#396
Last night a tornado cut a 30-mile swath through central Florida, passing only a few miles from where I live, destroying scores of homes, injuring dozens of people and killing at least 19. And this morning, I woke up with a toothache.
Seemingly, neither has much to do with the other. But during a pandemic, both situations would become worse, and less easy to manage.
A pandemic, it has been said, could last months, perhaps extending into years. A vaccine might not be available for the masses during the first year. If the virus mutates during that time, it could further delay vaccine production.
During this extended `pandemic period’, life, and the inevitable twists and turns it delivers, will go on.
Mother nature will continue to deliver regular surprises, like the evil funnel that snaked out of the night sky and swept away lives and homes here in Florida, along with earthquakes, hurricanes, wildfires, floods, blizzards, and your garden variety thunderstorms. Homes will be damaged or destroyed, power lines will go down and need repair, and people will be injured.
The need for emergency workers such as ambulance crews, law enforcement, utility workers, firefighters, and crisis teams from the Red Cross and Salvation Army will not diminish.
In an instant, hundred of people were left homeless, chosen seemingly at random by a fickle storm god. Their worldly processions strewn across four counties, and in some cases, their lives lost, or shattered by the loss of a loved one.
I keep reading on the Internet about how some people intend to lock themselves away with a stash of rice and beans should a pandemic erupt. I wonder how they would feel if they were dealt this hand during a pandemic wave? Would they then hope, or even expect, the aid and assistance of their neighbors? Or would they simply sit in the cold rain, resigned to their fate, and wait for some miracle?
Being prepared is wonderful, in fact; I highly recommend it. But there are some events that are so overwhelming, so devastating, having a basement full of supplies won’t be enough to see you through. For that, you’re going to need a community.
On the other end of the scale, far removed from the tragedy of a tornado or other natural disaster, is the inevitable moment when our bodies let us down. It happens with surprising regularity.
Two years ago, my dentist put a crown on a back molar, and cautioned he wasn’t sure how long it would hold. But he thought it was worth trying, in order to save the tooth. For two years, all was fine.
Till this morning.
I’ve since moved, and have no local dentist. Getting one this time of year in Florida isn’t easy. Our winter visitors are here in force. I called around today, but no luck. Maybe Monday.
During a pandemic, will dentists even be open? Even if they are, I imagine they will be in short supply. They will be subject to the same absenteeism of other professions, perhaps exacerbated by their close contact with patients and enduring a higher risk of infection than say, accountants.
The same situation will probably exist for all medical services. Getting treatment for your gall bladder, kidney stones, hammertoes, or that pesky broken wrist may become problematic during a pandemic. Certainly not as simple as it is today, when you needn’t worry about sitting around a waiting room with a group of potentially infectious patients.
The point of this jaw-pain-induced-ramble is simply that you never know when the fickle finger of fate will drop out of the sky and destroy your home, or a tooth will suddenly begin to play a Gene Krupa drum solo in your head, or any of a thousand other calamities will strike.
We have to be prepared, even during a pandemic, to rely upon one another as a society if we are to get through a crisis. There will be some that think that idea is just crazy. Perhaps so.
But toothaches drive me nuts.
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