Via The New Yorker: In New Mexico, the Pandemic Rages On.
Excerpt:.
At one of the hospitals where I work, in rural New Mexico, the covid-19 patients are often young. Many are extremely sick, and most are unvaccinated. Not long ago, I walked into a room to find a woman in her mid-thirties. (Patient details have been changed to protect privacy.) She was unvaccinated, and had tested positive the week before. Her oxygen saturation was just fifty per cent, and her chest X-ray looked terrible. She seemed resigned and scared. When I asked her why she hadn’t got the vaccine, she shrugged.
Down the hall, I visited a man in his early twenties who was breathing forty times a minute. We were still waiting for his test results, but his chest X-ray also looked terrible. When I asked him why he hadn’t got immunized, he said, “I don’t know,” and shrugged, too. Outside, in the hall, I checked our status board. A ten-year-old had been checked in with worsening covid symptoms. Fifteen more patients were waiting to get tested.
In New Mexico, it doesn’t feel like we’re experiencing a new “wave” of the pandemic—it’s more like we’re in the middle of an endless voyage, in twenty-foot seas, miles from land.
I’ve been working as an emergency-room physician all through the pandemic, first in Boston and now here. Taking care of unvaccinated patients stirs up complicated emotions in me. Severe covid-19 is now a largely preventable illness, and I often feel anger and frustration: I think, You couldn’t be bothered to do something as simple as schedule two shots, and now you might die—what is wrong with you? I contemplate the risk that each unvaccinated person poses to everyone around, including to me, and my family, and our nurses, and their families, and the hospital staff who will clean the virus-slick rooms, and their families—the risks branch out with dizzying complexity, like ice crystals forming in a cloud. I try to keep these thoughts to myself, for obvious reasons. Who wants to hear, after they’ve totalled their car and broken their legs, that they shouldn’t have been speeding?
Sometimes, when I stand at the bedsides of young, critically ill patients who shake their heads when I ask if they’ve got the vaccine, I murmur, almost to myself, “I really wish you had.” But their past choices are no longer the most important thing. They are sick and afraid, and need our help as much as anyone else. I tell them that we’ll do everything we can to keep them safe. I never tell them that, for some patients, everything won’t be enough.
By asking people why they have avoided these incredibly safe and effective shots, I’ve learned a lot about how confusing the information ecosystem has become. Patients used to tell me that they worried about adverse effects, such as myocarditis or blood clots. (These effects are vanishingly rare.)
Then, in September, I started hearing about a new concern: “the VAERS report.” I heard more about it by listening to a conservative talk radio show; listeners kept dialing in to talk about it. They said that tens of thousands of Americans had died after receiving the coronavirus vaccine, and that this report proved it. My patients in the E.R. began saying this, too.
