With coronavirus in the news, everyone is figuring out how to react. Habitual preppers hardly have to change a thing, but the rest of us have to decide how much we can afford to do, and what we can't afford not to.
I live in a rural area with a low and fairly dispersed population in the winter. How much do I need to worry? I don't discount it. I really wonder.
I went to the grocery store last Tuesday, thinking to stock up on a few items with long shelf life, like brown rice and canned beans. I'd read that hand sanitizer is a good idea, so I was going to get some larger containers of it to supplement the little ones that mostly lie around drying up in my car or in my traveling shaving kit that gets used maybe twice a year.
The rice was gone. The beans weren't completely gone, but the shelves had some gaps. Forget hand sanitizer. I bought a bottle of alcohol to keep in the car to clean the gas pump handle, and rinse all the oil out of my skin after touching it.
I'm a lousy prepper, because I can imagine too much and have the budget for too little. Fatalism kicks in. I fall back to my old standby, social isolation. It's not as stringent as quarantine. I just indulge my natural introversion and avoid people. It's virtually indistinguishable from the way I live my normal life. The major difference would be some degree of food stockpiling, but I try to eat mostly fresh food. I need to figure out what will provide decent nutrition for an extended period of shortage should a buying panic deplete shelves, or an actual epidemic cut supply lines for real.
I saw one person wearing a mask. I don't know if she was feeling sick and containing her own germs, or hadn't gotten the memo that a mask won't protect you from incoming pathogens. It wasn't even the recommended N95 model. I gave her no wider or narrower passing clearance than I give anyone.
In the produce department, some private thought made me laugh in a way that sounded like a cough. A store employee shelving vegetables darted a look at me. I tried to continue the laugh longer than was really called for, to prove that I hadn't just puffed out a disease cloud, but that just made me look like a crazy person. I moved away from her only slightly faster than she moved away from me.
Only a couple of cases have been reported so far in New Hampshire. It's been such a weak winter that we haven't seen large numbers of tourists. Here in central New Hampshire, summer is the busiest time of year. Second home residents and long-term vacationers come for the liquid water. Winter brings its own category of tourism, but the local population is at its lowest. Winter visitors come in waves: weekends and the notorious Massachusetts Vacation Week in February. The volume depends on whether the snow and ice are good enough to attract them. Even then, the biggest numbers tend further north and closer to the major downhill ski areas.
Local people travel. New Hampshire's winter school vacation usually comes the week after the Massachusetts break in most school districts. In the tourist business we notice that Massachusetts people come up here, but New Hampshire people go someplace warm. People are going to be in airplanes. They're going to visit places that may have reported a higher incidence of infection. More and more information emerges every day. And residents travel for other reasons, on their own schedules. Have they been exposed? Meanwhile, not much around here looks any different except for the few shortages noted above. How rapidly might that change?
At our bike and ski shop, we're all pretty germ-phobic already. Even when a new weird plague isn't stalking the land, there's influenza, the common cold, and norovirus. Our staff is tiny. Any absence due to sickness seriously hampers our ability to operate at all. We do our utmost to stay healthy. But up to this point the perils we faced were known evils with established courses of treatment. It is the unknown that makes coronavirus more fearful. You alternate between reassurance when you hear that the fatality rate is relatively low, and stabs of anxiety when you imagine being one of the ones who ends up gasping for breath while a helpless medical staff just watches you die. We all have to die of something, but most of us are in no hurry to meet that obligation.
Yesterday, a customer came in to discuss a future bike purchase. This guy is a retired physician, and he spent the whole time coughing all over the shop owner. One of New Hampshire's COVID-19 cases works for Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center, and the idiot ignored the order to isolate himself, choosing to go expose a bunch of other people and force them into quarantine. What do you do about oblivious, selfish people who blunder around smearing whatever they've got all over every surface, as carefree as a snot-dripping toddler?
As much as a densely populated area provides much greater risk of exposure just because more people are crammed more closely together, such areas also automatically tend to come with more densely located services. A widespread outbreak in an area of dispersed population such as the one where I live would present much greater challenges for treatment as well as self-care if you had to endure either protective isolation or ride out the course of actual disease.
Beyond just money, due diligence takes time. Routines fall prey to the need for more elaborate procedures. Most people will weigh the risks, do little or nothing, and hope. It's easy to tell everyone to wash their hands constantly. You never realize how scarce public facilities are, or in what gross shape, until you feel that you need them dozens of times a day. As for hand sanitizer, it's already in short supply, as noted.
How worried do you need to be, to avoid an illness that could be trivial or fatal, that's contagious before symptoms appear, for which there is no vaccine and no treatment other than amelioration of symptoms as your body fights it with only whatever your immune system can provide? And how aggressively are you going to have to compete against people who were more worried, sooner?
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