Not about test kits we shoult be on lockdown....you could argue the two go hand in hand
In fact a full economic collapse would be far worse than too few test kits.
Coronavirus Thread: Worldwide Pandemic
- Thread starter 88m3
- Start date
What's striking is how "kind" and reasonable governments are now willing to be, which is good, but the peril of many people's lives is on full display. How tenuous all of life is held together. Now, it's oh, we can give you some money, now, it's we help your business, now it's we won't evict you on the street, which is all 100% necessary, but begs the questions, of why we feel the need to be so indirectly or directly cruel in many of our policies, all the time?
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the cac mamba
Veteran
phil murphy is asking for 100 billion dollars for NJ alone 
time to make some fukkin cuts, phil
time to make some fukkin cuts, phil
the cac mamba
Veteran
i guess i should clarify; compared to the low bar he's set previously, he doesThis nikka dont look Presidential
He look like me when I'm fukking up in a job interview
and then the reporters start asking questions and it all goes away
Hood Critic
The Power Circle
Ol' JB put Illinois on lock down (shelter in place) starting Saturday.
88m3
Fast Money & Foreign Objects
until when? forever?
...anytime you get into acts of god territory things change
Global economy is about to collapse and nikkas stressing over foodstamps 
Nikka is you prepared to grow your own food!!!!!!!!!
Nikka is you prepared to grow your own food!!!!!!!!!
DonKnock
KPJ Gonna Save Us
...anytime you get into acts of god territory things change
Maybe you libertarians should do some historical reading and realize "acts of god" happen all the time and realize that when you fail to plan you plan to fail
Imagine advocating cutting government services your whole life and then when shyt hits the fan you run right to government daddy who you been bashing everyone else for relying on for years
Librehtarians should go locate some bootstraps instead of relying on the government.
dora_da_destroyer
Master Baker
Poetical Poltergeist
Precise and cold hearted
Stores still don't have shyt.
KillerB88
Superstar
https://www.thelocal.se/20200320/fact-check-has-sweden-stopped-testing-people-for-the-coronavirusDaddy dikkingI see where this is going.
I know what agility means, hence why I posted an article showing how agile the US government responded under a previous administration. Other countries are NOT having the same problems that we are when it comes to testing their populations and responding to the crisis. It’s common knowledge at this point but if you can’t see that then there’s no reason to go back and forth.
Japan testing for coronavirus at fraction of capacity, data shows | The Japan Times
Dutch coronavirus positive test toll nears 1,000, two more patients die - DutchNews.nl
https://www.thelocal.fr/20200318/coronavirus-testing-in-france-how-does-it-work-and-who-gets-tested
Rapid spread of coronavirus complicates systematic testing
Counter Racist Male
Retired poster and occasional lurker
A New York Doctor’s Coronavirus Warning: The Sky Is Falling
Alarmist is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me before. But this is different.
By Cornelia Griggs
Dr. Griggs is a pediatric surgery fellow.
A health care worker preparing to tend to patients at a drive-in testing center in Jericho, N.Y.Credit...Bruce Bennett/Getty Images
I’ve had hard conversations this week. “Look me in the eye,” I said to my neighbor Karen, who was spiraling to a dark place in her mind. “I make this personal promise to you — I will not let your children die from this disease.” I swallowed back a lump in my throat. Just the image of one of our kids attached to a tube was jarring. Two weeks ago our kids were having a pizza party and watching cartoons together, running back and forth between our apartments. This was before #socialdistancing was trending. Statistically, I still feel good about my promise to Karen because children do not seem to be dying from Covid-19. There are others to whom I cannot make similar promises.
A few days later, I got a text from another friend. She has asthma. “I’m just saying this because I need to say it to someone,” she wrote. She asked that if she gets sick and has a poor prognosis, to play recordings of the voice of Josie, her daughter. “I think it would bring me back,” she said. Josie is my 4-year-old’s best friend.
Today, at the hospital where I work, one of the largest in New York City, Covid-19 cases continue to climb, and there’s movement to redeploy as many health care workers as possible to the E.R.s, new “fever clinics” and I.C.U.s. It’s becoming an all-healthy-hands-on-deck scenario.
The sky is falling. I’m not afraid to say it. A few weeks from now you may call me an alarmist; and I can live with that. Actually, I will keel over with happiness if I’m proven wrong.
Alarmist is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me before. I’m a board-certified surgeon and critical care specialist who spent much of my training attending to traumas in the emergency room and doing the rounds at Harvard hospitals’ intensive care units. I’m now in my last four months of training as a pediatric surgeon in New York City. Part of my job entails waking in the middle of the night to rush to the children’s hospital to put babies on a form of life support called ECMO, a service required when a child’s lungs are failing even with maximum ventilator support. Scenarios that mimic end-stage Covid-19 are part of my job. Panic is not in my vocabulary; the emotion has been drilled out of me in nine years of training. This is different.
We are living in a global public health crisis moving at a speed and scale never witnessed by living generations. The cracks in our medical and financial systems are being splayed open like a gashing wound. No matter how this plays out, life will forever look a little different for all of us.
On the front lines, patients are lining up outside of our emergency rooms and clinics looking to us for answers — but we have few. Only on Friday did coronavirus testing become more readily available in New York, and the tests are still extremely limited. Right next to my office in the hospital, a lab is being repurposed with hopes of a capability to run 1,000 tests a day. But today, and likely tomorrow, even M.D.s do not have straightforward access to testing across the country. Furthermore, the guidelines and criteria for testing are changing almost daily. Our health care system is mired in situational uncertainty. The leadership of our hospital is working tirelessly — but doctors on the ground are pessimistic about our surge capacity.
Making my rounds at the children’s hospital earlier this week, I saw that the boxes of gloves and other personal protective equipment were dwindling. This is a crisis for our vulnerable patients and health care workers alike. Protective equipment is only one of the places where supplies are falling short. At our large, 4,000-bed New York City hospital, we have 500 ventilators and 250 on backup reserve. If we are on track to match the scale of Covid-19 infections in Italy, then we are likely to run out of ventilators in New York. The anti-viral “treatments” we have for Covid-19 are experimental and many of them are hard to even get approved. Let me repeat. The sky is falling.
I say this not to panic anyone but to mobilize you. We need more equipment and we need it now. Specifically gloves, masks, eye protection and more ventilators. We need our technology friends to be making and testing prototypes to rig the ventilators that we do have to support more than one patient at a time. We need our labs channeling all of their efforts into combating this bug — that means vaccine research and antiviral treatment research, quickly.
We need hospitals to figure out how to nimbly and flexibly modify our existing practices to adapt to this virus and do it fast. Doctors across the globe are sharing information, protocols and strategies through social media, because our common publishing channels are too slow. Physician and surgeon mothers are coming together on Facebook groups to publish advice to parents and the public, to amplify our outrage, and to underscore the fear we feel for our most vulnerable patient populations, as well as ourselves and our families.
Please flatten the curve and stay at home, but please do not go into couch mode. Like everyone, I have moments where imagining the worst possible Covid-19 scenario steals my breath. But cowering in the dark places of our minds doesn’t help. Rather than private panic, we need public-spirited action. Those of us walking into the rooms of Covid-19-positive patients every day need you and your minds, your networks, your creative solutions, and your voices to be fighting for us. We might be the exhausted masked face trying to resuscitate you when you show up on the doorstep of our hospital. And when you do, I promise not to panic. I’ll use every ounce of my expertise to keep you alive. Please, do the same for us.
Cornelia Griggs is a mother, writer and pediatric surgery fellow in New York.
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion)
Alarmist is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me before. But this is different.
By Cornelia Griggs
Dr. Griggs is a pediatric surgery fellow.
A health care worker preparing to tend to patients at a drive-in testing center in Jericho, N.Y.Credit...Bruce Bennett/Getty Images
I’ve had hard conversations this week. “Look me in the eye,” I said to my neighbor Karen, who was spiraling to a dark place in her mind. “I make this personal promise to you — I will not let your children die from this disease.” I swallowed back a lump in my throat. Just the image of one of our kids attached to a tube was jarring. Two weeks ago our kids were having a pizza party and watching cartoons together, running back and forth between our apartments. This was before #socialdistancing was trending. Statistically, I still feel good about my promise to Karen because children do not seem to be dying from Covid-19. There are others to whom I cannot make similar promises.
A few days later, I got a text from another friend. She has asthma. “I’m just saying this because I need to say it to someone,” she wrote. She asked that if she gets sick and has a poor prognosis, to play recordings of the voice of Josie, her daughter. “I think it would bring me back,” she said. Josie is my 4-year-old’s best friend.
Today, at the hospital where I work, one of the largest in New York City, Covid-19 cases continue to climb, and there’s movement to redeploy as many health care workers as possible to the E.R.s, new “fever clinics” and I.C.U.s. It’s becoming an all-healthy-hands-on-deck scenario.
The sky is falling. I’m not afraid to say it. A few weeks from now you may call me an alarmist; and I can live with that. Actually, I will keel over with happiness if I’m proven wrong.
Alarmist is not a word anyone has ever used to describe me before. I’m a board-certified surgeon and critical care specialist who spent much of my training attending to traumas in the emergency room and doing the rounds at Harvard hospitals’ intensive care units. I’m now in my last four months of training as a pediatric surgeon in New York City. Part of my job entails waking in the middle of the night to rush to the children’s hospital to put babies on a form of life support called ECMO, a service required when a child’s lungs are failing even with maximum ventilator support. Scenarios that mimic end-stage Covid-19 are part of my job. Panic is not in my vocabulary; the emotion has been drilled out of me in nine years of training. This is different.
We are living in a global public health crisis moving at a speed and scale never witnessed by living generations. The cracks in our medical and financial systems are being splayed open like a gashing wound. No matter how this plays out, life will forever look a little different for all of us.
On the front lines, patients are lining up outside of our emergency rooms and clinics looking to us for answers — but we have few. Only on Friday did coronavirus testing become more readily available in New York, and the tests are still extremely limited. Right next to my office in the hospital, a lab is being repurposed with hopes of a capability to run 1,000 tests a day. But today, and likely tomorrow, even M.D.s do not have straightforward access to testing across the country. Furthermore, the guidelines and criteria for testing are changing almost daily. Our health care system is mired in situational uncertainty. The leadership of our hospital is working tirelessly — but doctors on the ground are pessimistic about our surge capacity.
Making my rounds at the children’s hospital earlier this week, I saw that the boxes of gloves and other personal protective equipment were dwindling. This is a crisis for our vulnerable patients and health care workers alike. Protective equipment is only one of the places where supplies are falling short. At our large, 4,000-bed New York City hospital, we have 500 ventilators and 250 on backup reserve. If we are on track to match the scale of Covid-19 infections in Italy, then we are likely to run out of ventilators in New York. The anti-viral “treatments” we have for Covid-19 are experimental and many of them are hard to even get approved. Let me repeat. The sky is falling.
I say this not to panic anyone but to mobilize you. We need more equipment and we need it now. Specifically gloves, masks, eye protection and more ventilators. We need our technology friends to be making and testing prototypes to rig the ventilators that we do have to support more than one patient at a time. We need our labs channeling all of their efforts into combating this bug — that means vaccine research and antiviral treatment research, quickly.
We need hospitals to figure out how to nimbly and flexibly modify our existing practices to adapt to this virus and do it fast. Doctors across the globe are sharing information, protocols and strategies through social media, because our common publishing channels are too slow. Physician and surgeon mothers are coming together on Facebook groups to publish advice to parents and the public, to amplify our outrage, and to underscore the fear we feel for our most vulnerable patient populations, as well as ourselves and our families.
Please flatten the curve and stay at home, but please do not go into couch mode. Like everyone, I have moments where imagining the worst possible Covid-19 scenario steals my breath. But cowering in the dark places of our minds doesn’t help. Rather than private panic, we need public-spirited action. Those of us walking into the rooms of Covid-19-positive patients every day need you and your minds, your networks, your creative solutions, and your voices to be fighting for us. We might be the exhausted masked face trying to resuscitate you when you show up on the doorstep of our hospital. And when you do, I promise not to panic. I’ll use every ounce of my expertise to keep you alive. Please, do the same for us.
Cornelia Griggs is a mother, writer and pediatric surgery fellow in New York.
The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook, Twitter (@NYTopinion)
Like in all crises, the rich will weather the current situation and the poor and middle class will suffer. That’s really the crux of it. Everything else is noise.
From many people (black folks especially) the economic fallout from this may top what we saw in 2008. The service sector (barbers, hair salons, spas, theme parks, etc.) will be decimated by the weeks of inactivity. Next will come mass layoffs as companies react to decreased demand.
Meanwhile, the rich will tap into their reserves and hunker down until this whole thing passes, while protecting themselves with fiscal and policy actions.
For everyone else, strap your seatbelt in. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
From many people (black folks especially) the economic fallout from this may top what we saw in 2008. The service sector (barbers, hair salons, spas, theme parks, etc.) will be decimated by the weeks of inactivity. Next will come mass layoffs as companies react to decreased demand.
Meanwhile, the rich will tap into their reserves and hunker down until this whole thing passes, while protecting themselves with fiscal and policy actions.
For everyone else, strap your seatbelt in. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.