It's the "anticipation" that kills you.
Waiting at home for a day or two for a coronavirus test at an official assessment site in a South Australian country town was excruciating.
And that was before a swab was inserted up my nose several centimetres.
As an Australian Community Media newspaper editor, I thought it prudent to be checked for the virus, given that I had been near a hotspot in Adelaide.
First, I rang the COVID-19 test clinic and told them my plight.
The clinic representative remained unflustered and said they would call me when an appointment for a test was available.
Twenty-four hours elapsed and I rang again to be told there was strong demand for checks and I would have to wait until the next day.
Finally, the phone call came for a 2pm session at the clinic.
Pulling up in my car, while wearing a mask, I was told by a staff member to switch off the engine.
She donned protective gear and produced a long-handled swab. First, it was put down my throat and jiggled around, making me gag.
Then the same swab was inserted into my right nostril and swished around. It must have looked strange. None of this hurt, but the expectations had played havoc with my imagination.
Results will come in 48 hours.