Surviving the covid19 rampage in New York

Ansuya Maharaj

The most used bottle in my house is my hand lotion. I wash my hands so often that hand cream has become an essential item.

I almost joke.

The first confirmed case of covid19 in New York State was reported on March 1: a 39-year-old health care worker who lived in New York City.

Okay, my co-workers and I thought, it’s just one, and she immediately went into self-isolation, so we’re good.

It was the second case, reported on March 3, that started a panic. He was a lawyer in his 50s who lived in New Rochelle, immediately north of NYC, and worked in midtown Manhattan – but had not left the US. Unfortunately, he had been in contact with several people at the law school where he taught, at his firm, and on his commute before he realised he was symptomatic.

Now we began to worry, because we could easily have been on a train with him or someone he had touched.

It was an odd feeling to be worried about something that appeared remote – but really wasn’t, when you think about how dense the city is. People really choke up against one another between 7 and 9 am on the subway. There’s not six inches to move, far less six feet.

So it’s no wonder that the spread overwhelmed the city so much faster than it did anywhere else in the state.

On March 7, New York State Governor Andrew Cuomo declared a state of emergency after 89 cases had been confirmed. On March 8, the state reported 16 new cases and a total of 106 statewide.

Things happened so fast that it was taking a minute for our reactions to catch up.

More and more people were wearing masks on my commute to work. Uber must have been making a killing during the first two weeks in March, not least from me. An Uber driver told me he had not stopped driving since around 5 am except for the slice of pizza and coffee he was able to get just before he picked me up at 4 pm. I heard that story a lot in those two weeks.

My office began to talk about closing. There are only 12 people in my agency, but six are in their 60s, with two well into their 70s. Of them – after we had closed our office – we discovered one had tested positive for covid19; I was exposed to him before and after we knew about the test result. Another’s spouse tested positive and he was in the office while the test results were pending. Someone had to ask him to go home before he coughed in an elevator. Or worse, in the office, on people who were in an at-risk group.

Measures adopted to prevent spread of covid19

On March 20, the governor announced the “New York State on PAUSE” executive order, which went into effect on March 22, and declared that

1. All non-essential businesses statewide will be closed;

2. Non-essential gatherings of individuals of any size for any reason (eg parties, celebrations, other social events) are cancelled or postponed;

3. Any concentration of individuals outside their home must be limited to workers providing essential services, and social distancing should be practised;

4. In public, individuals must practise social distancing of at least six feet from others;

5. Businesses and entities that provide other essential services must implement rules to facilitate social distancing;

6. Individuals should limit outdoor recreational activities to non-contact and avoid activities where they come in close contact with other people;

7. Individuals should limit use of public transport to when absolutely necessary and limit potential exposure by spacing out at least six feet from other riders;

8. Sick individuals should not leave home except for medical care and only after a telehealth visit to determine if leaving the home is in the best interest of their health;

9. Young people should also practise social distancing and avoid contact with vulnerable populations; and

10. Use precautionary sanitiser practises such as isopropyl alcohol wipes.

11. Life has taken a dramatic turn since March 1.

'Nothing prepared me for living like this'

I should be used to dramatic turns. My father passed away when I was 14. A serious Central flood nearly killed me and my unborn child in 1993. I moved to New York to marry a man I met online. I went to law school at 36. My youngest is leaving for college in Nevada in the fall, just about as far away as he can go.

I can safely say that none of that prepared me for living like this.

There was no time to prepare. Event after event was being reported in the news almost hourly, and you could see the concern on everyone’s face. It’s bracing to realise you share the same alarm as eight million other people.

March 16 was my last full workday and by the time I left, we had updated our website to say we are closed for the foreseeable future. I did not take the subway home.

By March 17, it was getting difficult to find toilet paper, and any place that carried a brand name was limiting the number of 12-packs of two per customer.

I was more worried about having to take the subway to work, even though cars were almost empty by then. Mass transit in this city is so important, and those employees were not allowed to even think about not working. Health care and other essential workers had to be able to get to work. I went back to the office on March 22, before the PAUSE took effect, and once more on March 23 for a brief visit. Again, the Uber driver was chatty on the March 23 trip and told me that ridership dropped insanely low since March 17 or thereabouts. I asked him if he and others were still driving and if demand had dropped. He said there are definitely fewer drivers out, but, for example, I was his first and probably only trip that day. I used him for the ride back home, too.

Thankfully, although I was exposed to at least two people who I know tested positive and must have been a carrier, I was asymptomatic and came out of the 14-day quarantine period unscathed and did not pass it to my husband, son, or my two cats. I can’t get tested, so I don’t know if I was a carrier and have antibodies so I can donate plasma.

I have not been outside since then. I have gone as far as the front door of my building to take a delivery and was stunned to look at my empty street. There are no cars parked up and down the street. There are no kids riding bikes or coming home from school. There was nothing. The one-stop shop on the corner, ubiquitous on corners on the Upper West Side, was closed. These shops almost never close, as they are small and mostly family-owned businesses, and they are a real asset to the neighbourhood. It’s a place to grab milk or bread, or get a sandwich, use an ATM, and they know us. They ask about the teenager if they haven’t seen him for a few days.

They are not there now. I’m not sure how or if they can reopen.

'Virus has taken so much more than lives'

I work for the city, in one of the many agencies that implements city laws, rules, and regulations. Mercifully, I do not work for the Department of Sanitation, the Fire Department or the Police Department, which are considered essential.

Even in our home, we practise social distancing. It’s easy with a teenager, as he stays in his room, yaks to his friends online or goes to remote school, and comes out to declare that he is hungry. Both my husband and I have to work during the week, and we share a space. He has more meetings than I do, and he physically moves if we are on the phone or Zoom at the same time. It might seem more logical for me to move, but he just needs his phone and his laptop. I have a whole rig and can’t take it with me easily. We’ve fallen into a good rhythm working together, mostly grateful that we have no small children who require non-stop attention, like most of our colleagues. Tiny voices, the movie Frozen, and loud snacks are always a part of our meetings. I sympathise.

The city at large is both terrified and understanding. We are very fortunate to have a governor who, though by no means perfect, has made the whole situation a lot more tolerable. He reminds us daily that it is about people’s lives over anything else, including pressing Play once again. He gives us clear statistics in a measured way, yet has managed to make us remember that he is human as well. He cannot see his mother, his brother contracted the virus, and it is all too real for him.

But the terror comes with knowing that our state is one of the hardest hit and more than 15,000 people have died, many alone in a hospital bed with no family or loved one to hold their hand. We are all traumatised by our reality.

However, we have good reason to be frightened. As of early April, one-third of known US cases are in New York State. More than half of the state’s cases are in New York City, where nearly half the state’s population lives.

It is now mandatory in New York State to wear a mask if you must leave your house and find yourself unable to maintain social distance. You can be fined (not criminally, though) or kicked off mass transit if you do not put your mask on.

There has been talk about heading back out to work, but no one realistically expects us to go back out until June, at least. The president lives in a bubble, and not listening to his inaccuracies – painful to hear – has been easy. The New York Governor seems to be listening to experts and is trying to work out a lives-versus-economics balance. My husband and I are so fortunate to have our jobs, and have actual work to do. This virus has taken so much more than lives in a physical sense. So many people have lost jobs, cannot pay rent or buy food. The governor very quickly issued an order that no one can be evicted for non-payment of rent, but for every story about a generous landlord, there is one about a demand for rent.

There are people who make their living from the rents they collect, using that money to pay their own bills. Has their housing tax been suspended or will they be fined for non-payment? Every single action raises a hundred questions, and it’s overwhelming.

For those of us at home, Facebook has been a lifeline. I posted that the teenager went out last week and I had to make him wear a mask, but that we only had a few disposable ones left from a renovation project a few years ago. A law-school friend saw the post and offered to send me masks. Within a week, I had got six reusable masks. One sits by the door for when I collect deliveries and groceries. I posted that shopping for groceries is becoming harder, as restocking is slow. I cannot find toilet paper anywhere, I wrote, but I think I have enough to last for a couple of months. A friend suggested installing a bidet, which I already have, so that’s one good thing I’ve got going. Another law school friend saw the post and offered to send me toilet paper if I find myself running low. She lives in Nebraska. That is far. I have very nice friends.

I count my blessings. I like being inside and have not had cabin fever. I read a lot, a luxury I can now afford. I love being able to see my husband and the teenager instead of being ships passing in the night, and we’re not getting on one another’s nerves. I can still get groceries, limited as my choices are becoming. I am in a position to tip delivery people well. My son is able to go for a walk every couple of days because he needs sunlight. My husband is a pretty serious cyclist and goes for a ride every so often. He has also taken up watch repair as a new hobby. I have been slowly cleaning cupboards and closets. I know so many people who have started something they have always wanted to do, even in my own family. My sister-in-law in Connecticut is an avid climber and has built her own climb wall. My brother in Trinidad has discovered he is quite the talented breadmaker. So many friends have taken up or perfected knitting. There have been quite a few who make masks for health care workers.

But I worry and I feel helpless because I cannot do more. I am sure no one is sneezing at my donations, but not being able to act during a time like this is something I am struggling with.

It really bothers me that my mother-in-law lives alone in New Jersey and we don’t really know how she is coping because she’s pretty reticent. English is not her first language, so we communicate by text message and only know what she tells us.

The news agencies tweet and post pictures of the empty and lifeless city. The city that never sleeps seems to be out cold. The weather is still awful, grey and chilly. It is clear that unless the state can test more people, until we are told that the spread of the virus has been contained, and especially until we feel safe taking the subway, pressing Play is not in our immediate future.

I am not sure how either of those two things is going to become as real as the reality we face now.