is not working. Back on the phone to Qantas. 

We eventually manage to book flights and a hotel (another hotel without windows that open). The only available flight from Melbourne to Sydney to connect with our 8 am Monday Sydney to Perth flight is 2.40 pm Sunday. We have no idea if we can make this. We take the risk. If we don’t make that Sydney flight there isn’t another until Friday. Then we would be better off staying in Melbourne where we have support. 

Of course it seems reasonable that we would be able to make an afternoon flight. We arrived at 6 am Sunday and were safely locked up by 10 am. But running a ‘what seems reasonable and common sense ‘ ruler over what happens in these circumstances doesn’t always work. And more to the point, we are not confident in the system when various departments don’t talk to each other, with the resultant gaps and heavy handed approach that can result. At the end of the day it seems the police, rather than human services have had the upper hand in determining at least some of our treatment. Which is a sobering thought, not so much for us, but for more vulnerable others.

We make the mistake, before going to bed, of reading various reports in the Guardian regarding people in quarantine. I had mostly, after our first few days, avoided lingering in the media space, finding the  stereotyping and demonising of those of us in quarantine too demoralising. And to be fair, somewhat pettily, I found it hard to tolerate stories of people who were faring better, at least materially than we were. There is a large variation, state to state, hotel to hotel, in how people are being treated and how the rules are being interpreted. This matters, small things matter. Now I find there are horrifying examples of a failure to extend medical exemptions to those who are vulnerable despite medical advice, and for people to get urgent medical attention when required. 

We have tickets home. Not quite the same as being sure of getting home but as close as we can get for now. But what about others? Seats on the Sydney flight will run out. And that solution depends on you having money to throw at a problem. What about other West Aussies emerging from quarantine over the next weeks without an immediate way of getting home. Who is responsible for them being stranded? Flights to Perth are badly affected by the border closure, with more frequent possibilities for those going home to NSW, South Australia and Queensland. 

I can’t wait to get out of here. The whole experience has pricked my privilege bubble. I worry about our lack of compassion as a society, and how exceptional circumstances can allow under-resourced, poorly coordinated and under-prepared bureaucracies to treat people badly and do harm. I guess this is one theme, one narrative of COVID 19. Not the only one, but a cautionary one. 

You will have noticed that we largely stopped writing updates while in quarantine. We thought the more adventurous part of the whole experience was over. But apparently we will be on the edge of our seats right to the end. I promise to tell you when we get home.