Diagnosis: you have been diagnosed with a viral respiratory infection that may be due to coronavirus (COVID-19). At this time your provider has determined that you do not required an emergency evaluation. If your symptoms progress or worsen, it may be necessary to seek additional care in person.
Those are scary words but that’s what my doctor’s note says from my telehealth appointment.
I feel fine. I’m okay, as far as I can tell. I’m on day three of this journey. The first 24 hours came with a bad fever, sore throat, shortness of breath, and cold sweats. The cold sweats were like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I was driving home with the heat as high as it could go while it was 90 degrees outside yet still shaking uncontrollably with chills.
My fever has since broken, and I’ve been without one for a little under forty-eight hours. That had me wanting to believe this isn’t coronavirus, that this is some other bug, but I’m easily winded just walking around the house. And I can’t think of a time when I’ve ever been short of breath in my life.
The doctor recommended against rushing out to get tested, in part because my symptoms had only just started and in part because he didn’t think the tests were accurate enough. Really? We’re in July and we still don’t have accurate enough tests? I may seek out getting a test in the next day or two, anyway. And, I should have a pulse oximeter arriving in the mail today.
I was told that if this gets worse, the peak is seven days from the onset of symptoms. As I’m on day three and feeling better, I’m counting this as a mild case, if coronavirus at all. But I’m not foolish enough to think it couldn’t turn south at any moment. And I’m not taking any chances.
Suffice to say, I’ve got myself on lockdown. It’s just me and Freya, who is decidely sick of me.
Please, I’m begging you: take this virus seriously. Wear a mask. Socially distance. Don’t go where you don’t have to. Listen to scientists, doctors, not wannabe authoritarian politicians. For your sake and for others.