On March 12 I got a fever that didn’t go away.

It hovered around 101 or 102 degrees for the next week, accompanied by severe fatigue and body aches. My office was already working remotely, so I powered through and kept at it, with lots of breaks and naps. I saw a doctor via video who said it was probably the flu — possibly the coronavirus, he added, but tests were unavailable and the prescription, rest and fluids, would be the same regardless.

I naturally worried about the coronavirus, but I didn’t have respiratory symptoms. I’m also a 45-year-old, generally healthy nonsmoker (I quit years ago) with none of the high-risk conditions listed by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. I didn’t seem like a probable Covid-19 candidate.

Then, about a week in, I began to cough. Taking deep breaths felt as if fire were shooting through my lungs. My primary care doctor, with whom I also consulted via video, thought it was pneumonia and prescribed a course of antibiotics. New York State set up a coronavirus testing site an hour from my home. When I called for an appointment, I waited on hold for 80 minutes, after which someone took my information and said someone else would call me back. No one did.

Eight days after the fever first manifested, I could barely move. My wife took me to an urgent care clinic, where I received a chest X-ray and confirmation that I had pneumonia. They swabbed me for the coronavirus but their lab was overwhelmed, and they didn’t know when they would receive any results. I’ve still not heard from them.