Maureen Ogle

Iowa View contributor

On Feb. 23, my husband and I landed in Rome, Italy, for a long-planned, nine-day trip. On the 25th, the Italian government announced the virus had arrived in northern Italy.

Bad news, of course, especially for us: I’m 66; he’s 79. One of us has a chronic form of cancer; the other, a lymphoma in remission. COVID-19 was not and never would be our friend.

But Rome was not affected, so we decided to stay put unless told otherwise. If matters changed, we were prepared to depart early.

On March 4, we arrived back in Ames, ready for two weeks of self-quarantine. We felt fine, but the last thing we wanted to do was spread any possible contagion to others.

But the next morning, I woke up feeling not so fine. Sore throat, cough, sneeze, headache. But I didn’t have a fever. I figured this was the usual jet-lag, airplane-air, post-travel “cold.”

On day four, I woke from a midday nap and, miraculously, felt much better, as if a miserable fog had lifted. I wasn’t ready to run around the block, but presumably the worst was over.

Except … maybe not. One day, I’d feel fine; the next, not so much. I was still tired. I didn’t have a fever, but I had a persistent, though not wracking, cough.

On the morning of Friday, March 13, common sense kicked in, and I decided perhaps I’d better make sure I was really “OK.” Four hours later, I’d been tested, and my sample was en route to the state lab.

What did I do?

1. At 10 a.m., I wrote my doctor a note, using his clinic’s online message service. At about 11:30, he phoned. He had already spoken to the clinic’s epidemiologist, who urged him to test me, and contacted the state lab for permission to test.

2. At 12:30, he called again. Permission granted. He would meet me in the clinic parking lot, appropriately haz-mat-suited, and take me through a back door to a room readied for my test. In that way, we avoided the lobby, patients, and staff.

3. He administered two tests, one for flu, one for COVID. Filament tube twice down each nostril, once for flu, other for virus. (Side note: The test hurts! I wasn't expecting that.)

4. The swab would travel 140 miles to the state lab. We’d know something by Monday. We elbow-bumped, he went back to work, and I went home to rest. It was about 1:30.

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Before I left, my doctor thanked me for writing rather than calling. Because I’d done so, he laid the groundwork without having a potentially sick person on the premises.

He also told me that he assumed and expected that I would test positive. Despite my lack of fever and a wracking, hard cough, he said, I otherwise “presented” classic COVID symptoms. He added that my four-day post-travel “cold" was likely the onset of my COVID-19 encounter; I was thus about seven days into its trajectory.

Finally, and perhaps most important, he stressed that 85% of people who contract the disease will have an experience just like mine. They won’t need medical care or hospitalization.

So. This can be done. But we need to use common sense. Write your doctor. Stay home. For myself, I’m thankful beyond measure that I have access to competent, skilled health care. I only wish all Americans enjoyed the same.

UPDATE, MARCH 17: Editor's note: Maureen Ogle wrote in to say that her test for COVID-19 actually turned out negative and that she feels "fine."

Maureen Ogle is a historian and author living in Ames.