For all of our grousing about COVID fatigue, a few novel trends are clear one year into the pandemic.
In the early weeks of 2021, Californians are staying home way more than we did in our pre-pandemic life. Even so, we're heading out to shop, dine and work far more now than in March 2020, when state officials issued the first sweeping stay-at-home order, or the dark period that followed the winter holidays, when we hunkered down as COVID-19 caseloads exploded.
And to the extent we are venturing out, we are using cars rather than resuming pre-COVID commute patterns on buses and trains, a trend with troubling implications for transit services and the environment should it become long-standing.
The findings come from a Google compilation of vast troves of cellphone location tracking data, part of an ongoing effort the tech giant says it initiated to help leaders around the globe gauge the impact of COVID-related closures and travel restrictions. The mobility logs, drawn from phones with location trackers enabled, show patterns of trip frequency — broken out at country, state and regional levels — in daily snapshots from early 2020 through early March 2021. The baseline for comparison in terms of trip frequency is the first five weeks of 2020, before California and the U.S. initiated broad COVID-related restrictions.
Google groups its trip frequency data into categories based on the nature of the destination: for example, grocery and pharmacy; retail and restaurants; and work-related. In California, the fever lines for those categories in many ways trace the state's yo-yoing response to COVID's spread, a series of shutdowns and reopenings that have grown more targeted and less restrictive as the pandemic has worn on.
On March 19, 2020, after declaring COVID an emergency, Gov. Gavin Newsom announced the state's first hard shutdown order, telling Californians to stay home except for essential needs and shuttering wide swaths of the service and retail sectors. The tracking data indicates residents took the order to heart: After an initial surge in trips to groceries and pharmacies in the days before the order took effect — presumably as people stocked up on provisions — outings plummeted across the board. By early April, trips to stores and restaurants, as well as work, had fallen more than 50% below the baseline. Grocery and pharmacy outings were off by more than 20%.
The mobility trend lines rebounded in May, when the state moved — some say too quickly — toward reopening the economy. By July, retail and restaurant outings had resurged to 27% below the pre-COVID baseline; grocery outings were just 4% below baseline.
With small ebbs and flows, these activity levels continued through summer and fall, before dipping sharply but briefly in late December through early February as COVID flourished, hospitals reeled and the state paid the price for a recklessly social holiday season. As of early March, travel for retail and restaurants was back to 26% below the baseline, while grocery and pharmacy trips were 11% below.
Work-related travel showed the most sustained disruption, at 33% below the baseline.
While this prolonged stasis has been trying, staying home has saved lives, said Serina Chang, a graduate student in computer science at Stanford University who co-authored a paper in the journal Nature on mobility and COVID spread. The research team created a model that looked at 10 U.S. metropolitan areas, including San Francisco and Los Angeles, and simulated a scenario in which residents didn't cut travel in March and April.
"We saw sometimes 10 times the number of actual infections," she said. "And that's just by the beginning of May."
Chang's research also found that trips to tight, crowded spaces where people stay a long time cause more disease transmission than quick trips to large, nearly empty places. California leaders incorporated that thinking into new guidelines released in December and January that let more businesses stay open than in the March 2020 shutdown, but with limits on capacity.
As Californians get out of the house more, auto use is rebounding. In April 2020, California gasoline sales were down nearly 45% compared with April 2019, according to the California Department of Tax and Fee Administration. By November, gasoline sales were down just 16% compared with 2019, indicating residents were once again liberally filling up.
But, for now, the nature of that car travel has shifted. A couple of years ago, traffic peaked during the morning and evening commutes. Lately, car travel is distributed more evenly through the day, said Giovanni Circella, a researcher at the University of California-Davis Institute of Transportation Studies.
At the same time, daily visits to California transit stations were down an average of 51% in the first five weeks of 2021 compared with the same period in 2020. Mass transit systems in the U.S. rely heavily on fares to generate revenue. The decline in use is fueling worries that ridership won't recover fast enough to stave off deep service cuts.
Chang and Circella said there is strong evidence that Californians with low incomes continue to face more challenges in cutting down on trips outside the home. The pandemic has underscored the array of white-collar jobs that can be done readily from home with the aid of the internet. By contrast, many lower-paid service sector jobs must be carried out in person, requiring a commute.
"Lower-income neighborhoods always ended up with a higher level of infection, and so did less white neighborhoods," said Chang, describing findings modeled in her study. "That tells you that mobility is encoding these disparities in some way."
All those trends play out in high relief in the California region that has seen the biggest sustained decline in travel: the San Francisco Bay Area. The tracking data shows visits to stores and restaurants were down 62% in San Francisco during the first five weeks of 2021 compared with the baseline. Visits to workplaces were down 57%.
The Bay Area Council Economic Institute recently released a study showing that up to 45% of jobs in the region are eligible for remote work, a higher proportion than in other parts of the state. Staying in place can mean fewer infections. As of early March, San Francisco had the lowest COVID infection rate among California counties with more than 500,000 residents, followed by Alameda, San Mateo, Contra Costa and Santa Clara, all in the Bay Area.
In the Bay Area, as elsewhere, car traffic is starting to pick up — but not transit ridership. Jeff Bellisario, executive director of the institute, estimated that ridership on Bay Area Rapid Transit trains was down about 85% in mid-February compared with pre-pandemic levels. In contrast, he pointed to data showing vehicle crossings on the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge down by just 13% on a Wednesday in mid-February.
Researchers like Circella and Bellisario are turning their attention to what comes next, when fears of COVID infection fade. Will commuters get used to driving and take fewer transit trips? Will Californians who can work remotely leave high-priced urban areas, transferring traffic headaches to less developed communities? The answers aren't clear.
"The longer the disruption is [and] the bigger the magnitude of the disruption, the higher the likelihood is that we might have bigger longer-term impacts," Circella said.
Phillip Reese is a data reporting specialist and an assistant professor of journalism at California State University-Sacramento.
President Joe Biden's goal of providing healthcare for more Americans advanced this week with his signing of an economic stimulus package that includes subsidies for health insurance premiums and new incentives for states to expand Medicaid, as well as the potential confirmation of Xavier Becerra as secretary of Health and Human Services.
But as the current administration works to reverse the actions of its predecessor, it should recognize that former President Donald Trump introduced policies on medical care and drug price transparency that are worth preserving. Those measures could help struggling patient-consumers while the new administration pushes for the far more ambitious reforms Biden campaigned on, which include a public health insurance option and a system that would allow Medicare to negotiate drug prices.
To be clear, the Trump administration, generally, put the healthcare of many Americans in jeopardy: It spent four years trying to overturn the Affordable Care Act, despite that law's undeniable successes, and when repeal proved impossible, kneecapped the program in countless ways. As a result of those policies, more than 2 million people lost health insurance during Trump's first three years. And that's before millions more people lost their jobs and accompanying insurance during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic.
But the Trump administration did attempt to rein in some of the most egregious pricing in the healthcare industry. For example, it required most hospitals to post lists of their standard prices for supplies, drugs, tests and procedures. Providers had long resisted calls for such pricing transparency, arguing that this was a burden, and that since insurers negotiated and paid far lower rates anyway, those list prices didn't matter.
Of course, prices do matter to the patients who are uninsured or end up at an out-of-network hospital when illness strikes and are charged full freight, or nearly so. Some patients, facing bills of hundreds of thousands of dollars, have been sued by hospitals or forced into bankruptcy or foreclosure.
In 2019, the Trump administration proposed a rule that hospitals disclose the discounted rates that they agree to accept from insurers for common medical services, as well as prices for patients who pay in cash. To be clear, this type of transparency doesn't directly lower bills, but the information can help patients shop around for medical care.
These master price lists span hundreds of pages and are hard to decipher. Nonetheless, they give consumers a basis to fight back against outrageous charges in a system where a knee replacement can cost $15,000 or $75,000, even at the same hospital. And the requirement might just motivate some providers to lower their prices, if only to compete with neighboring hospitals.
Last summer, hospitals said it was too hard to comply with the new rule while they were dealing with the pandemic. They still managed to continue the appeal of their lawsuit against the measure, which failed in December. The rule took effect, but the penalty for not complying is just $300 a day — a pittance for hospitals — and there is no meaningful mechanism for active enforcement. The hospitals have asked the Biden administration to revise the requirement.
Trump also used his bully pulpit to take on drug prices, remarking at his first news conference as president-elect that pharmaceutical manufacturers were "getting away with murder." His administration ordered drugmakers to list prices in advertisements for medications that cost more than $35 per month. (Some of the most commonly advertised drugs cost thousands of dollars.) Just before the order took effect, a court blocked it.
Then, last summer, Trump issued a bunch of executive orders aimed at forcing drug price reductions. In September his health secretary, Alex Azar, certified that importing prescription medicine from Canada "poses no additional risk to the public's health and safety" and would result in "a significant reduction in the cost." This statement, which previous health secretaries had declined to make, formally opened the door to importing medication. Millions of Americans, meanwhile, now illegally purchase prescription drugs from abroad because they cannot afford to buy them at home.
In Congress, bills allowing prescription drug importation have for years gained bipartisan support, but without the go-ahead from the Department of Health and Human Services, they were nonstarters. Now a number of states are moving ahead with efforts to import drugs from Canada.
Biden said he supported the legalization of importing drugs during his presidential campaign. Becerra, Azar's potential successor, voted for an importation bill in 2003 when he was a member of Congress.
But the drug lobby will no doubt prove a big obstacle: The Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America, an industry trade group, filed suit in federal court in November to stop the drug-purchasing initiatives. The industry has long argued that importation from even Canada would risk American lives.
Finally, shortly before the election, Trump issued an executive order paving the way for a "most favored nation" system that would ensure that the prices for certain drugs purchased by Medicare did not exceed the lowest price available in other developed countries. The industry responded with furious pushback, and a court quickly ruled against the measure.
Some of these initiatives, such as posting hospital prices, have already taken effect. But executive orders have limited power; some are stuck in court or require further governmental action to move forward. The Biden administration will have to decide which, if any, to pursue.
Biden's proposals to get better, more affordable healthcare to every American are far more substantial — and disruptive to the health industry — than any of Trump's efforts. But Biden may find it difficult to get support for his plans in a Congress that is narrowly controlled by Democrats. The Democratic Party has historically been friendly to the healthcare industry: According to the Center for Responsive Politics, 71% of the money spent by the pharmaceutical industry in the 2020 elections went to Democratic candidates. Biden raised twice as much money from hospitals and nursing homes during the 2020 presidential campaign as Trump did. The healthcare industry is already aggressively advertising and lobbying against any sort of public option.
The Trump administration's attempted market-based interventions shined some light on dark corners of the health market and opened the door to some workarounds. They are not meaningful substitutes for larger and much-needed health reform. But as Americans await the type of more fundamental changes the Democrats have promised, they need every bit of help they can get.
In the year since the World Health Organization declared a global pandemic, millions of families have endured the excruciating rise and fall of the U.S. outbreak — waves of sickness that leave untold wounds long after hospitalizations ebb and infections subside.
Some have borne the tragedy more than others, with multiple family members lost to COVID-19 in a matter of months.
For the Aldaco family of Phoenix, it has shattered a generation of brothers.
All three men — Jose, Heriberto Jr. and Gonzalo Aldaco — were lost to COVID, each at different moments in the pandemic: first in July, then December, and finally last month.
Their deaths are now among more than 530,000 in the United States, where, even as millions are vaccinated, the virus still leaves families grieving the new loss of a loved one each day.
"Those three men, they drove the family. They were like the strong pillars, the bones of the family. And now they're all gone," said Miguel Lerma, 31, whose grandfather Jose Aldaco raised him as his own son.
To Lerma, their deaths feel like an epic American story of resilience, courage and hard work cut short. All three came to the U.S. from Mexico and over the decades made it home for their families.
"They literally showed that you can come from nothing and struggle through all that and still build a life for yourself and your kids," said Lerma. "It just upsets me this is the way their story has to end."
Jose's daughter Brenda Aldaco said that, with so many Americans gone, the magnitude of each death and its reverberations are profound.
"When you really think about each single person, each person individually, what did that person mean to someone? It's just overwhelming. It's overwhelming," she said.
A Family 'Ready to Create Memories'
Jose Aldaco, 69 when he died, arrived in the Southwest in the early '80s when Brenda was still an infant, following his sister, Delia, and older brother, Gonzalo, who had both left Mexico not long before him.
"They came out here for a better opportunity — I don't even want to say a more comfortable life — but a more attainable, elevated life than what they had," said Priscilla Gomez, Jose's niece and Delia's daughter.
Gomez thinks of all three uncles as central figures — symbols of strength — for her and the entire extended family.
"They were so consistent, the most consistent male figures for me," said Gomez.
Big family gatherings were a staple of life in the Aldaco households.
"Those three men, when they were in the same room, it was just a good time," said Lerma, a dance teacher in Phoenix.
Reunions and holidays often evolved into joyous, music-filled events, where Gonzalo, the oldest, would pull out the guitar and the family would dance and sing together till the early hours of the morning.
"If it was someone's birthday, they would sing 'Las Mañanitas.' … They were just always ready to create memories for us," recalled Gomez.
Lerma said what Jose cultivated most of all was a family where love and affection was the main currency. "He's the one who taught us to be so amorous," said Lerma. "He was that warmth. He was that love for us."
Wave After Wave in Arizona
After a calm spring, the pandemic hit Arizona with terrifying force — the first of two waves that would rip through a state where pandemic precautions were slow to come and quick to disappear. Lerma said his family heeded the warnings.
"We were a family that accepted the pandemic was real," he said. "We did take it seriously."
Jose and his wife, Virginia, lived at their daughter Brenda's house, where they helped raise their teenage grandson.
Brenda's father worked a few days a week at his job in a hotel restaurant, but was mostly retired. "He was perfectly able — doing yardwork, cooking every day, jogging three times a week at the park," said Brenda.
Despite the family's effort to stay safe, the virus found a way into their household that summer. Jose was the first to get sick, but soon all four were ill and isolating in their bedrooms.
They waited on test results. Both elders were getting worse. When the bedroom door was open, Brenda's son would hear his grandfather.
"My son would say, 'Mom, Abuelo doesn't sound good. … He sounds like he's dying,'" recalled Brenda.
She felt paralyzed, though. Her mother was adamant that she didn't want him to go to the hospital.
Eventually, Lerma, who lives separately and did not have COVID, put on a mask and came to coax Virginia and Jose to go to the hospital. Lerma found Jose lying in bed, covered in a sheet, with a sky-high fever.
"He was forcing fast breaths to try to get any air that he could into his lungs," said Lerma. "That's when I started freaking out and losing it."
Virginia and Jose were admitted to the hospital. A few days later, Virginia was doing well enough to go home, but Jose's condition only got worse.
The last time Lerma saw him it was over FaceTime, while Jose was being wheeled through the hospital to be put on life support. "Losing my dad, this is what heartbreak is," said Lerma. "This is what the sad songs are about."
Three Brothers — 'Family Men' — Gone
By the time of Jose's death, the virus had already killed about 150,000 Americans. Like so many other families, the Aldacos were not able to have a proper funeral.
"It felt like his death was just brushed under the rug, like he's just another statistic," said Lerma.
Priscilla Gomez said she'll never forget hearing her mother take the phone call when she learned of her brother's death.
"To not be there in-person to comfort them or to hold them up when they feel like they just want to throw themselves on the ground and just sob … you feel completely helpless," she said.
As the pandemic stretched into the winter months, a new wave of infections and deaths gripped Arizona and much of the rest of the U.S. By late December, the total U.S death toll had surpassed 300,000, and Heriberto Aldaco Jr. — the youngest, in his late 50s — was now also hospitalized with COVID.
"You think you've gone to a particular point in your grieving, and then it's not done — here it comes again. … Now my dad's baby brother is sick," said Brenda Aldaco. "Then he passes away."
Less than two months later, yet more shattering news would come to the family.
The last remaining brother, Gonzalo Aldaco, the eldest in his early 70s, was hospitalized with COVID. He died in February.
Brenda Aldaco described her father and uncles as above all else "family men."
"They were totally and completely devoted to the people they loved — always present, always someone you could rely on," she said.
Sometimes, she still expects her father to come home from the hospital: "It was just hard for me to even grasp the concept of 'He's gone'… that the three of them are now gone and under the same circumstances and within a period of six months."
This story is from a reporting partnership between NPR and KHN.
A federal government survey estimated that a shortage of mental health providers exist in 5,800 geographic areas, populations or facilities — such as prisons — across the U.S., with 6,450 practitioners needed to fill the gaps.
This article was published on Monday, March 15, 2021 in Kaiser Health News.
HELENA, Mont. — When the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation began offering telehealth services in Montana in early February, the nation's largest nonprofit addiction treatment provider promised quality care for far-flung residents without their even having to leave home.
That promise was what Montana and more than 40 other states had in mind when they temporarily relaxed rules restricting telehealth services and allowed out-of-state providers to hold remote patient visits for the duration of the COVID-19 pandemic.
A year into the pandemic, telehealth has become widely accepted. Some states are now looking to make permanent the measures that have fueled its growth. But with it have come some unintended consequences, such as a rise in fraud, potential access problems for vulnerable groups and conflicts between out-of-state and in-state health providers.
In Montana, for example, not everybody cheered the virtual arrival of the Minnesota-based Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation. The head of Montana's largest behavioral health provider, Billings-based Rimrock, worried that an influx of out-of-state providers could lead to Rimrock's losing a significant number of its privately insured patients.
Rimrock patients with private insurance subsidize patients who are on Medicaid, CEO Lenette Kosovich said. The difference in insurance reimbursement rates between the two is so great that the loss of those privately insured patients would hamper Rimrock's operations, she said.
"I'm all for competition, as long as it's fair competition," Kosovich said. She added that she would like to see rules in place ensuring that out-of-state providers that enter Montana via the relaxed regulations of the pandemic meet the same licensing requirements as in-state providers.
"They don't take Medicaid, so they don't have to go through the same rigors," she said. "We've been really very vocal that we want more legislation that speaks to that. Even the playing field."
Hazelden Betty Ford is not out to poach anybody else's patients, said Bob Poznanovich, the foundation's vice president of business development. Instead, it's targeting patients who aren't receiving care and can't go to one of its 15 drug and alcohol rehabilitation centers, he said.
"We think it's important that a national brand like ours is able to provide care nationally," Poznanovich said. "That becomes important to our patients, who come from all over the country. It's also important, I think, for people who can't access quality care, who are in some healthcare deserts where there just isn't good care."
A federal government survey estimated that a shortage of mental health providers exist in 5,800 geographic areas, populations or facilities — such as prisons — across the U.S., with 6,450 practitioners needed to fill the gaps. For primary care, the need is even greater, with nearly 7,300 areas short of health professionals.
For patients nationwide, telehealth can make getting medical care much easier. Ayanna Miller, a 24-year-old student at Northeastern University in Boston, is among those embracing the technology.
"Sometimes you don't really need to go into the office. You really just need, like, a quick conversation with your doctor," she said. "I've also done telehealth for therapy. You don't necessarily need to be in the same room with your therapist."
As the stresses of the pandemic have strained mental health and addiction recovery, the need for help has increased. Hazelden Betty Ford has accelerated its pre-COVID plans for expansion and expects to offer telehealth services in all 50 states within two years. Next on deck: Arizona and New Mexico.
"We've heard grumblings, like 'Why are you coming into our state?'" Poznanovich said. But, he added, "More people have welcomed the entry into the marketplace because they think that we will help create a bigger marketplace."
But now, states are waiving patient copays and coinsurance, reimbursing telehealth services at the same rate as in-person services, waiving licensure requirements and allowing audio-only visits, among other measures.
In the first months of the pandemic, with lockdowns the norm throughout the country, telehealth visits surged to about 7 in 10 medical appointments, according to the Epic Health Research Network. That had tapered off to about 1 in 5 visits as of summer.
Existing and startup services are flourishing. Poznanovich compared the surge to the dot-com boom of the early part of the century, noting that the foundation's internal studies show that hundreds of telehealth companies have received financing.
"There is a land-grab mentality right now," he said. "We're seeing some really crazy market valuations because of the potential number of clients."
Today's rush will lead to permanent changes in healthcare, said Florida radiologist Dr. Ashley Maru, who invested in three telehealth companies. More innovative virtual providers entering the field may come at the expense of physicians who see patients in brick-and-mortar offices. But it also presents a solution to the national shortage of doctors, he said.
"You're going to see a national change in the landscape of medicine," Maru said. "They're going to be able to cross state lines and really uproot and disrupt everything."
The prospect of unfettered interstate virtual healthcare worries some health industry officials. Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Montana spokesperson John Doran said he shares Kosovich's concerns that local providers could suffer or be driven out of business, particularly in smaller states.
"The future of medicine has to include connecting a Montana patient to a Montana provider," Doran said.
Poznanovich said that, besides providing services to people who weren't receiving them before, Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation forms partnerships with local providers in some markets and offers education and resources to providers where it expands.
Some states are forging ahead with plans to make their telehealth changes permanent. A Montana bill passed the state House of Representatives unanimously Feb. 9 and is pending in the Senate.
"We were forced to use technologies in ways that we maybe thought we weren't ready for and it turns out that we were," Jackie Jones, government affairs director for the state's securities and insurance commissioner, recently told state lawmakers in supporting the bill.
Certain patients may be left out of the telehealth revolution. The rapid, wide-scale implementation of telemedicine could leave behind people with limited internet access or tech literacy, including the elderly, poor and non-English speakers, according to a New England Journal of Medicine article.
Meanwhile, telehealth fraud cases have "gone through the roof," said Mike Cohen, an operations officer with the Office of Investigations of the Department of Health and Human Services' inspector general's office. Telehealth in general is a good thing, he said, but with any popular medical advancement, "there's going to be rats on the ship."
Many fraudsters are trying to steal patients' identities and sell them on the black market, he said. Some providers are overcharging for appointments, are billing for services that weren't given, or are not registered or licensed in the U.S. Some scammers offer to put a patient at the front of the line for a COVID vaccine in exchange for payment.
"Our sense is that it's more widespread than we envisioned," Cohen said. "If we're going to make this permanent, we need to make sure there's guardrails to ensure programmatic integrity and also patient safety."
Even when working optimally, telehealth can have its limits. Miller, the Northeastern University student, said she was diagnosed with COVID in January and had mild symptoms. By early February, she felt better and wanted to schedule an in-person physical with her doctor to find out if the virus had affected her in other ways.
The doctor was taking only virtual appointments, and Miller was left feeling unsatisfied just answering the doctor's questions by video call.
"The scariest thing about COVID is you just don't know how it's going to impact you," Miller said. "I can say how I feel, but I don't know if there's anything that I'm not catching because I'm not trained."
After a brutal year in which the pandemic killed half a million Americans, despite unprecedented measures to curb its spread the vaccines are giving hope that an end is in sight.
Joan Phillips, a certified nursing assistant in a Florida nursing home, loved her job but dreaded the danger of going to work in the pandemic. When vaccines became available in December, she jumped at the chance to get one.
Months later, it appears that danger has faded. After the rollout of COVID vaccines, the number of new COVID cases among nursing home staff members fell 83% — from 28,802 for the week ending Dec. 20 to 4,764 for the week ending Feb. 14, data from the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services shows.
New COVID-19 infections among nursing home residents fell even more steeply, by 89%, in that period, compared with 58% in the general public, CMS and Johns Hopkins University data shows.
These numbers suggest that "the vaccine appears to be having a dramatic effect on reducing cases, which is extremely encouraging," said Beth Martino, spokesperson for the American Healthcare Association and National Center for Assisted Living, an industry group.
"It’s a big relief for me," said Phillips, who works at the North Beach Rehabilitation Center outside Miami. Now, she said, she's urging hesitant co-workers and anyone else who can to "go out and take the vaccination."
After a brutal year in which the pandemic killed half a million Americans, despite unprecedented measures to curb its spread — including mask-wearing, physical distancing, school closures and economic shutdowns — the vaccines are giving hope that an end is in sight.
Noting that more than 3 million doses of vaccine have been doled out in nursing homes, CMS issued new guidelines Wednesday allowing indoor visits in the facilities, even among unvaccinated residents and visitors, under most circumstances.
National figures on healthcare worker infections in other settings are hard to come by, but some statewide trends look promising. In California and Arkansas, healthcare worker COVID cases have dropped faster than for the general public since December, and in Virginia the number of hospital staffers out of work for COVID-related reasons has fallen dramatically.
Research in other countries suggests that vaccines have led to big drops in infection. A study of publicly funded hospitals in England indicated that a first dose was 72% effective at preventing COVID among workers after 21 days and 86% effective seven days after the second shot. At Sheba Medical Center — Israel's largest hospital, with over 9,600 workers — 170 staff members tested positive from Dec. 19, the first day the vaccine was offered, through Jan. 24. Of those who tested positive, only three had already received both doses of the vaccine, according to The Lancet.
Along with other healthcare workers, nursing home staffers and residents were first in line to get vaccines in December because elderly people in congregate settings are among the most vulnerable to infection: More than 125,000 residents have died of COVID, CMS data shows, while over 550,000 nursing home staff members have tested positive and more than 1,600 have died.
Yet the vaccination rate among staffers is far lower than that of residents. When the first clinics ran from mid-December to mid-January, a median of 78% of nursing home residents took a dose, while the median for staff was only 38%, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Now several nursing home associations say the rate of staff vaccination has been climbing, based on informal surveys.
While vaccines are "contributing to the observed declines in COVID-19 cases in nursing homes, other factors, like effective infection prevention and control programs/practices," are also at play, CDC spokesperson Jade Fulce said.
Vaccine uptake by nursing home residents has been "very promising," said Dr. Morgan Katz, a specialist in infectious diseases at Johns Hopkins University who is advising COVID responses in nursing homes. "I do think this is a huge contributing factor” to the drop in staff cases.
"When the immune system is activated more quickly" due to vaccination, "the virus is not able to multiply in your body and your respiratory tract," Katz said. So, having even one or two vaccinated people in a building can slow transmission.
Another factor, Katz said, is that "many nursing homes have already experienced large outbreaks — so there are probably a significant proportion of residents and staff who are already immune." Also, COVID rates have fallen nationally after a spike from holiday travel and gatherings in November and December, so staff members have less exposure in their communities.
But "even though we’re seeing a really wonderful turn in the number of cases," she said, "we need to remember that as long as the staff is 50 or 30% vaccinated, they remain vulnerable, and they’re also putting incredibly vulnerable long-term care residents at risk."
Vaccination efforts are racing against time as new COVID variants circulate and some states dramatically relax COVID restrictions, making it easier for the virus to spread.
During the second week in February, 2,850 nursing homes still reported at least one new COVID-positive test result for a staff member, CMS data shows.
When this happens, residents suffer, said Lori Smetanka, executive director of the National Consumer Voice for Quality Long-Term Care. She said she's hearing of cases in which one positive COVID test result sends a facility into lockdown, preventing families from visiting their loved ones.
‘They're Afraid’
The New Jersey Veterans Memorial Home at Menlo Park endured a major outbreak last year in which over 100 workers contracted COVID and over 60 residents and a certified nurse assistant, Monemise Romelus, died. Shirley Lewis, a union president representing CNAs and other workers, said it was traumatizing. Still, only about half of workers there have taken the vaccine, Lewis said, and one is out sick with COVID.
"A lot of my members are not too excited about taking this vaccine because they’re afraid," Lewis said.
Some workers want to wait a little longer to see how safe the vaccine is, she said. Others tell her they don't trust the vaccines because they were developed so quickly, she said.
Other staffers "feel like it’s an experimental drug," Lewis said, "because as you know, Blacks, Latinos, other groups have been used for experiments" like the Tuskegee syphilis study, she said. She said her members are mostly Black or Hispanic.
Certified nursing assistants, who make up the bulk of long-term care workers, have historically been less likely to get flu vaccines than other healthcare workers, noted Jasmine Travers, an assistant professor of nursing at New York University who studies vaccine hesitancy. Nursing homes typically don't have nurse educators, who address worker concerns about vaccines in hospitals, she said, and CNAs also face structural barriers such as limited internet access. Nursing homes tend to be hierarchies commonly led by white staffers, while about 50% of CNAs, at the bottom of the power structure, are Black or Hispanic, and carry mistrust and different attitudes toward vaccination, she added.
With the COVID vaccine, some are afraid they'll have to take sick time to miss work and don't want to burden their co-workers, who are already short-staffed, Travers said.
Low vaccine uptake among long-term care workers has been a concern nationally — so much so that LeadingAge, a national group representing not-for-profit long-term care facilities, held a virtual town hall about vaccine safety this month with the Black Coalition Against COVID-19.
The event, which drew over 45,000 viewers, was geared toward Black long-term care workers.
Dr. Reed Tuckson, co-founder of the Black Coalition Against COVID-19, said viewers raised concerns about fertility, pregnancy and contraindications. He said the event also had "a lot of provocateurs" who insisted, "It’s all a myth. It’s all a lie."
His group plans to hold more public informational sessions aimed at Black audiences.
"There is no question that the three vaccines that we now have available to us are extraordinarily safe and tremendously effective," said Tuckson, a former public health commissioner in Washington, D.C.
The nursing home industry has set a goal of having 75% of staff members vaccinated nationwide by the end of June.
A Vaccine Mandate?
Most nursing homes have not mandated vaccinations, industry officials say, for fear of losing staff members. Because the vaccines were authorized on an emergency basis, liability is also a concern.
Juniper Communities, which runs 22 long-term care facilities in four states and employs almost 1,300 people, had 30 workers leave the job after it mandated vaccines, according to Dr. Lynne Katzmann, president and CEO.
"At the end of the day, if you can make a choice to promote well-being and prevent illness, that's the choice we want to make," she said.
Greenbrier Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Arkansas made the vaccine mandatory, but because of medical exemptions it hasn't led to 100% vaccination.
However, Greenbrier has seen a significant drop in COVID infections since vaccinations began. In late November and early December, over 60% of staff members tested positive, according to Regina Jones, Greenbrier’s director of nursing. After the staff started receiving the vaccine in late December, four workers who had already received a dose tested positive but were asymptomatic.
Hesitancy Doesn't Mean Refusal
Tuckson said he's seeing a "dramatic decrease" in vaccine hesitancy based on surveys of Black audiences. He has heard "a hunger for scientifically valid information delivered to them by trusted sources," he said. "It's not as if their opinions are locked in stone."
Staff participation rates are rising with each round of vaccines, said Martino, the nursing home industry spokesperson.
At the Los Angeles Jewish Home, Chief Medical Officer Dr. Noah Marco said his staff has done "everything we could to counterbalance the nonsense out there on social media that has contributed to vaccine hesitancy," including producing videos and a weekly newsletter.
"The vaccine may have some unknown side effects," he recalled telling workers, "but we know the virus kills."
About 80% of his staff of 1,600 — which includes workers in nursing homes and other settings — are vaccinated, he said, along with 99% of residents. No nursing home residents have contracted COVID since Jan. 13, he said.
In southwestern Ohio, Kenn Daily runs two Ayden Healthcare nursing homes. About half his staff and 85% of residents got vaccinated by mid-February, he said, and they haven't had a case of COVID since. Still, he said, vaccine resistance persists among younger staffers who read misinformation online.
"Facebook is the bane of my existence," Daily said. Workers tell him they worry that "they’re going to microchip me," or that the vaccine will change their DNA.
Now that time has passed since the initial rollout, Daily said, "I’m hoping to put a little pressure on my staff to step up and get vaccinated." His message: "It’s working, guys. It’s working very well."
KHN data editor Elizabeth Lucas contributed to this report.
For the first time since its enactment in 2010, the Affordable Care Act is slated for major benefit expansions, courtesy of the COVID relief bill approved by Congress this week.
This podcast was published on Friday, March 12, 2021 in Kaiser Health News.
For the first time since its enactment in 2010, the Affordable Care Act is slated for major benefit expansions, courtesy of the COVID relief bill approved by Congress this week. But the changes are only temporary, so the measure also tees up a fight to make them permanent.
Meanwhile, the uneven distribution of vaccines continues — with some states finding themselves with more shots than takers, while others continue to have too many arms chasing too few shots. And the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is caught in the middle — trying to issue guidelines that will encourage people to see the vaccine as a ticket to a freer life, while not encouraging dangerous behavior as the coronavirus — and its more transmissible variants — is still spreading widely.
This week's panelists are Julie Rovner of KHN, Tami Luhby of CNN, Alice Miranda Ollstein of Politico and Rachel Cohrs of Stat.
Among the takeaways from this week's podcast:
The ACA benefits in the COVID relief bill include more generous subsidies and added benefits for a wider group of Americans. But the test for Democrats will be whether they can persuade the country — and the Congress — to make the changes permanent.
That bill also makes substantive changes in Medicaid rules. It offers states that have not expanded the health care program for low-income people — a provision of the ACA — a financial incentive to do so. It also allows states to extend postpartum coverage to enrollees from 60 days to one year. Advocates hope this will help lower high rates of maternal deaths in the U.S.
Other programs that affect health are also strengthened by the bill, including an increase in food stamp benefits, continued unemployment benefits for gig workers, assistance to people facing eviction and major changes in the child tax credit that will send government checks to many families across the country, including people who in the past did not get the credit because they earned too little to file taxes.
A final vote on the nomination of Xavier Becerra to be the next secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services is expected in the Senate soon. If Becerra is confirmed, it could break the logjam to get other health officials confirmed and on the job.
Recent polling has suggested that Republicans, in particular, are hesitant to get vaccinated. Often public health advocates turn to opinion leaders or celebrities to help deal with hesitancy in specific populations, but it's not clear who could be that spokesperson in this case since Republicans are split on the best way to fight the virus.
Plus, for extra credit, the panelists recommend their favorite health policy stories of the week they think you should read, too:
COLUMBIA, Mo. — The University of Missouri has settled a collection of personal injury and false advertising claims over knee surgeries for $16.2 million, in what appears to be one of its largest public payouts in recent years.
The 22 plaintiffs, a handful of whom were minors, filed suits from 2018 through 2020 over "BioJoint" surgeries pioneered by two university employees, orthopedic surgeon Dr. James Stannard and veterinarian Dr. James Cook. The procedure involves a complex operation that the Mizzou BioJoint Center's website calls a "biological joint restoration," replacing parts of the knee with cadaver bones or cartilage to treat arthritis or joint damage. Some plaintiffs alleged in court documents that the procedure was sold to them as a way to avoid a traditional artificial knee replacement.
Plaintiffs alleged in court documents that Stannard did not advise plaintiffs that "the surgery he was proposing has a failure rate as high as 86%." Court documents argued the surgeries were "experimental" and "unproven" and sometimes left patients requiring follow-up surgeries and even total knee replacements, including for young patients.
The defendants denied those allegations in the court filings and the university settled the cases without admission of liability or negligence after the claims against Cook, Stannard and another employee were dismissed. The Mizzou BioJoint website says the program does not have 10-year data on effectiveness because the surgeries are "based on improvements to the traditional techniques." Unlike prescription medicines or medical devices, surgical procedures aren't directly regulated by federal or state agencies.
On Thursday, KHN obtained the settlement agreements, which were signed in February, through a public records request.
Michelle Mello, a Stanford University professor of law and medicine, said settlement amounts often reflect the public relations value to those sued as well as the value of what the plaintiffs could have gotten at trial.
"On a per capita basis, that seems like high damages, so there is something going on that's not great for the university," Mello said.
"We are pleased to resolve this litigation," Jonathan Curtright, CEO of University of Missouri Healthcare, said in a statement. "Providing safe, quality care is always our top priority, and we remain committed to excellence in restoring joint health and function for eligible patients. We are confident in the expertise and dedication of our staff and the innovative, science-based services offered by the Missouri Orthopaedic Institute and the Mizzou BioJoint program."
Stannard and Cook did not return requests for comment about the cases Thursday. Todd Hendrickson, an attorney for the plaintiffs, said the settlement agreements prohibited the lawyers and plaintiffs from speaking on the matter.
Central to the dispute in the consolidated lawsuits is how Cook was presented, given that veterinarians and veterinary surgeons are not generally allowed to perform medicine on humans. The lawsuits allege Stannard was negligent for allowing Cook to perform parts of the Mizzou BioJoint surgeries on plaintiffs "without appropriate medical direction and supervision."
Some patients allege in court documents they did not know when they underwent the procedures that Cook was not a "medical doctor or a licensed physician." In at least five of the plaintiffs' cases, court documents say Cook was sometimes listed on medical records as "surgeon — other."
And documents in one case said he was listed as a "surgeon." The defendants deny Cook was listed as a surgeon in response to that case but said he was listed as part of the surgical team. An additional filing by defendants said Cook was "orthopedic technologist — surgery certified" and that he joined the surgery team for the "majority of such surgeries performed by Dr. Stannard."
In one filing, the defending attorneys said Stannard and Cook had no obligation to tell patients that Cook was neither a medical doctor nor a licensed physician at any time prior to the operations because "surgery commonly includes persons in the operative suite who are not licensed physicians."
Many new medical techniques are tested on animals before they get to humans, so veterinarians may be involved in pioneering medical research, said Dr. Patrick McCulloch, vice chairman of Houston Methodist's orthopedic surgery department.
"It's not uncommon to have vets as part of your research team, but it would be uncommon to have them as part of your clinical patient care team," he said.
"You have to be licensed as a physician to perform surgery on a human being," added Jeff Howell, executive vice president of the Missouri State Medical Association.
Cook is known as an expert on surgery for other species. He recently performed two operations on a tiger at a Chicago-area zoo, the second after the more ambitious initial procedure did not succeed, the Chicago Tribune reported.
He holds the titles of William & Kathryn Allen distinguished chair in orthopedic surgery at the University of Missouri's medical school, chief of the school's orthopedic research division and director of operations and research for the Mizzou BioJoint Center. The state paid Cook $301,892.04 in 2020.
Stannard, one of the highest-paid University of Missouri employees other than top athletic coaches, received a state salary of $981,977.52 for 2020. Among his titles are chief medical officer for procedural services, medical director of the Missouri Orthopaedic Institute and chairman of the medical school's orthopedic surgery department. He's also a team doctor for Mizzou athletes.
Stannard's salary is nearly double that of Mun Y. Choi, president of the University of Missouri System. Missouri Gov. Mike Parson, meanwhile, earned $133,820.88 in 2020.
A university spokesperson told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch in August that Stannard had grown the Missouri Orthopaedic Institute from two surgeons to 30, and that only 2% of his salary comes from tuition dollars.
Part of the lawsuits' claims hinge on the university's advertising of the novel procedures, which had aired locally in Missouri during a Super Bowl and appeared at Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. Some of the plaintiffs alleged the extensive advertising led them to reach out to the Mizzou BioJoint Center to seek relief for their knee pain.
Such direct-to-consumer marketing of medical devices and surgery has been growing in recent years, following the success of ads for pharmaceuticals, according to McCulloch.
Still, Mello said, it is relatively uncommon for a university to advertise the availability of these techniques or products. She said the advertising claims likely allowed the plaintiffs' legal team to negotiate a higher settlement amount because of false advertising allegations in addition to the medical malpractice claims.
President Joe Biden has promised enough COVID vaccine to immunize every willing adult by June 1. But right now, the gap between supply and demand is so dramatic that vaccinators are discovering ways to suck the final drops out of each vaccine vial — if federal regulators will let them.
Pharmacists involved in the COVID vaccination drive say it's common to have half a dose left in a Pfizer vial after five or even six doses have been administered — and to have half a dose left after 10 doses have been drawn out of a Moderna vial. Combining two half-doses could increase vaccinations by thousands at a time when 2 million or so doses are being administered every day in the country.
So, they want to use a single hypodermic needle to withdraw leftover vaccine from two vials from which all full doses already have been removed. The American Society of Health-System Pharmacists asked the Food and Drug Administration consider granting permission to do so in a recent letter. The governors of Colorado and Oregon also have sought permission to allow their pharmacists to pool COVID vaccine vials.
Federal health regulators, however, have long opposed the reuse of drug vials because of the risk of introducing a bacterial contaminant. From 1998 to 2014 more than 50 outbreaks of viral or bacterial disease were reported as a result of unsafe injection practices, including injecting multiple patients with a drug from the same vial.
The FDA wouldn't comment on the pharmacists' letter but restated to KHN its current policy that "doses not be pooled from different vaccine vials, especially for coronavirus vaccines, which are not formulated with a preservative." On its website, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention explicitly tells vaccinators to discard vials "when there is not enough vaccine to obtain a complete dose. Do NOT combine residual vaccine from multiple vials to obtain a dose."
"It's a recipe for disaster," said Ann Marie Pettis, president of the Association for Professionals in Infection Control and Epidemiology. There is always a tiny chance that one of the two vials has previously been contaminated, which would contaminate a shot that combined their contents, she said. Spokespeople for both Moderna and Pfizer said excess portions of their vaccines must be discarded and never pooled. Johnson & Johnson had no comment on the issue.
Before the COVID vaccination program, public health officials generally frowned on giving multiple patients doses of medicine from a single vial, unless it contained an antibacterial preservative. Most children's vaccines, for example, have been shipped and stored in syringes or single-dose vials since 2001, when drug companies stopped using a preservative containing traces of mercury in some shots.
Rajesh Gupta, a biologics consultant who set up a sterility testing lab while serving at the FDA's Center for Biologics Evaluation and Research from 2006 to 2013, sees little risk in the COVID vaccination process, or even in using a single needle to combine vaccine from two vials.
The COVID vaccines are being used so quickly after removal from cold storage that there's no danger of contamination, he said. "I can say with some degree of confidence that it's scientifically sound," if vaccinators carefully wipe the rubber stopper atop the vial with disinfectant before each penetration with a syringe, he said.
While their plea for combining vial contents may fall on deaf ears at the FDA, pharmacists already are taking many other steps to maximize the yield of the mRNA vaccines, which have quite finicky shipment, handling and administration requirements.
Documents leaked through a cyberattack on the European drug regulatory agency suggest that Pfizer has had difficulty assuring the quality of the mRNA in its vaccine. The company said in a response that all the vaccine doses it has put on the market had been "double tested to ensure compliance" with regulatory specifications.
Michael Hogue, president of the American Pharmacists Association and dean of the Loma Linda University School of Pharmacy in California, runs a clinic at a university gymnasium that has been administering up to 10,000 vaccines each week since Jan. 28. It's nowhere near as simple as administering flu shots at a pharmacy, he said.
"The planning and procedures for these mRNA vaccines [made by Pfizer-BioNTech and Moderna] require a tremendous amount of focus," said Hogue. "You have to pay close attention to what's going on in the moment."
The Pfizer vaccine, which until recently was always stored in dry ice, is especially challenging. After Pfizer vials are removed from a freezer and thawed, saline solution is squirted into each vial. If the syringe preparer doesn't withdraw air from the vial after adding the saline, vaccine will shoot out.
After adding the solution, "you take the vial between thumb and forefinger and make a rainbow sweeping motion 10 times gently to mix the liquids together," Hogue said. Shaking the vaccine could render it ineffective.
Each Pfizer vaccination contains just a bead of liquid — about 1/16th of a teaspoon — and pharmacists must use tiny syringes in which air bubbles tend to form. But they can't tap on the syringe to get the bubble out, because that, too, could damage the vaccine, Hogue said.
To get six doses out of the Pfizer vials requires a type of plunger that pushes the last trace of vaccine out of the syringe. But about 15% of the syringes the federal government has been shipping to Loma Linda have larger needles that leave a bit of vaccine in the syringe, making it impossible to extract all six doses, he said. So, Loma Linda has been purchasing its own syringes to replace the inadequate ones.
U.S. Pharmacopeia, a nonprofit agency that issues standards for use of medical products, issued an 11-page guide on how to store, handle and administer the COVID vaccines. Among other things, it urges that vaccine sites set up clean rooms — separate from the areas where vaccines are being administered — to prepare the syringes, said Farah Towfic, CEO of operations for USP.
"That way we don't have clients breathing on it," not to mention the distraction of greeting old acquaintances who are bubbling over with enthusiasm about getting vaccinated, said Patricia Slattum, a retired Virginia Commonwealth University pharmacy school professor who has been volunteering at a mass vaccination site in Richmond, Virginia. "There's a lot of love to go around in there."
Another technique is to inject each needle into a different spot on the rubber vial stopper. If the syringe goes into the same location over and over, it can create a big hole that causes leakage. This tip is especially important now that Moderna is in talks with FDA to include up to 15 doses of vaccine in each vial, meaning 15 punctures of the stopper, noted Anna Legreid Dopp, director of clinical guidelines and quality improvement at the American Society of Health-System Pharmacists.
"To draw up the vaccine, you stick a needle through the rubber stopper, then turn the vial upside down," said Slattum. "If you stick it in the same place, drops will leak down the needle. So there's an art to not losing vaccine."
Slattum hopes the FDA will consider allowing vaccinators to draw the leftover vaccine from two vials. "We who are doing this work all feel this pressure, that our doing it well is one of the ways we're going to get out of this pandemic," said Slattum. "You just don't want to waste any vaccine!"
Since the start of the pandemic, the most terrifying task in healthcare was thought to be when a doctor put a breathing tube down the trachea of a critically ill COVID patient.
Those performing such "aerosol-generating" procedures, often in an intensive care unit, got the best protective gear even if there wasn't enough to go around, per Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines. And for anyone else working with COVID patients, until a month ago, a surgical mask was considered sufficient.
A new wave of research now shows that several of those procedures were not the most hazardous. Recent studies have determined that a basic cough produces about 20 times more particles than intubation, a procedure one doctor likened to the risk of being next to a nuclear reactor.
Other new studies show that patients with COVID simply talking or breathing, even in a well-ventilated room, could make workers sick in the CDC-sanctioned surgical masks. The studies suggest that the highest overall risk of infection was among the front-line workers — many of them workers of color — who spent the most time with patients earlier in their illness and in sub-par protective gear, not those working in the COVID ICU.
"The whole thing is upside down the way it is currently framed," said Dr. Michael Klompas, a Harvard Medical School associate professor who called aerosol-generating procedures a "misnomer" in a recent paper in the Journal of the American Medical Association.
"It's a huge mistake," he said.
The growing body of studies showing aerosol spread of COVID-19 during choir practice, on a bus, in a restaurant and at gyms have caught the eye of the public and led to widespread interest in better masks and ventilation.
Yet the topic has been highly controversial within the healthcare industry. For over a year, international and U.S. nurse union leaders have called for health workers caring for possible or confirmed COVID patients to have the highest level of protection, including N95 masks.
But a widespread group of experts have long insisted that N95s be reserved for those performing aerosol-generating procedures and that it's safe for front-line workers to care for COVID patients wearing less-protective surgical masks.
Such skepticism about general aerosol exposure within the healthcare setting have driven CDC guidelines, supported by national and California hospital associations.
The guidelines still say a worker would not be considered "exposed" to COVID-19 after caring for a sick COVID patient while wearing a surgical mask. Yet in recent months, Klompas and researchers in Israel have documented that workers using a surgical mask and face shield have caught COVID during routine patient care.
The CDC said in an email that N95 "respirators have remained preferred over facemasks when caring for patients or residents with suspected or confirmed" COVID, "but unfortunately, respirators have not always been available to healthcare personnel due to supply shortages."
New research by Harvard and Tulane scientists found that people who tend to be super-spreaders of COVID — the 20% of people who emit 80% of the tiny particles — tend to be obese or older, a population more likely to live in elder care or be hospitalized.
When highly infectious, such patients emit three times more tiny aerosol particles (about a billion a day) than younger people. A sick super-spreader who is simply breathing can pose as much or more risk to health workers as a coughing patient, said David Edwards, a Harvard faculty associate in bioengineering and an author of the study.
Chad Roy, a co-author who studied primates with COVID, said the emitted aerosols shrink in size when the monkeys are most contagious at about Day Six of infection. Those particles are more likely to hang in the air longer and are easier to inhale deep into the lungs, said Roy, a professor of microbiology and immunology at Tulane University School of Medicine.
The study clarifies the grave risks faced by nursing home workers, of whom more than 546,000 have gotten COVID and 1,590 have died, per reports nursing homes filed to the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid since mid-May.
Taken together, the research suggests that healthcare workplace exposure was "much bigger" than what the CDC defined when it prioritized protecting those doing "aerosol-generating" procedures, said Dr. Donald Milton, who reviewed the studies but was not involved in any of them.
"The upshot is that it's inhalation" of tiny airborne particles that leads to infection, said Milton, a professor at the University of Maryland School of Public Health who studies how respiratory viruses are spread, "which means loose-fitting surgical masks are not sufficient."
On Feb. 10, the CDC updated its guidance to healthcare workers, deleting a suggestion that wearing a surgical mask while caring for COVID patients was acceptable and urging workers to wear an N95 or a "well-fitting face mask," which could include a snug cloth mask over a looser surgical mask.
Yet the update came after most of at least 3,500 U.S. healthcare workers had already died of COVID, as documented by KHN and The Guardian in the Lost on the Frontline project.
The project is more comprehensive than any U.S. government tally of health worker fatalities. Current CDC data shows 1,391 healthcare worker deaths, which is 200 fewer than the total staff COVID deaths nursing homes report to Medicare.
More than half of the deceased workers whose occupation was known were nurses or in healthcare support roles. Such staffers often have the most extensive patient contact, tending to their IVs and turning them in hospital beds; brushing their hair and sponge-bathing them in nursing homes. Many of them — 2 in 3 — were workers of color.
Two anesthetists in the United Kingdom — doctors who perform intubations in the ICU — saw data showing that non-ICU workers were dying at outsize rates and began to question the notion that "aerosol-generating" procedures were the riskiest.
Dr. Tim Cook, an anesthetist with the Royal United Hospitals Bath, said the guidelines singling out those procedures were based on research from the first SARS outbreak in 2003. That framework includes a widely cited 2012 study that warned that those earlier studies were "very low" quality and said there was a "significant research gap" that needed to be filled.
But the research never took place before COVID-19 emerged, Cook said, and key differences emerged between SARS and COVID-19. In the first SARS outbreak, patients were most contagious at the moment they arrived at a hospital needing intubation. Yet for this pandemic, he said, studies in early summer began to show that peak contagion occurred days earlier.
Cook and his colleagues dove in and discovered in October that the dreaded practice of intubation emitted about 20 times fewer aerosols than a cough, said Dr. Jules Brown, a U.K. anesthetist and another author of the study. Extubation, also considered an "aerosol-generating" procedure, generated slightly more aerosols but only because patients sometimes cough when the tube is removed.
Since then, researchers in Scotland and Australia have validated those findings in a paper pre-published on Feb. 10, showing that two other aerosol-generating procedures were not as hazardous as talking, heavy breathing or coughing.
Brown said initial supply shortages of PPE led to rationing and steered the best respiratory protection to anesthetists and intensivists like himself. Now that it is known emergency room and nursing home workers are also at extreme risk, he said, he can't understand why the old guidelines largely stand.
"It was all a big house of cards," he said. "The foundation was shaky and in my mind it's all fallen down."
Asked about the research, a CDC spokesperson said via email: "We are encouraged by the publication of new studies aiming to address this issue and better identify which procedures in healthcare settings may be aerosol generating. As studies accumulate and findings are replicated, CDC will update its list of which procedures are considered [aerosol-generating procedures]."
Cook also found that doctors who perform intubations and work in the ICU were at lower risk than those who worked on general medical floors and encountered patients at earlier stages of the disease.
In Israel, doctors at a children's hospital documented viral spread from the mother of a 3-year-old patient to six staff members, although everyone was masked and distanced. The mother was pre-symptomatic and the authors said in the Jan. 27 study that the case is possible "evidence of airborne transmission."
Klompas, of Harvard, made a similar finding after he led an in-depth investigation into a September outbreak among patients and staff at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.
There, a patient who was tested for COVID two days in a row — with negative results — wound up developing the virus and infecting numerous staff members and patients. Among them were two patient care technicians who treated the patient while wearing surgical masks and face shields. Klompas and his team used genome sequencing to connect the sick workers and patients to the same outbreak.
CDC guidelines don't consider caring for a COVID patient in a surgical mask to be a source of "exposure," so the technicians' cases and others might have been dismissed as not work-related.
The guidelines' heavy focus on the hazards of "aerosol-generating" procedures has meant that hospital administrators assumed that those in the ICU got sick at work and those working elsewhere were exposed in the community, said Tyler Kissinger, an organizer with the National Union of Healthcare Workers in Northern California.
"What plays out there is there is this disparity in whose exposures get taken seriously," he said. "A phlebotomist or environmental services worker or nursing assistant who had patient contact — just wearing a surgical mask and not an N95 — weren't being treated as having been exposed. They had to keep coming to work."
Dr. Claire Rezba, an anesthesiologist, has scoured the web and tweeted out the accounts of healthcare workers who've died of COVID for nearly a year. Many were workers of color. And fortunately, she said, she's finding far fewer cases now that many workers have gotten the vaccine.
"I think it's pretty obvious that we did a very poor job of recommending adequate PPE standards for all healthcare workers," she said. "I think we missed the boat."
California Healthline politics correspondent Samantha Young contributed to this report.
Ana Guevara was determined to get a COVID vaccine for her mother, 85-year-old Adelina Coto, but she needed help. Guevara, a full-time nanny in Los Angeles, didn't have the time or knowledge to search for appointments online. Guevara's son, a school district employee, lacked the time to park himself in front of a computer waiting for new appointments to drop.
Then Guevara's boss connected her with a group that volunteers to help people like her mother get vaccinated.
Three days and one phone call later, Coto had a vaccine appointment. Now her daughter is telling everyone she knows about the group.
"I tell all my friends," said the 53-year-old immigrant from El Salvador. "They help, they're very nice, and they do everything."
Guevara is one of hundreds of people finding elusive vaccine appointment slots with the help of strangers. Grassroots volunteer corps — powered by people with time, tech savvy and a computer at their fingertips — are popping up in major metropolitan areas where thousands of people are competing for the same appointment slots. Their altruism offers an antidote to the actions of vaccine line jumpers.
"I would like to take away the stigma that appointments are not available and that they are impossible to get," said Rhea Hoffman, a 34-year-old former teacher in the Coachella Valley who has been helping people get vaccinated. "I can probably get you one within 48 hours if you qualify, and it's not a problem — just give me a second."
The volunteers reinforce local governments in helping disadvantaged people get vaccinated. In California, county officials are running hotlines, organizing mobile clinics, hiring community health workers and teaming up with faith communities and community organizations to get people signed up for an appointment or vaccinated on the spot.
Barbara Ferrer, Los Angeles County's public health director, gives big kudos to the "awesome" volunteer groups. "It makes my heart feel good that people are stepping up and helping people who really have been struggling to get those appointments," Ferrer told KHN at a news briefing.
The L.A. County neighborhoods hit hardest by the coronavirus are also the ones with the lowest vaccination rates. In poorer areas like Pacoima, San Fernando and Hawaiian Gardens, for example, 9% to 12% of the population had received at least one shot as of Feb. 20, while in wealthy Bel-Air, Century City and Beverly Hills, one-third of residents had been vaccinated. Statewide statistics show similar disparities.
The volunteer groups are vital to expanding vaccines to low-income, disabled and isolated people, said Louise McCarthy, president and CEO of the Community Clinic Association of Los Angeles County. Her group represents 64 community clinics and health centers that have all pivoted to getting people vaccinated in some way, either by directly administering shots or helping people navigate registration systems. (The clinics hope to eventually be compensated for this extra work.)
"We need all hands on deck to help people get access to this vaccine," McCarthy said. "Folks are getting left behind already, and it's projects like this that help us begin to catch up."
Volunteers have joined the effort after seeing how hard it was to book appointments for themselves, parents or grandparents. They get a kick out of helping people, and joining like-minded altruists on social media helps them get more efficient at the process.
It's an easy conversion from "caring about your parents and learning these skills, to caring about someone else's parents or grandparents," said Liz Schwandt, a 45-year-old early childhood program director at a Jewish preschool in Los Angeles. She co-founded Get Out the Shot: Los Angeles, the group that made Coto's appointment, and now has about 100 vetted volunteers who have booked at least 300 appointments directly through the group's system, and up to 4,000 through their individual efforts.
Schwandt said she didn't take on this mission out of anger and doesn't cast blame on the vaccine rollout or public health workers, who she said work diligently to protect people's health. It was simply that she saw a need and could fill it.
"These technology barriers are real, and every shot that gets into someone is potential protection for their life and their family," she said.
To get help from Schwandt's group, Los Angeles residents can leave a phone message or fill out their location, availability and other details on a Google form. Then a volunteer picks up the case, finds an appointment and calls to confirm.
The most skilled vaccine bookers have memorized the days and times certain sites release a new batch of appointments and stay up to date on new developments through Facebook groups or other social media.
Beverly Hills couple George and Cathi Rimalower, whose grandchild attends Schwandt's school, have been pulling late nights to get appointments for others. They were still in their pajamas at 11:30 a.m. on a recent day after waiting until 1 a.m. for a batch of appointments to drop.
"In my case, there's no excuse for me, as a retired person with the available resources to help people, to just sit around and do nothing," said George Rimalower, 69, who ran a translation company with his wife. Rimalower, born in Argentina, responds mostly to requests that come in from native Spanish speakers.
"It's nice to give money, and that's always helpful," said Cathi Rimalower, 67. "But it really feels good to give some time, too."
The couple are teasingly competitive about their work. So far, each has booked about 60 appointments.
Hoffman, the Coachella Valley booker, had spent most of the pandemic supervising her two kids' online schooling while volunteering as a Zoom moderator for a community college class for elderly people. When vaccines finally came online, it took her four days to make appointments for her parents. Seeing how tough the process was, she asked her class if they needed help; most students raised their hands.
Hoffman and a friend who worked in marketing and graphic design created a website to advertise their volunteer services. Hoffman estimates the two have booked 350 appointments. They've talked with a Coachella City Council member to strategize how they can expand and help in a more official way.
Many of these volunteer organizations are focusing on getting minorities or those from underserved communities into certain vaccine locations and appointment slots.
In Chicago, 26-year-old Brianna Wolin said the 45 "Chicago Vaccine Angels" on her Facebook group have scheduled over 750 vaccine appointments for seniors and others, while keeping equity in mind.
"We will not book people who live in a northern suburb to come down to the southwest side of Chicago, where they would have never stepped foot until there was an opening for a vaccine that they so desperately wanted," she said.
"After a year of caring so much about yourself and your own needs and your own safety, it feels darn good to do something for others," said Wolin, a graduate student studying prosthetics and orthotics.