But here’s who I am thinking about in our winter of death:
When people say, “Most kids are fine,” I picture my tiny son, his undeveloped lungs scraped by the ventilator that kept him alive in his first days.
My son, too young to be eligible for the vaccines. He was born 10 weeks early, and spent the first two months of his life in the hospital. He had open-heart surgery before he turned four months old. When people say, “Most kids are fine,” I picture my tiny son, his undeveloped lungs scraped by the ventilator that kept him alive in his first days, and I wonder if he will be among the lucky ones when the virus finds him.
My sister, who has survived Covid at least once before, and who religiously wears masks and uses hand sanitizer like she owns stock in Purell. She’s thinking about getting vaccinated, but she can’t square it yet with all the questions she has, and her doctor told her that recovered people don’t need the vaccine.
My mother, who is vaccinated and boosted but over the age of 65. She seems to have a new report every week about another resident of her retirement community who has fallen to Covid. I can’t tell her to stay inside and avoid it anymore; the virus is all around her.
The Biden administration’s recent moves make clear that there isn’t the political will to protect the vulnerable among us. There hasn’t been the will for some time. The government failed to use its power and resources to prepare for this moment, and it will result in thousands of deaths over the next few weeks, as well as untold rates of disability, loss, and disruption. That this was entirely foreseeable is a cold comfort.
I am not asking anyone to “panic indefinitely.” I’m asking us to prepare—because Covid isn’t nearly done with us yet. There are more Greek letters to come.
By Melody Schreiber for The New Republic
Ed: As of yesterday 55.3 million had been infected by coronavirus in the United States and 845 745 had died.
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