The pandemic isn’t over. So many countries haven’t seen the worst of it. I am so happy to be vaccinated (Pfizer), but I know this is a pause, not the end, in lockdown life, because of variants, because unvaccinated people are providing a breeding ground and evolutionary laboratory for such.
I know people are exhausted from thinking about the novel coronavirus and that most people in the USA haven’t lost any loved one to COVID-19. For most people in the USA, this disease is still something abstract and just merely inconvenient, even with almost 600,000 deaths in our country alone and untold numbers of people who have long-term disabilities. I am not one of those people, but I’d like to think I would still be this alarmed even if I didn’t know people who have died or are permanently disabled from this.
This past weekend, I saw a neighbor I hadn’t seen in many months. Lucinda adores him, so I crossed the street so she could greet him. He was thrilled. He asked how we were and I said we were fine, grateful we’ve been able to stay healthy and that we’ve been fully vaccinated, and that I’m so sorry for the people in our neighborhood who are still dealing with long-term effects from the virus.
“People in our neighborhood?” he said with alarm. “People here have had it?”
This isn’t the first time I’ve remarked to a neighbor about other neighbors having this disease – no names, of course – and that neighbor having NO IDEA, having thought he or she was living in a safe little disease-free cocoon.
I walk my dog every day. I know most every person in my neighborhood by sight, if they have a dog or not, if they have an outdoor cat, when they bought their house, how many people live in the house, how often their adult children visit, if there’s a baby on the way, if one of the kids graduated in May, and on and on. I’m not an Oregonian – I’m a Kentuckian, and I talk to people. I’m Gladys Kravitz and I have no apologies for that. People have piped right up with the info to me as I walk by: “I got COVID. It’s been hell.” I don’t reveal their names to anyone, but yes, absolutely, I’ve referred to people in our neighborhood having this disease. And most of the time, the “What?!?” reaction is what I get from other neighbors.
But it’s not that ignorance and denial that fuels my pessimism.
In July 2020, I wrote about how the novel coronavirus may never go away, even with a vaccine. There are links to the long articles I read that predicted this and that made me realize this wouldn’t be something that would be with us for just several weeks or a few months, in contrast to what politicians and news folks were saying. This week, I came across this interview with the epidemiologist who worked with the WHO to help eradicate smallpox and was the science adviser for what many are calling a prescient film, Contagion. I really hope you will read the article in its entirety. It notes, in part:
If a third of the population, 30 percent, is not vaccinated, not wearing masks, and we’ve already got the variants in the United States—what do you think’s going to happen? Remember, what drives a virus is not how good we’ve been at vaccinating 60 percent. It’s the 120 million Americans who are not vaccinated, not wearing masks, not practicing social distancing, and who are congregating. And it only takes one little virus, and it’s everywhere, because they’re just not protected. Of those who aren’t vaccinated but had the virus, a high percentage have already lost their immunity or have waning immunity—there’s much less and much less durable immunity from getting the disease than from getting the vaccine.
That people are refusing to be vaccinated when the vaccine is available is outrageous. It comes from a place of privilege, of being willfully obtuse and not experiencing any immediate consequences from such reckless selfishness. I’ve used this analogy so many times, but it fits: imagine millions of people in the USA and the UK during World War II saying, “Screw these restrictions, I have a right to gas, to steak and to cosmetics, I’m going to do what I want because rations are inconvenient to the life I want to live.” I think about people in the UK in particular, who went without things like oranges and chocolate for MANY years – they were still living with a lot of deprivation even in 1950.
I know people are frustrated that “the science keeps changing.” It’s not that science keeps changing, but our understanding of it does: we get more data, we get a larger group looking at that data, and sometimes, we realize that our understanding is wrong. For instance, it turns out, in contrast to what was said a year ago, in contrast to my own understanding, face masks DO protect the wearer, far more than scientists thought they did – but the reality is still that your face masks protect others even more. I love the pants analogy the most: pants don’t protect you from getting some of your own pee on you, but they do protect you from getting pee on other people. Since I care about people, and I care about myself, I’m masking up – and apologizing to all the tourists I made fun of in my mind for about 15 years.
Knowing what we know about masks, it should be that vaccinated people aren’t wearing them and people who aren’t vaccinated are. Instead, it’s the opposite. And I’m one of those people still wearing a mask inside anywhere other than my house, despite being vaccinated. Why? Because I’m afraid of variants. Current vaccines may not work against the South Africa and India variants. Because I don’t want to be permanently disabled: not being able to taste, not being able to sing or breathe deeply, being exhausted from just walking across the house, etc. Because I’m not ready to die.
Do read this article, which has many interesting historical notes, like that the “Spanish flu” originated in Kansas, and why it got the “wrong” name.
We’re stronger and smarter than we’re acting right now. That’s what makes me so angry – we know better and we act like petulant children instead. I want to go to the movies, go to live theater, go to concerts, go inside and eat, and on and on – but if people don’t radically change their behavior, I’ll never be able to do any of that safely. And neither will they.
I’m treating pandemic life now, in its current state in the USA, as a pause. We’re going camping. We’re eating outside at restaurants. We go inside to stores, wearing masks. We’re planning a motorcycle trip for September and for 2022. Stefan is hoping to fly to Europe next year and see his parents. We’re going to enjoy the pause, we’re going to make the most out of it. But we’re fully expecting this to be a pause in the pandemic to end – and fear what the next lockdown will bring in terms of people’s behavior.
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