Last night I learned that the US has close to 1 million hospital beds, and that about 35 million of us are hospitalized each year. I wonder if that means 35 million different people, or 35 million different hospital visits, some of which might be repeat visits by very sick people like my brother, who is in the hospital for multiple-day visits at least four times a year. I think these numbers are more or less real.

I also heard some estimated numbers last night, namely, that about 70 million Americans would ultimately contract Covid-19, and that 15% of those, 10.5 million, would need hospitalization. That would be about a 30% increase in demand for hospital beds, and since most Americans are not reacting to the current virus threat by eating right, exercising, and reducing stress, I’m guessing the baseline hospital need is not shrinking. A third seems like a big increase, but there are a few pieces missing.

One is the timeline. Simply by using the 10.5 million and the 35 million numbers together, I’m assuming they are both annualized, but I know that. Was the 70 million prediction over a month, a year, or the entire run of the virus? Since at least some experts suspect SARS-CoV-2 is endemic now, the entire run could be years or decades.

Another is the reasons for the hospitalizations we already have. What percent are elective surgery,  cosmetic surgery, or minor procedures? If lots of Americans are suddenly really sick, we might be able to open up a large number of beds by prioritizing on real needs. Maybe birthing centers would come into their own at least.

The numbers I chose were also the minima of the set presented, with the worst case being projected as 150 million contracting the disease and 20% of those requiring hospitalization. Those numbers are starting to look dystopian, especially if they occur within a year.

I think this may be the last normal week for a while. It wasn’t even completely normal, because so many activities were either poorly attended or cancelled, and friendly, affectionate people swapped hugs for elbow nudges and foot taps. Patients in the office where I work want details on the inter-patient cleanup routine as well as swabs for the pens they use to sign credit slips. And the rumors, oh my goodness. Best one today was that Trump was infective: logical karma, but not true. I also heard that hand-washing doesn’t help since the transmission is airborne. Please ignore this.

I am in a bit of mourning for my life before it even changes. I keep thinking about the SFS season, for example, and thinking I should buy tickets, and then thinking that the whole season will probably be cancelled. If we can’t even have Scottish country dance classes, how can we fill symphony hall? Thinking about the music that was to have been made not being made brings me down before I even know whether it will happen.

If we all lose both our jobs and our access to fresh food, the symphony will seem like a frill even to me.

Perhaps my focus should be my own mother, an 81-year-old living in a skilled nursing facility with multiple co-morbidities, any of which could be fatal. High risk?

I feel like something big is happening and that I should do something, but I don’t know what that would be. So I just submitted my incomes taxes, and now I am blogging. Perhaps I’m waiting for events to overtake me.