SCOTT LUDWIG: Pardon the interruption

March 13, 2020. The President of the United States declared a national emergency in response to the coronavirus outbreak, a disease about which, at the time, very little was known. On that day, the country was effectively shut down while the powers-that-be decided on the best course of action to take.

On that same day, Jennifer Koncul of Atlanta was asked to sneak in the side entrance of her doctor’s office after calling in with headaches, exhaustion and a general feeling that “something was off.” When she made it into an exam room, the doctor and staff – all wearing white hazmat suits – gave Jennifer one of the city’s first tests for COVID-19.

It was perhaps fitting, if not a little bit ironic, that the day just happened to be Friday the 13th.

Prior to the visit to her doctor, Jennifer did a little research on her own. She reviewed the list of COVID symptoms released by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention: low grade fever, chills, fatigue, coughing. She checked all the boxes.

Back in those early days of the pandemic, it took several days to get test results. Jennifer’s, in fact, had to come back all the way from California. So it wasn’t until March 17, St. Patrick’s Day, that the doctor told Jennifer the report was back and that she’d tested positive … and would have to remain quarantined in her apartment for two weeks.

Jennifer thought her doctor was joking at first. Once she was convinced of her diagnosis, she cried. A Savannah native, she asked if it would be OK to go home for the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade. But the doctor advised it wasn’t a good idea: “You can’t go into the public. If you stop for gas or happen to get in a wreck, you put others at risk.” (Note: The COVID death toll in the U.S. surpassed 100 on that day … and the parade in Savannah was cancelled.)

Meanwhile, where Jennifer was employed, a memo was distributed announcing that “someone in the office has COVID-19.” Where Jennifer worshipped, the pastor sent out an email that “someone in the congregation has COVID-19.” At Young Life, where Jennifer volunteered, a nationwide communication was made with this same bit of news, this one identifying her by name.

It’s no surprise that, alone in her apartment and cut off from the general public, Jennifer “felt like a leper.” Her doctor checked in daily to get an update on her vitals. People dropped off groceries on her doorstep. Friends and relatives called to see how she was doing, many of them inquisitive about her symptoms. Her parents felt helpless because they couldn’t come to their daughter’s aid.

One day Jennifer checked in with her doctor and said that she noticed she couldn’t smell bleach when she was cleaning her shower, and that she also had trouble tasting any food. The doctor said it was the first time she had heard of those symptoms, but said she’d make a note.

If she didn’t know otherwise, Jennifer would have thought she just came down with a really bad case of the flu. People who knew her, however, had a different impression of the situation that made her have doubts about her future: Jennifer should be on death’s doorstep.

During her two-week quarantine, for the most part she remained inside her apartment, only venturing outside every now and then to get some fresh air … and making sure she stayed as far away as possible from everyone else.

On March 21, Jennifer made this solemn entry in her journal: “I haven’t journaled since my positive COVID report. So much has happened. Jesus be near to me, be near to this world.”

After her 14 days in solitary were over, she said she felt free again, but she could tell that people were wary of being around her. Once she got out in public, seeing the bare shelves in the grocery stores and the empty pumps at the gas stations made her feel like she was “on another planet … or had just survived an apocalypse.”

For the next year, Jennifer continued to experience random low-grade fevers. Other than that, things were relatively back to normal.

However, in 2021 she almost lost a parent after her mother contracted COVID, most likely from a family member. At that time, the Delta variant ran rampant through her family in Savannah. Jennifer’s uncle, incidentally, ultimately lost his life to the disease.

March 13, 2024. It’s now been four years since Jennifer Koncul became one of COVID-19’s first victims in Atlanta. As Jennifer reflected on that dark period in America’s history, she shared this thought:

“It was something that none of us were prepared for: mentally, physically or emotionally. But we did the best we could at the time. I think, and hope, that if we are faced with another pandemic in the future, people will treat the disease and each other much differently.”