What Does Your Doctor Say?

I recently shared an Axios story (click for link) — only one of every three Americans believe the published death statistics for the current pandemic. To my way of thinking, that in itself is concerning – trust is clearly in short supply. It is even more concerning to me that our distrust is fueled and magnified by our political beliefs. In short, lefties think the numbers are too low while righties think they’re inflated. 

An expanded reply to a response re: that article follows. Because I think the reply has some merit on its own, I edited it and gave it its own blog entry. As I mentioned in the original post, the article ought to give anyone pause, although not necessarily hope. 

“My takeaway from this article is that it had absolutely nothing to do with which side is right or wrong, because it’s irrelevant (to the article). My takeaway is that perception is trumping reality and what people believe is based, for two-thirds of the populace, on 1) where they sit on the political spectrum and 2) where they get their news, offering conclusive evidence that people don’t believe what they hear and/or see, rather they see/hear what they believe.

As for me, I’m trusting the advice of MY doctor (if I don’t trust him, I need a new doctor), to whom I pay a lot of money, not some “expert” on cable news or You Tube or Facebook. I wonder how many of the people sharing memes, supporting protests, posting articles or videos, have actually consulted THEIR DOCTORS?

I think that’s going to be my standard response: What does your doctor say?

My doctor says it’s too soon to know anything for sure, because this crisis is unlike anything we’ve experienced before. He says it’s too soon to stop being careful and smart; neither is it wise to stop trusting science. Yes, I talked to him directly, personally, after he responded to my email with a phone call and 15-minute conversation. Additionally, he suggested that the CDC, Dr. Fauci, and even Gov. Cuomo are worth listening to; that letting other people be the guinea pigs who test the safety of dine-in restaurants is probably a smart strategy;* and that he felt safe in agreeing that cancelling our cruise this summer was the right call, although other travel this summer might be considered, given new safety protocols.

“You can’t eliminate all risk, you can’t shut the country down for the next 18 months; you can use common sense.”

We also concurred that while common sense, like trust, is, and has been, in short supply for quite some time, far too many people who think they have it, don’t.

* Carry-out to support your favorite eateries is very low risk, however. That is what we're doing to keep our favorites alive until the time when WE feel it's safe to start dining out again. That will be OUR call (after consulting OUR doctor), no matter the decision of any politicians to open up the economy based on some arbitrary, but politically motivated, date.

Dark Days

Just a reminder, most of my writing is really done for myself, as sort of therapy and a way to organize my thoughts. That especially applies to this piece.

I’m not that tough. I haven’t had to be. My experience with (true) adversity has been minimal. Even events that were cataclysmic didn’t really affect me personally that much. In terms of grief, I think it’s safe to say I’ve had less than my share.

I try to be aware and empathetic, so I’ve never been ignorant of world events and how they impact others; I’ve never belonged to the Libertarian school of thought that says, “If it’s not MY problem, it’s not a problem worth society taking a role in solving.” 

I was in high school when President Kennedy was assassinated; I thought it was awful, but it didn’t affect me like some of my classmates (or my wife, whom I was a long way, in terms of both time and distance, from knowing at the time). I understood why people were upset at the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but its only direct impact on me was relief that the class I cut wouldn’t count against me because the professor was so distraught he cancelled it. 

I legitimately failed my physical (which I took, no doctor’s note for me) after being drafted during the Vietnam War, and I darkly joked that for me to boycott classes after the Kent State massacre would have required I actually go to class. The floods in the district in which I taught were more impactful on my students than me. Student deaths are an unfortunate fact of life; I always tried to be supportive, but I felt far worse for my kids than myself. I knew that 9-11 was world changing, but I was always confident that we’d adapt and recover – and we did, even if such a recovery required redefining “normal.” 

I guess what I’m saying is that none of the above were really all that personal. Even my personal grief has been generally muted and not exactly tragic. Deaths of too young friends and co-workers were sad, but not devastating. The one unexpected death that I did grieve faded and didn’t resurface until well after the event itself, sitting with my wife having a drink, when the tears blew in like a summer storm. But like a storm, they, too, passed quickly and my life returned to normal.

But this feels different. This C-19 pandemic doesn’t seem like a temporary inconvenience, but more of a permanent upheaval in life as we know it, or at least I know it. Maybe things will truly get better, but at the moment I have almost no hope of an only slightly modified new normal, like 9-11. And I don’t feel well positioned to deal with it. Not tough enough, if you will. 

Part of that is based on my complete lack of confidence in the president of my country. I didn’t feel that way after 9-11. I’ve never felt this way, and I’ve lived under 11 previous presidents of both parties, 10 of whom I remember with some, if varying degrees of, clarity. I may not have been happy with the country’s direction or presidential leadership, but I viewed those administrations like I viewed some of the school administrators for whom I worked: “I’ll be here after you’re gone.” 

Congress, with its obsession on tribal victories, is only a little better. That toxic combo of presidential incompetence and irresponsibility and tribal, winner take all, congressional warfare, is just part of the problem, though. 

Another part, and related to my lack of confidence in the chief executive, is that mitigation compliance has become political, almost perverse. “If I support Trump, I must oppose any action to tamp down the pandemic. If I support Trump, attempts at mitigation are a plot against his re-election.” Interestingly this has even become a bit separated from political party; in Missouri there’s a protest planned against a Republican governor who was late to the party and an unenthusiastic guest but eventually joined in issuing a “Stay at Home” order.

Right now the disease is winning, even if far too many people are in denial, which threatens to make it even worse. I have little hope of a return to my comfortable, privileged life, and I, myself, am so much better off than people who are truly suffering, who have lost not just livelihoods but loved ones. For perhaps the first time since my early 20s, when I sort of enjoyed wallowing in negativity and angst, I am struggling to channel my inner Polyanna.

Random Observations: COVID-19 & Social Media

• Yes, the media “awfulizes” the news. That, in and of itself, is also not news and has been around since even before the yellow journalism of Hearst and Pulitzer over a century ago. And if you pretend that Fox, Breitbart, NewsMax and other right-wing outlets don’t do the same thing as the so-called MSM, then we’re both wasting our time here.

• While Dr. Drew Pinsky is a media personality MD, his specialty is opioid treatment, not infectious disease. Which is why, though I’m a professional, certified, accredited (albeit retired) teacher, I’d urge you not to put a whole lot of stock in my opinions about teaching mathematics or science. Neither am I holding my breath waiting for Dr. Oz to weigh in on this.

• There’s a difference between mortality rates and deaths. You have to do the math, though. A 2% mortality rate, which I’ve seen dismissed as no big deal by some, is 40 times the rate of regular flu (.05%). The death numbers are smaller because the number infected is smaller – so far.

• 2% means 2 out of every 100. I’ve seen dismissive posts about that number. “No big deal” unless it’s someone you care about who’s infected. Because early statistics can skew toward the severe, even if it’s 1% (and it Italy it’s apparently climbing toward double digits), if that one (1) is your parent or grandparent or someone else you love….

• Neither the Democrat Party nor President Trump is responsible for this outbreak; however, both ARE responsible for helping our country navigate its way through what must be now recognized as a crisis. I also do think a monotonal litany of anti-science, anti-intellectual tweets and statements is, and has not been, helpful, either specifically in this case or in general.

The Mind Body Connection

Working out at the WG Rec Center this afternoon, we were joined by one of the firehouse crews who arrived in their ladder truck and ambulance, so obviously still on their shift. As I was circling the room waiting for Carolyn, who had been interrupted by a phone call, to finish, I thanked some of them. I jokingly noted to one that on TV, responder houses all have cool tricked out weight rooms. Apparently the WG house has a small one, but not enough for the whole crew to get in a workout. I realized that maintaining physical conditioning is really a job requirement for first responders. 

My mind drifted, as it is wont to do these days, back to a dispute that roiled the high school for a few weeks over the issue of teachers working out (by walking the track) during their conference period. The principal at the time, in what I think was more about power than principle, insisted that teachers needed to be in their rooms or the workroom during their conference hour. Granted, this was before cell phones, but it was also before classroom telephones. I can’t imagine it would have been any more difficult to get a teacher from the track than his/her classroom. That was one of the arguments we made, but this was a fight we were destined to lose; the price of winning would have been too high.

While I would never try to argue that the physical demands of teaching (only those who have never taught can believe that it’s a sedentary profession) are equivalent to those of first responders, I would maintain they are significant enough that physical activity, and its mental by-products, would have been more beneficial than sitting in a classroom, waiting for an unscheduled summons or phone call. I know that when I walk my mind is as busy as my body. And while I wasn’t much (okay, even that’s an exaggeration) into exercise then, I tried serve as an advocate for those who believed they would benefit. It is why forward-thinking companies today recognize the need for the mind-body connections that exercise brings.

How I Became a One-Issue Voter

Single issue voters always bothered me, always made me wonder, “How can you exclude everything save for that one issue (that often does not even affect you or your family directly or personally), whether it’s abortion, or guns, or the environment?” Please note, there are one-issue voters on both poles of all those issues.

However, I fear that I have become a one-issue voter myself, because I confess that a politician will NEVER get my vote if (s)he threatens affordable access to health care for people who have pre-existing conditions. And, no, (I am looking at you, Josh Hawley and Ann Wagner) saying you’ll fix it after you take it away doesn’t count. I would point out that Republicans (and it is generally Republicans who are (or at least were until the issue became toxic) threatening to take away affordable coverage for those pre-existing conditions) controlled the Congress and Presidency for 6 straight years during Bush-45 and barely even gave lip-service to the issue, much less took action.

For me this issue is personal. I have a daughter and granddaughter with auto-immune diseases. They deserve access to affordable health care. Everybody does. So any politician who threatens their access will never get my vote. And if you tell me it’s not important (because you don’t have to deal with it – yet), then you are my political enemy.

And if you, or someone you love or care about, doesn’t have a pre-existing condition, you can be thankful and then add the word, “yet.” Because, and especially if insurance companies get to decide what constitutes a pre-exisiting condition, it is almost inevitable that this issue will touch you. Yes, you may have a job with health benefits now, but how confident are you that that will be true in a year, or five, or ten…. Or will you be afraid to change jobs, take a promotion, for fear that your precious (and it is, indeed, precious) health insurance that covers now or future health challenges might change? Who can afford to wait for MediCare (which does cover those pre-exisiting conditions)?

A caring society cares for the health of all its citizens. Access to affordable health care is a right (to life).

Boycott Football!!!

I used to watch football (on television). I was never a passionate fan, by any stretch, but I followed it and could at least pretend to know enough stuff that if the conversation veered in that direction I wouldn’t say something so ridiculous that it would reveal the depth of my ignorance.

No more. And it has nothing to do with the fake issue of the national anthem (an event that wasn’t even shown on televised broadcasts unless it featured a famous singer), or a draft-dodging president ginning up outrage over a lack of patriotism. I gave it up even before Stan Kroenke jilted St. Louis and took the Rams back to Los Angeles. I started to see it as a thuggish, brutish “sport” that glorified violence and then feigned surprise when its actors carried that same violence off the field. (See: Hey! Are You Ready For Some Fuhball! Unnhhh! Me, not so much.)

I have even better reasons, now, to be thankful that I didn’t have a son to convince not to play the game. because nothing demonstrates cognitive dissonance better than football. A large majority of Americans (83% according to one poll) believe that football is dangerous to the participants, that it “certainly” or “probably” causes brain injuries. Would that number be even higher if more people knew about the study showing 110 of 111 former professional football players’ autopsies showed CTE? Three out of four people say that head injuries are a major problem for the sport.

Three out of four also identify as fans of football and almost half say it’s their favorite sport to watch. Parents encourage their sons to play, from a young age, a sport that risks their long-term health, both physical and mental, that encourages a culture of violence. A study out of Virginia and North Carolina showed that 19 boys, aged 7 & 8, had taken over 3000 hits to the head in practice and games. Players aged 9-12 had averaged 240 hits to the head per player, with more force than people might expect. Over 25,000 football players aged 8 to 19 are treated in emergency rooms for concussions each year. (The Week, Vol. XIII, #639, p. 20)

About 90% of retired NFL players are in pain daily. Almost half (44%) have either had or been recommended to have joint replacement surgery. The goal of football is for (almost universally large) players to run into each other, knock each down or out of the way, play after play, and day after day if you include practice. Pretty sure the human body is neither intended nor built to take that kind of abuse. Despite President Trump’s bemoaning how football is being softened and made less “manly” (my words, his implication), the risks of this sport make whatever pleasure might be available as a spectator clearly not worth it (to me).

While I admit that the vast majority of retired football players claim they are happy they played, despite their projected shortened and painful life spans, I would suggest that the decision is not quite as completely personal as you might expect. The costs to the medical system for the health care of these men is not borne solely by them, but by society at large. Their costs, like the costs for those who decline to wear helmets when riding motorcycles (or even bicycles, for that matter) are not limited to them.

So if you’re boycotting football, I’m happy to join you (even if no one notices — I haven’t watched a game in years), because anything that diminishes the football culture in this country is okay by me. Just understand, I have my own reasons, and patriotic outrage isn’t one of them.

Just for fun, from the University of Snapple, early football fields had both horizontal AND vertical stripes, making it resemble, wait for it, a gridiron.