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Tag: Emory University

  • Should Everyone Be Masking Again?

    Should Everyone Be Masking Again?

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    Winter is here, and so, once more, are mask mandates. After last winter’s crushing Omicron spike, much of America did away with masking requirements. But with cases once again on the rise and other respiratory illnesses such as RSV and influenza wreaking havoc, some scattered institutions have begun reinstating them. On Monday, one of Iowa’s largest health systems reissued its mandate for staff. That same day, the Oakland, California, city council voted unanimously to again require people to mask up in government buildings. A New Jersey school district revived its own mandate, and the Philadelphia school district announced that it would temporarily do the same after winter break.

    The reinstated mandates are by no means widespread, and that seems unlikely to change any time soon. But as we trudge into yet another pandemic winter, they do raise some questions. What role should masking play in winters to come? Is every winter going to be like this? Should we now consider the holiday season … masking season?

    These questions don’t have simple answers. Regardless of what public-health research tells us we should do, we’ve clearly seen throughout the pandemic that limits exist to what Americans will do. Predictably, the few recent mandates have elicited a good deal of aggrievement and derision from the anti-masking set. But even many Americans who diligently masked earlier in the pandemic seem to have lost their appetite for this sort of intervention as the pandemic has eased. In its most recent national survey of health behavior, the COVID States Project found that only about a quarter of Americans still mask when they go out, down from more than 80 percent at its peak. Some steadfast maskers have started feeling awkward: “I have personally felt like I get weird looks now wearing a mask,” Saskia Popescu, an epidemiologist at George Mason University, told me.

    Even so, masking remains one of the best and least obtrusive infection-prevention measures we have at our disposal. We haven’t yet been slammed this winter by another Omicronlike variant, but the pandemic is still here. COVID cases, hospitalizations, and deaths are all rising nationally, possibly the signs of another wave. Kids have been hit especially hard by the unwelcome return of influenza, RSV, and other respiratory viruses. All of this is playing out against the backdrop of low COVID-19-booster uptake, leaving people more vulnerable to death and severe disease if they get infected.

    All of which is to say: If you’re only going to mask for a couple of months of the year, now is a good time. “Should people be masking? Absolutely yes, right now,” Seema Lakdawala, a flu-transmission expert at Emory University, told me. That doesn’t mean masking everywhere all the time. Lakdawala masks at the grocery store, at the office, and while using public transportation, but not when she goes out to dinner or attends parties. Those activities pose a risk of infection, but Lakdawala’s goal is to reduce her risk, not to minimize it at all costs. A strategy that prevents you from enjoying the things you love most is not sustainable.

    Both Lakdawala and Popescu were willing to go so far as to suggest that masking should indeed become a seasonal fixture—just like skiing and snowmen, only potentially lifesaving and politically radioactive. Even before the pandemic, influenza alone killed tens of thousands of Americans every year, and more masking, even if only in certain targeted settings, could go a long way toward reducing the toll. “If we could just say, Hey, from November to February, we should all just mask indoors,” Lakdawala said, that would do a lot of good. “The idea of the unknown and the perpetualness of two years of things coming on and off, and then the confusing CDC county-by-county guideline—it just sort of makes it harder for everybody than if we had a simple message.” Universal mandates or recommendations that people mask at small social gatherings are probably too much to ask, Lakdawala told me. Instead, she favors some limited, seasonal mandates, such as on public transportation or in schools dealing with viral surges.

    David Dowdy, an epidemiologist at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, is all for masking season, he told me, but he’d be more hesitant to resort to mandates. “It’s hard to impose mandates without a very strong public-health rationale,” he said, especially in our current, hyperpolarized climate. And although that rationale clearly existed for much of the past two crisis-ridden years, it’s less clear now. “COVID is no longer this public-health emergency, but it’s still killing thousands of people every week, hundreds a day … so it becomes a more challenging balancing act,” Dowdy said.

    Rather than requirements, he favors broad recommendations. The CDC, for instance, could suggest that during flu season, people should consider wearing masks in crowded indoor spaces, the same way it recommends that everyone old enough get a flu shot each year. (Although the agency has hardly updated its “Interim Guidance” on masks and the flu since 2004, Director Rochelle Walensky has encouraged people to mask up this winter.) Another strategy, Dowdy said, could be making masks more accessible to people, so that every time they enter a public indoor space, they have the option of grabbing an N95.

    The course of the pandemic has both demonstrated the efficacy of widespread masking and rendered that strategy so controversial in America as to be virtually impossible. The question now is how to negotiate those two realities. Whatever answer we come up with this year, the question will remain next year, and for years after that. The pandemic will fade, but the coronavirus, like the other surging viruses this winter, will continue to haunt us in one form or another. “These viruses are here,” Lakdawala said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

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    Jacob Stern

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  • Get Ready for the Most Wonderful Day of the Year

    Get Ready for the Most Wonderful Day of the Year

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    This weekend, I’ll be waking up to one of my favorite days of the year: a government-sanctioned 25-hour Sunday. Forget birthdays, forget my anniversary; heck, forget the magic of Christmas. On Sunday, I’ll get to do a bit of time traveling as most of the United States transitions out of daylight saving time back into glorious, glorious standard time.

    I may be a standard-time stan, but I’m no monster. I feel for the die-hard fans of DST. With the push of a button, or the turn of a dial, most Americans will be cleaving an hour of brightness out of their afternoons, at a time of year when days are already fast-dimming. Leaving work to a dusky sky is a bummer; a pre-dinner stroll cut short by darkness can really be the pits.

    But if we all put aside our differences for just a moment, we can celebrate the fact that this weekend, nearly all Americans—regardless of where they sit on the DST love-hate spectrum—will be blessed with a 25-hour day, and that freaking rocks. If we must live in a dumb world where the dumb clocks shift twice a dumb year, let’s at least come together on the objective greatness of falling back.

    I don’t want to minimize the nuisance of the time shift. Toggling back and forth twice a year is an absolute pain, and many Americans cheered when the Senate unanimously passed a proposal earlier this year to move the entire U.S. to permanent daylight saving time. But Katy Milkman, a behavioral scientist at the University of Pennsylvania and the host of the podcast Choiceology—who, by the way, loathes the end of DST—told me we can all reframe the autumn clock change “as a windfall.” Sunday will contain a freebie hour to do whatever we like. Rafael Pelayo, a sleep specialist at Stanford, will be spending his at the farmers’ market; Ken Carter, a psychologist and self-described morning person at Emory University, told me he might chill with an extra cup of coffee and his cats. I’m planning to split my minutes between a nap and Paper Girls (the graphic novel, not the show).

    An hour isn’t enough time to learn a new language or cure cancer, or even to watch the entire season finale of The Rings of Power. But a little wiggle room could help kick-start a new habit, such as a gym routine, Milkman said, especially if you make a plan, tell a friend, and stick to it. Above all, she said, “do something to bring you joy.”

    Falling back, to me, is its own joy: It recoups a springtime loss, and resets the clocks to the time that’s always suited me best. It’s wicked hard to fall asleep when the light lingers past 8 or 9 p.m. I also struggle to get out of bed without a hefty dose of morning light, which has been scarce in the past few weeks. Going out for my prework run has meant a lot of stumbling around and using my phone as a crummy flashlight. If and, God willing, when we ditch the status quo, I maintain that permanent standard time >>>> permanent daylight saving time. (So maybe it’s not terrible that the DST-forever bill is now stalled in the House.)

    And I gotta say, the science (pushes glasses up nose) largely backs me and my fellow standardians up. Several organizations, including the American Academy of Sleep Medicine, have for years wanted to do away with DST for good. “Standard time is a more natural cycle,” Pelayo told me. “In nature we fall asleep to darkness and we wake up to light.” When people spend most of their year out of sync with these rhythms, “it reduces sleep duration and quality,” says Carleara Weiss, a behavioral-sleep-medicine expert at the University at Buffalo. The onset of DST has been linked to a bump in heart attacks and strokes, and Denise Rodriguez Esquivel, a psychologist at the University of Arizona College of Medicine, told me that our bodies may never fully adjust to DST. We’re just off-kilter for eight months.

    For years, some researchers have argued that perma-DST would cut down on other societal woes: crime, traffic accidents, energy costs, even deer collisions. But research on the matter has produced mixed or contested results, showing that several of those benefits are modest or perhaps even nonexistent. And although sticking with DST might boost late-afternoon commerce, people might hate the shift more than they think. In the 1970s, the U.S. did a trial run of year-round DST … and it flopped. (Most of Arizona, where Rodriguez Esquivel lives, exists in permanent standard time; she told me it’s “really nice.”)

    Returning to the proper state of things won’t be without its troubles. Next week will have its missed meetings, fumbled phone calls, and general grumpiness. Although springing forward is usually tougher, “fallback blues,” Weiss told me, are absolutely a thing. The change-up may be extra hard on parents of very young kids, overnight workers, and people who don’t have a safe place to sleep. “It’s a very confusing time for our brain,” Rodriguez Esquivel told me. “Just be kind to yourself.” That’s why I’ll be having two breakfasts on Sunday: one when my body says it’s time, and one when the clock does. Carter told me it doesn’t hurt to be extra accommodating of others, too. “I try to keep quiet this time of year,” he said. “It doesn’t annoy me very much. But I’m secretly amused by people like you.”

    Realistically, many of us will just end up snoozing right through the bonus hour. Which is totally fine. I’m considering that plan, too. The only losers in that scenario will, alas, be my cats. They do not follow the clock changes, legislation be damned; a 25-hour day is to them a scourge if it means that I sleep in, and breakfast arrives a full hour late. In that event, they, unlike me, will eat when the clock decrees, and not a minute sooner.

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    Katherine J. Wu

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  • What Happened to Hand-Washing?

    What Happened to Hand-Washing?

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    Way back in the early, whirlwind days of the pandemic, surfaces were the thing to worry about. The prevailing scientific wisdom was that the coronavirus spread mainly via large droplets, which fell onto surfaces, which we then touched with our hands, with which we then touched our faces. (Masks, back then, were said by public health authorities to be unnecessary for the general public.) So we washed our hands until they were raw. We contorted ourselves to avoid touching doorknobs. We went through industrial quantities of hand sanitizer, and pressed elevator buttons with keys and pens, and disinfected our groceries and takeout orders and mail.

    And then we learned we’d had it all backwards. The virus didn’t spread much via surfaces; it spread through the air. We came to understand the danger of indoor spaces, the importance of ventilation, and the difference between a cloth mask and an N95. Meanwhile, we mostly stopped talking about hand-washing. The days when you could hear people humming “Happy Birthday” in public restrooms quickly disappeared. And wiping down packages and ostentatious workplace-disinfection protocols became a matter of lingering hygiene theater.

    This whole episode was among the stranger and more disorienting shifts of the pandemic. Sanitization, that great bastion of public health, saved lives; actually, no, it didn’t matter that much for COVID. On one level, this about-face should be seen as a marker of good scientific progress, but it also raises a question about the sorts of acts we briefly thought were our best available defense against the virus. If hand-washing isn’t as important as we thought it was in March 2020, how important is it?

    Any public-health expert will be quick to tell you that, please, yes, you should still wash your hands. Emanuel Goldman, a microbiologist at Rutgers New Jersey Medical School, considers it “commonsense hygiene” for protecting us against a range of viruses spread through close contact and touch, such as gastrointestinal viruses. Also, let’s be honest: It’s gross to use the bathroom and then refuse to wash, whether or not you’re going to give someone COVID.

    Even so, the pandemic has piled on evidence that the transmission of the coronavirus via fomites—that is, inanimate contaminated objects or surfaces—plays a much smaller role, and airborne transmission a much larger one, than we once thought. And the same likely goes for other respiratory pathogens, such as influenza and the coronaviruses that cause the common cold, Linsey Marr, an environmental engineer and aerosols expert at Virginia Tech, told me.

    This realization is not an entirely new one: A 1987 study by researchers at the University of Wisconsin found that a group of men playing poker with “soggy,” rhinovirus-contaminated cards were not infected, while a group playing with other sick players were. Now Goldman intends to push this point even further. At a conference in December, he is going to present a paper arguing that, with rare exceptions, such as RSV, all respiratory pathogens are transmitted predominantly through the air. The reason we’ve long thought otherwise, he told me, is that our understanding has been founded on faulty assumptions. Generally speaking, the studies pointing toward fomite-centric theories of transmission were virus-survival studies, which measure how long a virus can survive on a surface. Many of them either used unrealistically large amounts of virus or measured only the presence of the virus’s genetic material, not whether it remained infectious. “The design” of these experiments, he said, “was not appropriate for being able to extrapolate to real-life conditions.”

    The upshot, for Goldman, is that surface transmission of respiratory pathogens is “negligible,” probably accounting for less than .01 percent of all infections. If correct, this would mean that your chance of catching the flu or a cold by touching something in the course of daily life is virtually nonexistent. Goldman acknowledged that there’s a “spectrum of opinion” on the matter. Marr, for one, would not go quite so far: She’s confident that more than half of respiratory-pathogen transmission is airborne, though she said she wouldn’t be surprised if the proportion is much, much higher—the only number she would rule out is 100 percent.

    For now, it’s important to avoid binary thinking on the matter, Saskia Popescu, an epidemiologist at George Mason University, told me. Fomites, airborne droplets, smaller aerosol particles—all modes of transmission are possible. And the proportional breakdown will not be the same in every setting, Seema Lakdawa, a flu-transmission expert at Emory University, told me. Fomite transmission might be negligible at a grocery store, but that doesn’t mean it’s negligible at a day care, where kids are constantly touching things and sneezing on things and sticking things in their mouths. The corollary to this idea is that certain infection-prevention strategies prove highly effective in one context but not in another: Frequently disinfecting a table in a preschool classroom might make a lot of sense; frequently disinfecting the desk in your own private cubicle, less so.

    Much of the conspicuous cleaning we did early in the pandemic was excessive, Popescu said, but she worries that we may have slightly overcorrected, lumping some useful behaviors—targeted disinfection, even hand-washing in some cases—into the category of hygiene theater. Whatever the setting, the experts I spoke with all agreed that these behaviors remain important for contending with non-respiratory pathogens. Recently, when several members of Marr’s family came down with norovirus, an extremely unpleasant stomach bug that causes vomiting, diarrhea, and stomach cramping, she disinfected a number of high-touch surfaces around the house. Picture that: one of the country’s foremost experts on airborne transmission wiping down doorknobs and light switches.

    Marr isn’t convinced we’ve overcorrected. Hand sanitizer still abounds, businesses still tout their surface-cleaning protocols, and air quality still gets comparatively little attention. Recently, she watched a person use their shirt to open the door of a visitor center without touching the handle … then proceed inside unmasked. There’s nothing wrong with taking certain precautions to prevent fomite transmission, she said—these should not all be dismissed en masse as hygiene theater—as long as they don’t come at the expense of efforts to block airborne transmission. “If you’re doing extra hand washing … then you should also be wearing a good mask in crowded indoor environments,” Marr said. “If you’re bothering to clean the surfaces, then you should be bothering to clean the air.”

    On Friday, with respiratory-virus season looming, CDC Director Rochelle Walensky tweeted out three pieces of advice for staying healthy: “Get an updated COVID-19 vaccine & get your annual flu vaccine,” “Stay home if you are sick,” and—not to be forgotten—“Practice good hand hygiene.” She made no mention of masks or ventilation.

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    Jacob Stern

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