20. Pandemic
March 6 - March 27, 2020
Friday, March 6: Thomas checks the Coronavirus news. Cases are rising, a cruise ship is under quarantine, test kits are scarce, and South Korea faces a shortage of masks. In Italy, the coronavirus overwhelms hospital beds and transforms doctors into patients.
The situation in Europe is worrisome. Michael, Thomas’s younger brother, wants to see the Oberammergau Passion Play this summer. For Christmas, Thomas paid for Michael’s airfare.
At home, he finishes some takeout from yesterday and checks the news again. It’s dire. SXSW cancels the show over virus concerns. Wall Street takes a beating. The death toll in Italy jumps. Tourists abandon popular destinations: St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican, Piazza Duomo in Milan, and the Louvre. The Centers for Disease Control botches coronavirus testing.
Several big companies shift to telecommuting. At Epic, there’s no need for that; everyone has a private office.
Saturday, March 7: The cascade of coronavirus news continues. New York Governor Andrew Cuomo declares a state of emergency, major universities announce shutdowns, and Italy plans a large-scale lockdown in the country’s northern provinces.
The World Health Organization refuses to call the outbreak a pandemic because that might scare people.
“Unless we’re convinced it’s uncontrollable, why (would) we call it a pandemic?” WHO director-general Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus said this week.
Panicky clickbait proliferates. Business Insider headlines that US hospitals expect millions of coronavirus hospitalizations. The story itself clarifies that this is a hypothetical best guess by one expert speaking on a panel in February without the benefit of data.
It’s a sunny day in Madison: sixty degrees outside in the afternoon, the warmest day since last October. Thomas focuses on defending the Imperium of Man from the Forces of Chaos. He walks to the Powernine store on State and spends a couple hundred dollars to buy more Space Marines.
Students gather in the pubs and eateries that line the street. Spring is almost here.
Sunday, March 8: Thomas reads another story about the COVID-19 wave that will hit hospitals. An expert says the surge in demand for intensive care beds “could range somewhere between 200,000 and 2.9 million patients.” The American Hospital Association says there are currently only 65,000 intensive care beds.
Somewhere between 200K and 2.9 million. Seems like a pretty wide forecast interval. The Dodgers will finish first, last, or somewhere in between.
Thomas hears whispered concerns at work. A tidal wave that hits hospitals will also hit Epic. So far, though, his work is unaffected.
Coronavirus cases more than double in Massachusetts. That’s concerning. Hope Mom and Dad are OK.
Monday, March 9: New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy declares a state of emergency. Shit most def hitting the fan for RJW/Barnabas.
Panic spreads. The Capitol Centre Market runs out of Clorox, Lysol, disposable masks, hand sanitizer, toilet paper, pasta, rice, milk, and bottled water.
Tuesday, March 10: Thomas reads some articles about the Spanish Flu. An article in Marginal Revolution, an economics blog, says cities that closed schools early in the epidemic suffered fewer excess deaths.
A New York Times story says that the Spanish Flu is very different from the coronavirus. The Spanish Flu killed young people, while the coronavirus kills older people.
Basing public health policy on what worked against the Spanish Flu may be like fighting the last war.
There’s a story in the news about New Jersey’s first confirmed coronavirus death, an older man with chronic health problems.
In Massachusetts, there are 51 new cases. Governor Charlie Baker declares a state of emergency.
Shit is getting real.
Friday, March 13: Wisconsin Governor Tony Evers declares a state of emergency. He directs the Department of Health Services to mandate statewide closure of all K-12 schools in the state.
Epic Systems cancels the Experts Group Meeting (XGM) 2020 scheduled for late April. This is a stunning move, as Epic expects 9,000 customers and partners for the event. Epic also notifies employees that they can cancel or postpone non-essential business travel and work from home if they have symptoms or risk complications from the coronavirus.
Monday, March 16: The White House Coronavirus Task Force announces an initiative called Fifteen Days to Slow the Spread. The guidelines direct citizens to work from home, avoid social gatherings, avoid bars and restaurants, avoid discretionary travel, avoid visiting nursing homes, and wash their hands.
There is an exception for “critical infrastructure,” like hospitals.
Tuesday, March 17: Thomas joins an Epic task force to help customers in New York and New Jersey manage the supply of ventilators. Everyone is in crisis, and the work is intense.
In Massachusetts, the Governor announces a series of measures, including travel limits, a ban on large gatherings, school closings, and a quarantine on travelers arriving in the state. I walk to my nearby Trader Joe’s and find many people waiting to get in. The store is only allowed to have twenty-five shoppers at one time. A burly security guard stands at the door and counts people in and out.
I call Thomas and tell him we must postpone our trip to see him. Every year, we travel to Madison to celebrate his birthday. We will reschedule as soon as they lift the travel quarantine.
Fine, no problem, he says. He tells me about his work with ventilators. Thomas loves firefighting.
Wednesday, March 18: Jabberwocky isn’t as full as usual. Thomas parks and walks the Yellow Brick Road to his office in Oz. He passes some empty offices. Wisconsin closed all the schools and daycare centers starting today; Epic employees with children stay home with the kids.
The cafeteria in Kings Cross isn’t as busy as usual. Thomas grabs a boxed breakfast burrito and swipes his badge at the self-checkout. He sees some team members at a table, so he joins them.
Tuesday, March 24: Thomas turns twenty-nine today. I call him and leave a message wishing him a happy birthday. He returns the call in the evening while driving home from work.
I ask if he has any special plans for his birthday. Nope, he says. He’s very busy with this ventilator project at work. Anyway, there’s a shelter-in-place order going into effect—no social gatherings.
Does the shelter-in-place order affect your work? I ask. Nope. Epic is exempt because it supports hospitals. No travel, though, unless absolutely necessary.
Thomas goes to the Epic campus every day. He is motivated, in part, by a sense of duty and, in part, by his sense of moral toughness. Everyone else can panic, but Thomas will not be deterred.
He is quite mistaken if he thinks others share his sense of duty. Every day, he drives to the campus and parks wherever he wants in Jabberwocky. Down the Yellow Brick Road he goes, past silent and empty offices. The Munchkins have abandoned Munchkinland.
The cafeteria in Kings Cross is open but empty. In the mornings, he grabs his boxed breakfast burrito, sits at one of the empty tables, and eats while checking his phone.
Thomas reads a story in a supposedly reputable news outlet. A young woman has a virus cell on her coat that she picked up from a stranger in the supermarket. She carries it home, and the virus infects her boyfriend, who infects her. They both die.
Nonsense, he thinks.