It beats the hell out of "squat"

  

Sigma Chi brothers at the University of Alabama "hunkering" in 1959

     For weeks, people have been saying it.
     "How's it going at your place?" I'll call to a neighbor, doing my best impression of bluff cheerfulness, as we warily approach each other on opposite sidewalks, the street safely between.
     "We're all hunkering down," he'll inevitably say.
    One state over, the Mississippi of the North is urging its besieged citizens to "Hunker Down Hoosiers." 

    And it pops up in headline after headline, of course.
     "Hunkered Down, and Suddenly Irritatingly Together" the New York Times wrote last week, as if some copy editor lost a bar bet and had to see how bad a headline they could get into the Grey Lady. (We can write one that means about the same but is shorter and better by the time you count to 10. Ready? One...two... "Safe from the virus but not from each other.")
     Far better is the pun atop Gene Collier's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette column, "The Hunker Games" though he then inexplicably lashes out at the word.
     "A stupid, inelegant, vapid word of dubious origin," Collier writes, before going on to nevertheless use it 19 times in a single column, a figure which, just to show off, is eight times more than we will require here.
     He is right about the uncertain provenance. I first started musing on the word a couple weeks ago and played my game of guessing the derivation. Its sound and meaning—retire to some safe defensive position—seems vaguely military. Maybe a derivation of "bunker." I vague recall "hunk" being early 20th century slang for Hungarian. Could that be it? Nah....
     Off to the Oxford, which, as Collier suggests, throws up its hands, "Origin obscure" before picking over various Dutch-sounding roots. The definition, "To squat, with the haunches, knees, and ankles acutely bent, so as to bring the hams near the heels, and throw the whole weight upon the fore part of the feet" is unfamiliar: it's one of those words whose figurative sense outshines the literal. 

     This isn't its first burst of popularity. In 1959, it was briefly "America's most boring fad," at college campuses. On advocate called it "a respite from a world of turmoil. The main purpose of hunkerin' is to get down and hunker together. It's a friendship thing: get your friends to hunker with you. The man you don't know is the man you haven't hunkered with."

     Speaking of which. By his picture, Collier seems about my age, so it's odd he didn't point out an even better known pre-COVID-19 frame of reference of the word that wouldn't show up in the Oxford: it's one of Hunter S. Thompson's favorite buzzwords, showsing up eight times in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" alone, most memorably here:
     “Every now and then you run up on one of those days when everything’s in vain … a stone bummer from start to finish; and if you know what’s good for you, on days like these you sort of hunker down in a safe corner and watch.”
     Excellent advice form Dr. Gonzo, from beyond the grave. Now if only we can take it.

Airlines safe, but Trump would let post office die

 

Smithsonian Institution American Art Museum

     You can’t vote by mail if there’s no mail.
     One of the many disasters that will ensue if the government actually lets the United States Postal Service go belly up, which it might do as early as September.
     A disaster to democracy, small “d” — the mail knits this country together in a fundamental way, like the interstate highway system — and I suppose to large “d” Democrats, too. That’s because their frequent majority — which is supposed to be the deciding factor in elections, remember — is constantly being undercut by Republican voter suppression.
    The GOP casts this anti-democratic (and yes, anti-Democratic) action as a campaign to suppress voter fraud, which is rich, like the guy breaking into your house and stealing your TV declaring it part of an anti-burglary campaign.
     At least we haven’t gone back to literacy tests and poll taxes. Yet.
     The USPS going bust would also be a disaster to already cratering employment. Unemployment shot up due to the COVID-19 pandemic: a record-shattering 16 million unemployment claims in three weeks. If the USPS goes, another 600,000 jobs — good jobs with benefits — go with it.
     The $2 trillion bailout package approved by both houses of Congress would have been the perfect time to help out letter carriers, since the volume of mail is down some 50 percent due to COVID-19.
     The package manages to rescue the airline industry; you’d think the mail would be a no-brainer. But even no-brainers are hard when you haven’t got a brain. Or, rather, when the rude ganglional clump that controls your actions only lights up when the topic is you.

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Facing coronavirus, we’re all in this together: ‘I see hope happening’

     Kevin Coval went to buy eggs at Tia Nam, a small Vietnamese grocery in Uptown. An old woman asked if he could help her reach three bags of rice noodles on a high shelf. As he did, he realized this was the closest he had been to another human being in days. He didn’t look at the store clerk in quite the same way, either.
    “I’ve been struck by those folks,” said the Chicago poet. “A month ago, they didn’t consider themselves to be first responders. Now, they’re risking their lives to get us fed. That’s pretty remarkable. I’ve always known working people to have a rigor and integrity. Now, we see them in ways we wouldn’t have conceived a month ago.”
     Chicagoans are keeping their distance, interacting in new ways while seeing each other in a different light. As the city and the region struggle to face a virus that doesn’t recognize distinctions of class or race or religion, longstanding problems come into stark relief even as people reach across old boundaries to help one another, and tantalizing possibilities suggest themselves.
     This all comes during a season sacred to three major religions, with Passover having begun Wednesday night, followed by Good Friday and Easter Sunday and Ramadan less than two weeks away.
     "We’re doing all this in these days of the Easter season, what we call the Easter Passover,” said Cardinal Blase Cupich, spiritual leader of Chicago’s Catholics. “What people are learning in this time is how connected we are. This moment is really forcing all of us to realize we are connected. We’re connected by this virus. Social distancing is telling us how related we are to one another. We have a drive to want to be connected to other people. We don’t want to live isolated lives. We are nourished by that.”
     The cardinal was referring to spiritual nourishment, but there is plenty of the other kind, too. Shuttered restaurants are donating food to pantries and to hospitals to feed besieged doctors and nurses working 12-hour shifts. Police officers, often the targets of criticism, find themselves embraced — from a safe distance, of course.

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Texas Walkabout

     Between the three-day series on Mount Sinai Hospital that ended Friday and Sunday's 3,000-word Easter special, I'm pretty toasted. Lights on, but nobody home. So I'm grateful that my friend Caren stepped up with this stroll around her Austin, Texas neighborhood. Caren is one of the many folks I've met across the country through "Out of the Wreck I Rise," the book I wrote with Sara Bader. When she said that she is interested in finding an audience for her writing, I volunteered the readers of EGD as a test market. Thanks Caren for sharing your perambulations with us, and thank you readers for welcoming a new voice. 

     I walked over 23,000 steps today on what I am now calling my almost daily COVID Walkabouts. That’s over 10 miles of creeks, frogs, persistent Austin sunshine, searching for shade, lemonade stops, budding trees and popping flowers, making six-foot arcs around passers by, nodding and waving galore, confused puppies doubting their charm, ripe loquats plucked out of trees and eaten, their seeds saved in pockets, graffiti, Birkenstocks, blisters, grackles and choruses of frogs as dark fell. This epic walk also included a family Zoom perched on a curb and a lady walking down the street crying due to an abusive live-in boyfriend who has moved his mother and criminal son in with them without her permission. I wanted to help her but he came a-lookin’ and she didn’t want him to see us talking. At least I was able to show her the full moon and remind her to call 911 if she felt in danger.
     If it wasn’t for the blisters and tired legs I’d have kept going under this full moon, perhaps for ten more miles. Truth is I am avoiding my home that my seemingly callous and uncaring landlord is taking away from me at the end of June when my lease ends, despite the risks that will be associated with my looking for a new place during this state of emergency as well as a bigger risk of moving if shelter in place is still in effect at that time. 

      In cities and towns around the country and the 
world it is not allowed to end leases, use moving companies, or have anyone outside of one’s household help with a move to prevent spread of the virus, but just as Texas has been way behind the curve in getting on board with strict social distancing, tenants’ rights are just as far behind. Time will tell if she can kick me out or not if shelter in place is still in effect. I may even want to move on my own volition before that time just to get away from an uncaring and unstable situation. The thought of being at the whims of this young and unsavvy landlady had my blood boiling and my body shaking for days before I realized that I am tired of being angry and I am ready to let the sunshine back in.
     As a single person who lives alone with no pets my saving grace during this isolation has been biking and walking, as well as sitting outside on patches of grass or stone walls far away from others. I saw my first water moccasin in the arroyo the other day, while simultaneously discovering three beautifully built cairns—those rock sculptures often found in nature—in the flowing water. On another walkabout I met the cairn builder, a lovely neighbor named Lynna who I plan to reconnect with when we are again allowed to visit each others’ homes. I long for that day when we can sit around a bonfire and share songs and stories.
     When I was in my 20s I read a book called Always Running. I forget the author’s name and what the story was about, but that book title used to come to my mind constantly in my many years of running around the world from Belize to Africa to Jordan and many places in between. Many of my travels were local—I’ve always loved to walk from Rogers Park, my home neighborhood in Chicago, all along Kedzie past stores filled with hummus and cardamom and hookahs into Logan Square and then east to the lake where I’d sometimes end up at Tibet House off of Sheridan for a meal and then back home to Rogers Park. 

Caren

      Always meandering, almost always alone, the city streets my path towards and away from myself. Walkabouts seem to keep me out of my head that’s sometimes filled with fear and worry, and into my body, and connected to the earth in a very real way.
     When I was living in the closet of a studio apartment off of Jonquil Terrace with a felon on the run while a grad student at the University of Chicago that was a different kind of running. The running of an addict creating an impossible life in order to not ever have to think about the reality of life and of growing up and becoming an adult. Today I aim to walk closer and closer to a life of calm refuge so I can be a part of this world and see what I can pack into the stream of life as my mentors say. I hope that the solitude and time I’ve been granted to practice meditation, cooking meals at home, plenty of time for exercise due to sheltering in place mostly alone will continue to lead me closer to a life of sublime beauty rather than trying to catch up to the Jones’.

‘We’re scared. They’re scared’

Gabrielle DuFour

     Many struggle with COVID-19 without ever being infected.
     Think of how worrisome this epidemic is to rational folks sheltering in comfort at home. Now, consider the mentally ill, the disturbed patients treated at a place like Mount Sinai Hospital — the psychotic and bi-polar, schizophrenic and depressed. Like your world, their worlds, too, are turned upside down, though they often have far less ability to cope with events that even the most stable person can have trouble processing.
     “We are seeing more patients experiencing more ill effects of emotional distress,” said Dr. Paul Berkowitz, chairman of the department of psychiatry and behavioral health at Sinai.
“Not just from fears and concerns associated with the virus, but social distancing and isolation. People are having less and less contact and are more overwhelmed. Perhaps they’ll not be checking in with family members, perhaps [they’ll be] coming off medication, relapsing on drugs or alcohol if that has been a problem. All of these make for ... more people coming in for psychiatric symptom exacerbation. We’ve seen that already at Holy Cross and Mount Sinai behavioral units.”
     Staff also must make sure their own stress and anxiety doesn’t overwhelm them.
     “I’ve been a disaster nurse for 25 years. I never thought I’d see this,” said Michele Mazurek, chief nursing officer for Sinai Health Systems. “We’re seeing hardened nurses having a rough time.”
     Early on, a doctor at Sinai contracted COVID-19. That rattled everyone.
     “When we had a caregiver test positive, it caused a lot of concern,” said nurse Adam Garrison. “It really brought the reality to the caregivers. It was an eye-opener: ‘This can happen to me.’”

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‘Your instinct is to run to the patient’ — but you can’t

Mount Sinai nurse Kimberly Lipetzky.

     This is the second installment of my three-part series on treating the COVID-19 at Mount Sinai Hospital. The first part is here. 

     The COVID-19 pandemic is not taking place in a vacuum. Car accidents and gunshots and burns and falls and heart attacks and strokes still happen, and those patients, too, are rushed to Level One trauma centers such as Mount Sinai Hospital, where every patient who rolls in must be treated as if they have COVID-19.
     “Your instinct is to run to the patient,” said ER nurse Kimberly Lipetzky, who had just treated a man who had fallen 20 feet off a roof. As medical staff tended to him, they discovered he had been sick for a week, probably with COVID-19, so “then you have this added level.”
     What does that added level mean? If you wear PPE — personal protective equipment — to see a COVID-19 patient, you first must strip off the gown and gloves and booties and hairnets and mask before seeing the next patient, or risk infecting someone who may not have the deadly ailment. And if you’re not suited up and a COVID patient suddenly gets into trouble, you have put on all that PPE — and fast.
     “Someone is in respiratory distress. You’ve got to move quickly,” said Lipetzky. “Got to goggle and gown and hair cover. It’s a lot.”
     Getting it one can take three key minutes, and it’s such a struggle that non-medical staff are jumping in to help.
     “You have unit secretaries coming out from behind their desks, putting PPEs on, making sure gowns were tied,” said Michele Mazurek, chief nursing officer for Sinai Health Systems.
     Mazurek, who is also leader of Incident Command at Mount Sinai, added: “This is a group effort. We did not need to ask any of these individuals to do what they’re doing.”
     Even with all hands on deck, the stress builds up. The hand-washing is endless.
     “It’s constant and then just scrubbing your hands,” she said. “Our hands are ragged.”
     Every patient is carefully questioned. The symptoms of COVID-19 span the range, from none at all to gasping for air.

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At Mount Sinai, ‘moments of chaos and calm’

     Those N95 masks hurt.
     To work, they must be worn tight. Within 20 minutes, the straps pinch your ears and the mask starts digging into your nose.
     The masks need a tight seal to keep the coronavirus out. Doctors and nurses at Mount Sinai Hospital test their masks by reading aloud while saccharine is sprayed in their faces. If they taste sweetness through the mask, they’re dead — or they might be, if that mist were coronavirus droplets instead. Stubble on men can also throw off a mask’s fit.
     Add goggles and gloves and hairnets and protective body coverings, then start treating a patient.
     ”It gets hot, it gets a little claustrophobic,” said Kimberly Lipetzky, a nurse at Mount Sinai. “I had a couple codes, doing CPR in full gear. Your goggles fog, and you’re trying to navigate this situation while of course performing at peak ability.”
     ”After an hour it starts getting really uncomfortable,” said nurse Adam Garrison. “It feels like the bridge of your nose is going to disintegrate.” 
     The COVID-19 crisis is gathering force in Chicago. Right now, infected patients still arrive at Mount Sinai, on Chicago’s West Side, in fits and starts.
     ”We’re definitely vacillating between moments of chaos and calm,” said Lipetzky. “Overall, there’s this heaviness, this weight in the air when you’re wondering, what’s going to come in the door? How do you be ready?”
     In part by wearing two masks, layered, with donated, handmade cloth masks on the outside to protect the integrity of the vital N95 underneath. But that brings its own difficulty.
     ”It’s not exactly easy to speak,” said Garrison.
     Which can impede the complicated, life-or-death communication that goes on in a hospital. A COVID-19 patient can deteriorate rapidly, can walk into the hospital in the morning complaining of shortness of breath and be on a ventilator by afternoon.

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