Day 49 of Nat'l Emergency: Random Thoughts on COVID-19

April ends tonight, one third of 2020 is finis, but the word of the year, according to my wife Gilda, will be #socialdistancing.

While on the subject of end of year accolades, the current choice for Time magazine’s Man of the Year has to be Dr. Anthony Fauci as a representative of the scientific and healthcare communities fighting COVID-19 based on science and facts, not pseudo science and mindless hunches.

Garden Party: Gilda is a frustrated woman. Not that way—get your mind out of the gutter!

After a mild, mostly sunny March that allowed her to get a head start on her flower and vegetable garden, Gilda has been stymied by a cold, wet April. Every day she checks the weather, multiple times, looking, praying actually, for a break when she could put seedlings out overnight without fear they will wither from the chill. 

Nurseries haven’t ordered vegetable plants because of the cold. What started out as an auspiciously good spring has turned into a downer. 

Zoom Golly Golly: Like most houses of worship our synagogue has suspended in-house services during the coronavirus pandemic. Lay and clerical leadership are now discussing implementation of Zoom-enabled virtual services, normally a non-starter in Jewish circles because of the requirement for a physical presence in one place of 10 adults for several vital prayers including recitation of mourner’s kaddish. 

Our ritual committee, of which I am a member, met by Zoom Tuesday night to begin the process of initiating a virtual sabbath service. It will happen, but only after technical issues are resolved, prompting me to send a note to our current and former rabbis wondering if in addition to conferring a divinity degree to new rabbis the Jewish Theological Seminary might also need to confer a degree in computer science. 

No Sweat: Even if you’re not a sports fan you no doubt know that professional sports leagues and their college counterparts have shut down in fear that fans packed together in stands would be excessively vulnerable to virus transmission. Athletes, as well, had to be concerned their sweaty contact and close proximity to each other could be a link to infection. 

It was not the first time athletes harbored those same worries. After Magic Johnson revealed he tested positive for HIV in 1991, basketball players wondered if his sweat, and that of any other player who had not divulged their HIV+ status, could infect them. 

They needn’t fear. One of the first studies Gilda ran as the then research coordinator of the Division of Infectious Diseases at NY Medical College/Westchester County Medical Center found that HIV could not be passed by sweat. 

Johnson could continue his Hall of Fame career. He became the face of HIV and its successful treatment. 

Spitting Distance: Spittle, on the other hand, is most definitely a carrier of coronavirus. For that reason I was intrigued by a story in Wednesday’s New York Times that a small theater in Pittsfield, Mass., the Barrington Stage Company, is planning a scaled down summer program.

It will remove 70% of the 520 seats in its main theater. All ticket holders will be required to wear masks (https://nyti.ms/2yMZZe3). 

I was interested in the story because of my experience at Playwrights Horizons in Manhattan almost seven years ago. 

Sitting in the first row I was shocked by one of the actors standing on the lip of the stage right before me. He was particularly energetic in his vocalizations. He projected more than just words. Had I an umbrella at hand I might have opened it up in self defense. His “reach,” so to speak, exceeded six feet. 

It’s an unfortunate byproduct of elocution for some actors. Indeed, in one scene where the sprayer and another thespian held drinks as they stood face to face, I observed the second actor place his right hand across the mouth of his glass to shield it from any more liquid enhancing his drink.

Many a time I’ve done the same—cover my glass, that is—at parties and cocktail receptions. Who knew I was in COVID-19 social protocol training all those years. 

My My Fair Lady for 46 Years

To celebrate our 46th wedding anniversary Monday, I took my fair lady Gilda to Lincoln Center Sunday to see the revival production of My Fair Lady. I am in no way implying that under my tutelage Gilda transformed into the accomplished women she is today. But I will say that I have been there all along as she grew from a young woman who barely knew her way around the kitchen to as close to a gourmet cook you can be without certification. 

But cooking is in many ways a minor accomplishment compared to her professional development. I’m a fairly accomplished person in my own right. Despite my parents’ trepidation at my career choice as a journalist, I achieved some success as a newspaper reporter and then a business magazine editor and publisher. In terms of intellectual development and immeasurable contributions to public welfare and health, however, my story pales compared to Gilda’s.

When we first married in 1973 Gilda had a degree in political science from Brooklyn College, our joint alma mater. After moving to Seymour, Conn., part of my beat as a reporter for The New Haven Register, her degree qualified her for a job with a budding new industry: selling cable television hookups. It was a no-brainer. Cable offered some 20 station options versus the one to three most people in Seymour and the other towns of the Lower Naugatuck Valley could receive in their homes.

Not surprisingly, after a few months Gilda sought a higher calling. She fulfilled a decade old ambition to become a nurse. After two years she graduated at the top of her class at the University of Bridgeport and immediately was hired by Yale-New Haven Hospital. 

Offered a position on any patient floor, Gilda chose the newborn intensive care unit, a pioneering discipline that treated distressed babies born in a region roughly 100 to 150 miles around New Haven. She and a doctor would travel by ambulance to stabilize and then transport a newborn, often the size of an adult male’s hand, back to the NICU in New Haven. She worked there for two years.

What I didn’t mention was taking that job in the NICU was the start of a pattern of healthcare employment that has been central to her career. Prior to working in the NICU, Gilda had no experience with newborns, let alone those with complications so debilitating that she would come home semi-traumatized and in need of withdrawal through discussion over dinner. Of course, hearing about babies with unformed intestines, heart related issues or some other defect usually related to their premature birth was not the kind of dinner conversation I wanted to hear, so I stifled her release outlet. 

After we moved to Westchester Gilda again took a position without prior experience, this time as a step-down nurse in the Intensive Care-Cardio Care Unit at Lawrence Hospital in Bronxville. She left that job for the most important one any person can have, as a mother to her (our) children. 

During those next seven years she supplemented her mothering with part-time work as a pre-natal and post-partum instructor and as a nursery school teacher. In one area, she helped expectant and successful mothers understand and adapt to the changes their bodies were undergoing. In the other she helped shape their progeny.

Seeking a full-time position after Ellie started school, in early 1987 Gilda went for an interview for a post she admitted she was not qualified for. She went, she would tell you, because I suggested it would provide experience sitting through an interview. She got the job, serving for the next nine years as the research coordinator for the infectious disease department of New York Medical College and Westchester County Medical Center in Valhalla. 

The ID department studied three of the most volatile illnesses of the time—hepatitis, Lyme Disease and HIV. From knowing virtually nothing about any of those diseases Gilda became expert in each of them. For example, she was part of the team that discovered HIV could not be transmitted through body sweat. She coordinated the Lyme clinic at the medical center. And, during those professionally challenging years she found time to serve two years as co-president of our children’s school PTA and also earned her Family Nurse Practitioner’s license.

Her next major job placement came in another area for which she lacked experience. Three spine surgeons at Beth Israel Medical Center in Manhattan hired her in June 1998 to do pre- and post-operative patient assessments. In time, Gilda learned how to read MRIs, X-Rays and other diagnostic tests better than most doctors. Her skills were so appreciated by the surgeons that the transfer of their practice to Mount Sinai Medical Center was contingent upon their ability to bring Gilda with them.

Nearly 21 years after beginning as a neophyte in spine-related medicine Gilda retired as an expert earlier this month. For almost five decades she counseled the infirm and those who needed assistance. On numerous occasions she saved lives, mostly for friends and their families unrelated to her expertise in spine or infectious diseases. She became a “go-to” healthcare resource. She is now free to carve out new challenges, for I am sure she will not idly let her energies go unstructured. 

Forty-six years ago there was no way either of us could foresee how Gilda would spend her life. I have been blessed to have accompanied her ride. I am so proud of My Fair Lady.  

The Corruption of Power

I’m continuously amazed by the random confluence of real world events and aspects of my life and those close to me. Monday I wrote about Gilda’s link to Magic Johnson’s announcement 20 years ago that he was HIV+. Gilda had been part of a research study back then that showed the HIV virus could not be transmitted via sweat, meaning Johnson and other players need not worry about close body contact during a basketball game.

Today, as I was riding around listening to sports radio talk show hosts comment on the horrific alleged child sex abuse incidents at Penn State University and their belief that long-time coach Joe Paterno should resign or be fired before this Saturday’s game because of his moral failure to pursue the charges against his long-time assistant and friend Jerry Sandusky, I realized the team’s next game is against the University of Nebraska. Ellie’s fiancé, Donny, is from Omaha. He and his family are BIG Cornhusker fans.

As I write this the university board of trustees has just decided Paterno cannot retire at season’s end under his own terms. They voted his immediate dismissal. If I had a vote, I’d have cast it for immediate termination.

While details of Sandusky’s alleged child molestations have come out, including eye witness accounts, it is fascinating to note the parallel reporting of the alleged sexual bias charges leveled against Herman Cain. It might have been plausible to think one woman could be delusional, or motivated by self-interest or revenge for a perceived slight. But now that five women have become part of the record, it is more plausible that Cain is a serial abuser. Perhaps he doesn’t see his behavior as such. After all, anyone who can say he was joking about electrocuting illegal aliens as they try to come across our border, might not realize the impact his words and actions have. As the head of the powerful National Restaurant Association, and before that as CEO of Godfather’s Pizza, he possessed power over these women.

Power. As the saying goes, it corrupts. Paterno at Penn State was considered a king, the most powerful man in Pennsylvania. Cain had power, the power to provide employment, or take it away. What does it say about Cain that he does not remember any of the incidents raised by the five women, that he had difficulty recalling settlements in several of the cases, that he couldn’t remember acknowledging the settlements some 10 years ago when he first sought elective office? What does it say about Paterno for not alerting police to the alleged monstrous behavior of his subordinate? Have we learned nothing from the scandals within the Catholic Church, that we should immediately report alleged abusive acts to the police?

Here’s another sign of how deeply troubled and wrong-centered we are as a country: Scott Pelley on the CBS Evening News tonight devoted 23 seconds to Tuesday’s elections in Mississippi and Ohio, results that have wide implications on national politics. In Mississippi, voters rejected an anti-abortion amendment to the state constitution that would have set the beginning of life at fertilization. In Ohio, voters rejected efforts by the Republican governor to limit collective bargaining rights for public employees.

While those two stories got a combined 23 seconds of air time, Pelley devoted 20 seconds to news that Eddie Murphy had resigned as host of next year’s Academy Awards telecast, a story more appropriate to Entertainment Tonight than the evening news.

The news just gets dumber and dumber.

This Magic Moment

Perhaps you heard him on some sports radio talk shows today commemorating the 20th anniversary of the day he, Magic Johnson, one of the premier basketball players of his and all-time, stunned the world by announcing he was HIV+. Unlike other HIV+ celebrities, such as Rock Hudson, Johnson was at the peak of his career, leading a vibrant life. He was still an active member of the Los Angeles Lakers.

Magic’s admission helped transform the public perception of HIV patients. Johnson became the face of HIV and its successful treatment.

Twenty years ago Gilda was the research coordinator of the Division of Infectious Disease at NY Medical College/Westchester County Medical Center. She studied Hepatitis, Lyme Disease, and HIV, contributing to numerous research papers.

Among the first studies she worked on was one that directly affected Magic Johnson and all other athletes. The study explored whether the HIV virus could be transmitted through sweat. To gather the sweat, HIV patients were placed in steam rooms. Their sweat dripped into plastic gloves to be tested.

The bottom line: HIV was not passed on by sweat. It was safe for Johnson and other athletes to continue playing together without fear of contracting HIV from the sweat of an infected player.