I’ve done it way too many times — ignored the faucet that’s dripping regularly and faster; given scant attention to the sporadic behavior of the garage door keypad; turned a deaf ear to the quiet but noticeable knocking in my car engine — bad gas, I wonder. Procrastination plays its role, but there’s also some part of me that actually believes the problem will resolve itself. It becomes a nagging passenger in my mind until, inevitably, it gets in the driver’s seat, and then it’s more expensive and never, ever convenient. I’ve been duped by delaying the pain.
When I think about the COVID-19 pandemic, I wonder if that’s what we’re doing. Are we being duped by delaying the pain? In Albert Camus’ novel “The Plague,” he chronicles a series of grave events surrounding an epidemic that struck the fictional city of Oran. Initially, officials took a wait-and-see attitude. They were wary of painting “to gloomy a picture and moreover, the disease hadn’t been proved to be contagious, indeed relatives living under the same roof had escaped it.”
When officials finally determined that guidance was needed, “the authorities felt sure they could rely on the townspeople to treat the situation with composure.” Nonetheless, the Prefect put into force some precautionary measures. The town’s physician, Dr. Rieux, told the Prefect that “the regulations don’t go anywhere near far enough. ‘Yes,’ the Prefect replied. ‘I’ve seen the statistics and as you say, they’re most perturbing.’ ‘They’re more than perturbing,’ Dr. Rieux responded. ‘They’re conclusive.’”
It’s not perturbing; it’s conclusive that COVID-19 numbers have gone from ominous to disastrous. In recent weeks in the U.S., more than 170,000 people on average are infected per day. 266,000 Americans have succumbed to the virus this year. In Utah, over 8,000 patients have been hospitalized. More than 800 Utahns have died.
It’s hard to fathom what these numbers mean in terms of people — in terms of lives. A mental picture helps grasp the enormity of the loss — 266,000 people dead is greater than the population of Salt Lake City. It’s just shy of three Rose Bowl stadiums. It’s more than five times the capacity of Rice Eccles stadium. It’s 12 times The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints’ Conference Center. In Utah, the 8,000 people hospitalized is three Eccles Theaters. It’s four Kingsbury Halls. It’s four Capitol Theatres.
Yet, against guidance from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, nearly 5 million people filled airports for Thanksgiving travel. In Utah, the governor lifted restrictions on gatherings and extracurricular activities in schools.
As is the case now, so it was the case in Camus’ fictional city of Oran. The death toll rose precipitously, yet the figures were “not sensational enough to prevent the townsfolk, perturbed though they were, from persisting in the idea that what was happening was a sort of accident, disagreeable enough, but certainly of a temporary order.” Dr. Rieux implored the Prefect that “energetic measures were needed, not just words; we’ve got to set up real barriers against the disease.”
Are we duped by delaying the pain? There are no painless options. The virus is no longer a nagging passenger. It’s firmly in the driver’s seat. Delay in establishing real barriers against the virus has verified that we will pay the highest cost in loss of life and livelihoods.
Kim Wirthlin is a health care executive and consultant. She lives in Salt Lake City.