When we first heard the news about the COVID-19 outbreak, we were in Orlando, Florida, with some of our grandchildren. It was confusing at first: Was it rumor, was it hype? We left for Florida just a few days after the first transmitted case was reported in the United States, but it was far away on the West Coast. Still, we washed our hands and tried to be careful and enjoyed the time with our grandkids.
Returning home on March 10, we flew through New York City. My worry started to increase as I saw people lying on benches at LaGuardia airport; they seemed ill, and I began to wonder just what was going on. All of a sudden, all the what-ifs we had heard over the last few weeks seemed to be happening so quickly.
The author, Karen St. Esprit, wearing a mask while getting a test for COVID-19 at a UPMC lab in the South Side. (Submitted photo)
I am 65 and prone to pneumonia. I work in a grocery store for Instacart. So, I decided my last day would be March 16. On March 17, I spiked a fever of 101 degrees and started coughing. At first, my cough felt just like a regular cold. Then, the cough moved deeper into my chest, and I developed a headache that was unrelenting. My body ached everywhere, and in the mornings, it was hardest to catch my breath. My doctor ordered a COVID-19 test, but as my fever broke through the night the UPMC lab would not do my test. At the time, they had a “current fever” standard, though that quickly changed. My fever has come and gone twice during the past 12 days.
My doctor sent me to the Central Outreach Wellness Center in Aliquippa, which primarily exists to serve LGBTQIA populations. I felt a bit bad to be taking up their time, not representing the population they serve, but they were so kind and welcoming to me. They did a sputum, or spit, test. The staff said I would know the results in 48 hours.
It was a Wednesday, so I anxiously waited for Friday. I called several times throughout the day, with no results. So I spent the weekend anxious, worried, sick and feverish. Everyone I had been with — my family, friends I had seen when I got back, everyone — hunkered down and limited their contact with others as much as possible while we waited, on edge.
Monday, March 23, came and went. I didn’t get my results. On March 24, my doctor called in an antibiotic over the phone for me, as it seemed I was developing symptoms of pneumonia. I was scared and worried. Still no answers.
(Photo via iStock)
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