Today I woke up in isolation housing with a bloody nose. The same happened the day before. And the day before.

The sore throat that plagued me when I first entered isolation housing last Thursday had faded by Saturday. But three days ago, it came back — this time not because of COVID-19, but because of the poor air quality of my room in 1835 Hinman.

At night, I have to sleep with the window open. I lay on my bed wearing shorts and a T-shirt, legs stuck together with sweat. It’s five degrees outside, but letting in the frigid air is the only way to get close to comfortable in this glorified sauna.

The first thing I noticed about the room was its blinds. The slats were misaligned when I came in, creating a discolored, almost brown, S-shape that covered the only potential source of natural light. When I tried to pull the cord to bring the blinds up, the string slipped easily out of the top mechanism. No sunlight for me.

On Monday, I got a roommate. At 10:30 p.m., he came into the room unannounced. He didn’t know I was going to be here, and I didn’t know he was coming. I scrambled to grab a mask as I heard the key rattle in the lock. If not for the College Football Playoff National Championship, I would have been asleep.

He decided that the room’s conditions were so unbearable that he would sleep in the lounge instead. He’s stayed there every night since.

I have raised all my concerns and then some with those in charge and have received no solutions. The closest I’ve gotten is promises of work orders being submitted that haven’t been resolved. But most of the time, I’ve been referred to a different department that refers me to a different department that refers to the department I started with — a vicious loop of no accountability.

In my 12th email, I threatened legal action, saying I believe I have grounds in a civil case for negligent infliction of emotional distress or even intentional infliction of emotional distress. Shock of shocks, that one made them listen. Within an hour, I got a call from Assistant Dean of Students Lucas Christain. He promised to pass my concerns along and was the first person I’ve talked to that has even acknowledged that my discomfort is valid.

We will see if my needs are met, but I also know I can’t be the only one struggling. I have been a strong self-advocate and have gotten little for it. The system is clearly overwhelmed, but there need to be mechanisms in place to support those who are less persistent than me. 

I have been asymptomatic for the last four days, but I tested positive on both my day five and day eight tests, so I’m confined to this room for the full 10 days. Both times I received the results, I fell forward, head in my hands on the desk. That feeling of being trapped is deeply demoralizing. 

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advises quarantine can end after five days. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the science, but I trust the people who are. There is no reason for the school not to test those in quarantine on days six, seven, eight, nine or ten. The tests at the Donald P. Jacobs Center are abundant, and even if they don’t care about our mental wellbeing, the sooner we’re out, the sooner the stress on their system is relieved. If they’re concerned about having us come in person, send an at-home test with our lunch every day. Give us some hope that we have an opportunity to escape.

The last thing I want is to be a danger to my community. But the school is not accounting for all of the physical and emotional toll of being stuck in isolation. I am trapped in a room that has sparked problems well beyond my positive COVID-19 diagnosis.

I want to be heard. And if I can’t be heard, I want to go home.

John Volk is a Medill junior. He can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.