Three hours later, when I still hadn’t received the results, I stepped out of my room wearing my mask to ask for information. “Get back in your room, Ms. Shulman,” called one of the staff at the desk. I paused. “Ms. Shulman, get back in your room now!” she said. I surmised that the flu panel was negative and they were assuming I had the coronavirus.

When the doctor gave me those results, she hovered by the door in her mask, gloves and gown without even entering the room.

“You are officially under quarantine,” she said. The other swab would go to the C.D.C. for testing.

She left and returned, after another phone call. This time, she walked into my room and sat on a chair opposite me without even putting on her protective gown. My quarantine had been lifted.

Other officials had decided, based on my history, that I was low risk for Covid-19. It seemed to me that the shortage of tests might be influencing their diagnosis.

Nonetheless, she said, I should self-isolate — I shouldn’t go to children’s birthday parties, but I could put on a mask and go to the grocery store. When I felt better, I could resume activities. My children and husband should stay home if they were sick, but otherwise continue at school and work.

Instead of sending my swab for Covid-19 testing, she told me, they would send it out for a second panel of less-common illnesses. If I was negative for all of that, the New York City Department of Health would consider sending my sample to the C.D.C. for Covid-19 testing, she said. I should call the next day for results.

On Thursday, I phoned for results. “All I know is your test came up negative and you have to do a full quarantine for 14 days,” said the physician assistant in the E.R. I said that was starkly different from my most recent instructions. “Based on your negative test results, that’s the information I have,” she said. “You need to call the Department of Health.”