At this point, it is just the beginning, but I don’t yet realize it. It has been several long days with coronavirus symptoms and I’m living every second in a bizarre purgatory of fever, chills, guilt, fear, and the frustration of not knowing if I have it or not.

I wake up on Thursday to a flurry of texts from friends and colleagues. Am I better yet? How am I doing? Have I gotten tested? Have I talked to my doctor? Have I seen the latest idiotic thing our president has said? Do I still have a fever?

It feels like a personal failure to tell all of them that, no, I am not better and yes, I still have a fever. American capitalism has trained us to think we have control over our lives and livelihood to the point where even serious health issues are seen as a mind-over-matter problem to be solved quickly, and I think the coronavirus pandemic has proven this as a complete fantasy. We are not in control and we are not prepared and the US healthcare system—or industry, as it actually is here (there are shareholders and payoffs, are there not?)—is not set up to care for people when they need it the most.

I wait until Thursday at nine to call my doctor the minute the office opens. My sickness has gone respiratory, I tell him, thinking that now I will finally be tested. I have shortness of breath and a cough in addition to the fever, which shoots up every time the Advil wears off. I am weak with no appetite, and no sense of smell although my nose isn’t clogged. I am shocked that I still do not qualify for a Covid-19 test. It has been five days with fever and every single symptom except a sore throat. My doctor explains that as long as I’m not wheezing or feeling like I can’t get enough oxygen, I do not qualify for a test.

On Friday evening, I become more and more terrified by my shallow and rapid breathing. I had taken a break from reading the news, but found a helpful triage site made by a group of doctors that suggested those suffering from coronavirus symptoms take an expectorant and decongestant to help with breathing. Within a few minutes of drinking the most disgusting battery acid pink liquid (generic Mucinex), my breathing calms. I still can’t take a deep breath, but it’s better. Whew. Reading about all those Italians suffocating in their own collapsed lungs does not help my mental state, but in this case the fear is warranted. I continue to take an expectorant and decongestant every four hours, and I can tell as soon as it leaves my system because my breathing becomes ragged again.

On Sunday, March 22, eight full days since I first fell ill, I awake to a splitting headache and feel a shortness of breath coupled with a new dizziness. Am I getting worse? Or is my body extra tired from fighting this thing? My doctor’s office is closed so I call and leave him a message.

My husband and son are still asymptomatic. For more than a week, I have been a non-parent, almost a non-human in my own home. Every day they take long walks with the dogs, ride bikes, read books, play video games, watch movies. My son understands that he cannot play with the neighborhood kids and hasn’t complained about it, so I appreciate that and wonder if he is secretly terrified. I worry that the two of them will get sick, and this fear is worse than anything.

I go back and forth about my symptoms, waiting for a call back. Should I harass my doctor to get the test so that I have irrefutable proof that I have it? Is it my duty as a citizen to be counted and added to the numbers so that doctors can do proper research on this pandemic in my community? If I can get approved for a test, do I have the strength to drive myself to a parking garage to wait in line for hours for a nose swab? And what do I do if my lungs get worse? Should I go to an urgent care health clinic or to the hospital and risk exposure to all kinds of germs? How sick is sick enough to go? How the hell is staying at home with zero medical intervention the best healthcare one can get during a global health crisis? I remind myself that I am one of the lucky ones who can breathe and whose family is healthy, and I just need to focus on getting better, little by little. I calm down.