Secretaries are working as contact tracers. The person normally in charge of pet shops and tattoo parlors is monitoring nursing homes. And as the state reopens, workers worry duties will increase.
This story was first published on Friday, May 22, 2020 in ProPublica.
The beaches of the Jersey Shore are set to reopen on Friday. But in a state where nearly 11,000 people have been killed by COVID-19, the same public health system that struggled to implement widespread testing faces what could be an even larger challenge: preventing a second wave of infection that experts say is almost inevitable without coordinated, aggressive efforts.
And more than almost any state in the country, New Jersey relies on small, local health departments, which have found themselves stretched far beyond their missions by the pandemic.
In Kearny, a town of 41,000 where the coronavirus has killed more people than in eight states, the Health Department has four full-time workers. Before the pandemic, one of them, Kristine Schweitzer Budney, was responsible for dog vaccinations, tattoo parlor licensing and restaurant safety plans.
Now Budney runs the town’s contact tracing efforts, and on top of that, she is expected to closely monitor nursing homes as they implement new infection controls.
The town of Princeton had one of the state’s first “superspreading events,” a dinner party in February that would be linked to at least 15 infections. When Dr. George DiFerdinando Jr., chair of the town’s Board of Health, contacted the state for help investigating the incident, he said he was told the town was on its own. There may have been far more than 15 cases, he told ProPublica, but “without state coordination, we couldn’t get a final number.”
The structure of New Jersey’s public health system, which is made up of roughly 100 local agencies, along with the state Department of Health, has left some cities dependent on personal connections and good fortune to secure critical resources during the pandemic. The state, with 9 million residents, has far more local health departments than California or Texas. In New Jersey, some departments cover small towns and have as few as two full-time workers. Others span an entire county and have as many as 75 employees.
Like no crisis in the state’s history, the pandemic has highlighted the limitations of the patchwork system and the challenges of coordinating a response among such a disparate array of agencies.
Many of those local departments used to receive dedicated state funding. But in 2010, in the aftermath of the last recession, that state support was eliminated. Over the last decade that has meant the loss of tens of millions of dollars for the often modest budgets of local health departments.
Per capita, New Jersey ranks 31st in the nation in state funding for public health, according to a recent report by the nonprofit Trust for America’s Health, and it ranks last in grant funding from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
“Public health has been cut to the bone, and because of that, when you are faced with the pandemic, or any kind of epidemic, you know that you do not have all the staff that you need to fight it the way that you should,” said Paschal Nwako, the health officer in Camden County in the southwest part of the state, just outside Philadelphia. “We should have been prepared for this kind of public health pandemic. We prepare for emergencies. We go through training, but still, we are underfunded.”
When the pandemic hit New Jersey in March, the state health agency’s top public health job was vacant, and more than two months later, the agency is still working to hire a permanent appointee. In the interim, the job’s responsibilities have been given to the state’s chief medical examiner.
ProPublica spoke with over 30 local health directors, municipal officials and health care leaders across the state, and many of them say that in responding to the pandemic, they’ve had to carry out critical tasks, like rolling out testing and securing personal protective equipment, with little guidance or support from the state.
In some of the communities covered by smaller departments, secretaries and recreation workers have been enlisted to follow up with people who were tested, provide test results, and in positive cases, conduct contact tracing to identify and alert anyone who was connected to the infected person.
And as COVID-19 deaths in New Jersey nursing homes were mounting last month, the state delegated oversight of outbreaks in the facilities to local health agencies, saddling them with a responsibility that several said they were ill-prepared to handle.
The state has defended its response to the pandemic, and some local officials have praised the Health Department’s leadership, including Commissioner Judith Persichilli, who, along with Gov. Phil Murphy, has presided over daily briefings in Trenton, the state capital.
Other states, including Massachusetts and Pennsylvania, took a more centralized approach to contact tracing, with the states taking the lead and sharing the work with local departments. By contrast, New Jersey’s effort has been “largely a regional or local” one, said Nancy Kearney, a state Health Department spokeswoman.
Last week, as Murphy faced questions about the need to expand testing so restrictions could be relaxed for reopening, the state announced a partnership with the School of Public Health at Rutgers University to bring in more contact tracers and increase testing.
Even as New Jersey bolsters its efforts to contain the disease, officials are also beginning to scrutinize the state’s early handling of the outbreak, particularly the calamitous toll of COVID-19 on nursing homes across the state. Residents and employees in long-term care facilities account for roughly 40% of all New Jersey’s COVID deaths that have been confirmed by a lab. According to state reports, there have been outbreaks in over 500 facilities, with more than 28,000 people infected and at least 4,000 dead. This month, the Murphy administration hired a team of outside experts to evaluate the state’s nursing home regulations and oversight mechanisms.
Many local health departments have questions of their own about how the state responded to the surge in deaths in nursing homes, and in particular the surprise directive to local health departments on April 22 that they would be the primary point of contact for infection control at and inspection of long-term care facilities.
DiFerdinando of Princeton said his Health Department was blindsided by the order and didn’t have the experience or legal authority to effectively oversee the three facilities in his town, two of which have active outbreaks.
“But by this memo, you are responsible for making sure the nursing homes in your area are following guidelines,” he told ProPublica.
Dr. David Barile, medical director of the Princeton Care Center nursing home, said that when his workers started getting sick, he reached out to the local Health Department for help with staffing and acquiring protective equipment.
He did not receive assistance on either front, he said. Eventually, he sent staff to the local hardware store to buy painter jumpsuits and masks. And in the end, 18 of his 110 residents died from the virus or related complications.
Barile called the decision to task the local Health Department with overseeing nursing homes “asinine.”
Asked about such concerns, Donna Leusner, a state Health Department spokeswoman, cited the directive, saying that the state “provides guidance on surveillance and reporting and infection control,” but local departments are “required to work with the facility to ensure these recommendations are implemented” and to investigate outbreaks.
For weeks, as thousands died in New Jersey’s nursing homes, Barile wrote letters to the governor pleading for Murphy to send in the National Guard to help overwhelmed nursing homes. In one open letter on May 1, he described facilities using trash bags and raincoats as personal protective equipment. “As of today,” Barile wrote, “all you have done for our sickest, most frail population is to loosen requirements and turn on the lights so everyone can watch as cases climb, and more people die.”
The next day, a reporter asked Murphy about Barile’s letter, and within a week Murphy announced he was deploying Guard members to long-term care facilities.
This month, the state has directed nursing homes to have all staff and residents tested. But when the state had tried to get nursing home residents tested in Kearny, it did not go as planned.
On May 4, state officials informed Budney that they would be sending supplies to Kearny’s nursing homes so that they could test all residents. But when the tests arrived, there weren’t nearly enough to test everyone, she said, and some of the kits were broken or missing swabs. They also came without instructions. Budney has repeatedly called various state offices to ask for guidance, but she said that after more than a week, she’s been unable to get an answer.
Budney is troubled by the oversight duties that have fallen on her shoulders. “I don’t think I should ever have been responsible for oversight of the care facilities in that way,” she told ProPublica. “Because I didn’t have any training.”
The early weeks of the crisis in particular were marked by a lack of communication from the state, Kearny’s mayor, Alberto Santos, said. “We felt that we were on our own. It felt like I’d woken up in this Hobbesian world where there’s no structure and everyone had to figure it out for themselves.”
For critical tasks like testing and securing PPE for first responders, Kearny was left to its own devices. To get testing for all of Kearny’s residents, including the uninsured, Santos had to personally contact a corporate lab CEO.
Budney has experience investigating outbreaks like Legionella and food poisoning, but nothing of this magnitude. While she said that the state has been “incredibly supportive” with medical questions, for contact tracing, she’s spent many hours tackling bureaucratic hurdles on her own. For instance, she said that frequently, when a lab tells Kearny a patient tested positive, the lab won’t provide a phone number or address for the patient.
Some New Jersey agencies use commercial databases to track down phone numbers, and Budney has been trying to get access to one for nearly a month. Weeks after signing a contract, however, she’s still making calls to the company to be approved for access. Until then, Kearny’s contact tracers have no way to track down many of the people who have tested positive.
Many health department employees told ProPublica they were concerned that as the state reopens, the demands on their time will increase, as they have to resume normal work, like restaurant and beach inspections, while continuing to contact trace if cases spike. (Leusner said as much, in noting that local health workers who “may have been helping with contact tracing have to inspect community pools for reopening this weekend.”)
In recent days, the state has been marshaling additional resources for local health agencies. It is preparing to send 10 retired health officers to assist some of the local agencies, and it is also developing the more centralized contact tracing workforce with Rutgers. Leusner further said the state has awarded $5 million in federal emergency funds this week to the nonprofit New Jersey Association of County and City Health Officials to distribute to local departments. The state also brought in McKinsey, a corporate consulting firm, to advise on “public health infrastructure work, modeling and long-term care issues.”
Since the state funding was cut in 2010, many departments have had to reduce staffing, said John Saccenti, executive vice president of the New Jersey Local Boards of Health Association and a past president of the national organization for local health boards.
When Saccenti became involved in the national group, he saw how much local health funding varies from state to state: “I thought everyone was like New Jersey. And then I realized, ‘Oh my God, the rest of them are functional.’”
Last year, New Jersey’s Health Department announced it would send $2.3 million to local health departments for work on communicable diseases. Unlike the old funding structure, jurisdictions had to compete for grants and the money ended up going primarily to larger county departments, not smaller municipal ones.
“We haven’t up until now acknowledged that we should be giving to public health,” said state Sen. Joseph Vitale, chair of the senate’s health committee. “Without a thoughtful public health dynamic in our state, we set ourselves up for failure.”
While other hard-hit states significantly increased their testing over the last two months, New Jersey’s numbers remained relatively constant. In daily press conferences, Murphy periodically described plans to expand testing, but New Jersey actually reported more tests in the first week of April than it did in the first week of May.
Last week, New Jersey’s testing numbers increased substantially, though that came after the state changed its reporting to include more small labs.
In Hudson County, the choice to place the first testing center in the 20,000-person town of Secaucus created issues for the much more populous Jersey City. The Secaucus site was drive-thru only, which made it inaccessible for many Jersey City residents without cars. This concern was echoed by officials across the state, who told ProPublica that the state’s early emphasis on drive-thru testing created significant barriers, particularly for low-income communities.
Jersey City eventually set up testing on its own, but the city’s mayor, Steven Fulop, said the state has far more resources to deal with the pandemic.
“Absent a coordinated response from the top, municipalities have no choice,” Fulop said. “We’re doing it with glue and Scotch tape and duct tape and paper clips.”
In southern New Jersey, Camden County’s health officer, Nwako, said Camden was on its own, too. But with a single health agency servicing all 37 municipalities, he and his team of 75 workers were in a better position to battle the virus as it spread south.
“We have been doing the testing on our own,” he said. “We did not have any kind of help from the state, and I get it.” The state was tied up with outbreaks in the north, and every area was trying to adapt to the new demands of the pandemic, Nwako said. But the obligations just kept piling up.
“It was a total shock for me when I heard from the state that it was my responsibility to go into the long-term care facilities,” he said. “They didn’t call it an inspection, because technically we aren’t going in there to inspect.”
Perry Halkitis, dean of the Rutgers School of Public Health, said he has been deploying student volunteers to assist some local departments, but the fragmented public health structure has made his efforts more complicated and time-consuming.
“My challenge with the whole department of health situation in New Jersey is that there is not one central department of health leading the way,” he said.
Santos, the mayor of Kearny, said that New Jersey’s system of small health departments was built for things like geese control and periodic counts of all the dogs in the area (which was required by law until 2015).
“It seems to me that the person doing the dog census and the person fighting the worst crisis of our time should be different,” Santos told ProPublica. “That whole model needs to be rethought.”
When Crystal Holloway entered the room on the 14th floor of Northwestern Memorial Hospital to introduce herself to a new patient, Tanya Adell-O’Neal was so out of breath, Holloway remembered, she could barely speak. But she got out a few crucial words:
“I have to tell you,” Holloway, an ICU nurse, remembered Adell-O’Neal saying. “I’m a nurse myself.”
“I was like, ‘Oh, God …’” Holloway recalled. “Like, ‘I hope that she’s not critiquing me … critiquing my techniques.’ That was absolutely the first thing I thought.”
Quickly, she realized they both had larger concerns.
Adell-O’Neal, 53, has asthma and one lung, the other having been removed along with a tumor while she was a nursing student. And for 12 days in a hospital bed at Northwestern, she fought against COVID-19.
Since the coronavirus has swept through the country, nurses have been praised as heroes for their role in fighting the pandemic. But nurses who care for patients with COVID-19 have also become patients — and sometimes, casualties — themselves. The relationships nurses have with their patients who are nurses can be emotional and complicated. They can also be cathartic.
As one of the nurses who cared for Adell-O’Neal put it: “She just understood, like, what I was going through.”
Early on, as Holloway prepared to draw her patient’s blood, Adell-O’Neal reassured her: “I can sometimes be a hard stick,” Holloway remembers her saying. “If you need to stick me twice, you can.”
After a couple of tries, Holloway realized her patient was right: Her right radial artery was an easier stick than her left.
“She just made me feel so comfortable and it wasn’t even about me,” Holloway said.
Adell-O’Neal has been both a nurse and a patient for most of her life. Diagnosed with asthma at 12 and hospitalized several times with pneumonia in high school, she was two years into her undergraduate program at Loyola University when she faced emergency surgery after doctors found a rare tumor on her right lung.
Since then, she’s tried to infuse her nursing career with the same kind of care she received from the nurses and doctors who saved her life. For almost 17 years, she provided psychiatric care for inmates in the Cook County Jail. Now, she’s a clinical nurse case manager at John H. Stroger Jr. Hospital, Cook County’s public hospital.
“I think care should always be the core of how you treat everyone,” Adell-O’Neal said. “You don’t have to be my child for me to have a concern for you. I’ve got this compassion.”
He tested positive for COVID-19 on April 1. Two days later, so did she. For about three weeks, they quarantined together in an upstairs bedroom of their home. She thought she was getting better. But then, one night, she couldn’t breathe.
She left for the hospital the next morning. She promised her family that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t try to be a nurse. She’d be a patient.
“If I stayed home another night, I wasn’t going to wake up,” Adell-O’Neal said. “I knew I had a 50/50 chance of coming back home.”
One of the first things Adell-O’Neal did as a patient was fill out a form that said she did not want to be put on a ventilator.
“I remembered being on a ventilator when they took my one lung. I remembered all of that,” Adell-O’Neal said. “And so I decided, you know what, I have to make this executive decision in terms of my care.”
Holloway, who’s been a nurse for about 25 years, said that she’s had some experience with HIV, AIDS and SARS, but that nothing prepared her for the coronavirus.
“It’s so scary,” Holloway said. “The patients … they get sick so quickly.”
In nursing school, Holloway said, nurses are taught to embrace the mantra: “Look at the patient. Don’t look at the monitor.” It means listening to patients — their complaints, their symptoms, their stories — can sometimes tell you more about a patient’s condition than medical equipment can. But watching how quickly a COVID-19 patient’s condition can change, Holloway said, “You almost feel almost kind of helpless.”
Holloway said her first COVID-19 patient arrived in good spirits and was intubated four hours later. Her next patient was intubated even sooner. She knew she had to try to keep Adell-O’Neal from getting to that point, but she also knew she couldn’t rely on her usual nurse’s instincts to help determine where, exactly, that point would be.
“She knew I was terrified,” Adell-O’Neal said.
Holloway was scared, too.
Adell-O’Neal said Holloway promised her she’d do everything she could to keep her out of the ICU. Still, she’d read about nurses and doctors dying from COVID-19 and thought to herself: “God, don’t let me be one of those casualties.”
That fear loomed in the back of Elin Cheng’s mind, as well.
Cheng, 24, is another nurse who helped care for Adell-O’Neal. The floor where she works mostly served as an orthopedics unit before the coronavirus. At first, Cheng said, she panicked when she learned she’d be caring for COVID-19 patients. But after a few weeks, she said she’d grown to trust her team of nurses in a way she never had before.
“It still can be nerve-wracking, you know?” Cheng said. “But then I just have to remind myself, ‘It’s OK. You have people helping you. ... I’m not in it alone.’”
Cheng thought she knew what to expect when another nurse briefed her about Adell-O’Neal, saying, “She’s one of us.” She’d cared for other nurses before.
“They always say nurses can make the worst patients,” Cheng said. “We’re just, you know, we’re so nosy. We want to know everything.”
Instead, she started to realize this was a patient she could learn from, too.
“She was in the health care field for so long and had an abundance of insight and knowledge,” Cheng said.
“We would just share stories about our family and just not talk about COVID.”
Adell-O’Neal said her room was a place where nurses could have “moments” and “get away from everything.” She welcomed the company.
One of the most difficult parts of her hospital stay, she said, was dealing with the isolation (“I’m a talker,” she likes to remind people). She FaceTimed with her family, but visitors aren’t allowed in patients’ rooms. For days and sometimes weeks, nurses and doctors may provide COVID-19 patients with their only human interaction, which can take an emotional toll on medical workers, too.
“We’re supporting our colleagues, and now we’re trying to support the [patients’] families. And then we’re supporting the patients,” Holloway said. “Emotionally, I don’t know how we’re all going to be once this is all over.”
Over time, Adell-O’Neal’s condition improved. She could walk from her bed to the bathroom without her oxygen levels dropping.
On the Sunday before Mother’s Day, Adell-O’Neal left the hospital. “Am I ready?” she said in a video she recorded from her wheelchair. And just as she answered her own question — “Yes” — she heard cowbells ringing.
About a dozen nurses waited for her down the hall, gathered next to an open door.
“Bye, guys!!!” she tells the nurses in the video, her voice on the verge of laughter and tears. “Thanks, everybody!”
She couldn’t see the nurses’ faces behind their masks, but it didn’t matter. She knew they felt the same relief and joy that she did. She knew, she said, because she is a nurse, too.
While most discussions have focused on countries’ use of surveillance technology, contact tracing is actually a fairly manual process. After interviewing contact tracing experts and taking an online course, ProPublica health reporter Caroline Chen presents her takeaways.
This story was first published on Tuesday, May 19, 2020 in ProPublica.
I want you to mentally prepare yourself for a phone call that you could receive sometime over the course of this pandemic: in the next few months or year.
Your phone might ring, and when you pick it up, you may hear someone say, “Hi, I’m calling from the health department.” After verifying your identity, the person may say something like, “I’m afraid we have information that you were in close contact with someone who tested positive for the coronavirus.”
The person calling is what’s known as a contact tracer. As most states begin to lift restrictions on movement and people once more start to eat in restaurants, work in offices and get on public transit, these phone calls will become more frequent. State public health departments are hiring thousands of these workers, and experts are calling for more than 100,000 contact tracers to be deployed across America.
I can only imagine how I would feel if I got a call telling me that I had been in close contact with a COVID-19 patient — shocked, a little scared and possibly a bit in denial. But after spending a week talking to contact tracing experts across the country, and taking an online course as well, I think I’d also feel one more thing: empowered. Here’s why.
Contact Tracing Will Help Us Reopen Safely
Contact tracing is a public health strategy that has been used successfully to combat infectious disease outbreaks across the globe, from the 1930s, when it helped get rampantsyphilis under control in the United States, to the 2014 Ebola epidemic in West Africa.
Fundamentally, contact tracing works by tracking down all the contacts of an infected person and then taking appropriate action to break the chain of transmission. In practice, that action will vary depending on the nature of the disease — obviously, you don’t need someone to self-isolate at home and have groceries delivered to them if a disease can only be transmitted sexually.
The current coronavirus has been particularly tricky to contain because patients can be contagious a few days before they display symptoms, and some infected people may never show symptoms at all. Furthermore, the time between the onset of symptoms from one case to another is estimated to be quite short, around four days. All these characteristics have helped the virus spread rapidly — and that means that tracers have to move very quickly to reach patients and their contacts in order to cut off new branches of infection.
Experts tell me that contact tracing is the key to safely reopening the economy.
“This narrative has emerged that either we lift all our social distancing measures and let the virus burn through the population, or we hunker down at home forever and let the economy collapse, but that is a false choice,” said Dr. Crystal Watson, an assistant professor at Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health and lead author of a white paper on how the United States can scale up its abilities to identify and trace COVID-19 cases.
“We have this tool — contact tracing — and if we spend some effort and funding on actually building up our capacities, we can control transmission, get back to work much more safely and avoid unnecessary loss of thousands of lives.”
When a patient gets a coronavirus test, the lab reports the results back not only to the patient’s doctor, but also to the local health department. A contact tracer is assigned to the case and will call the person to ask about symptoms, to take down information about people the patient has been in close contact with recently, and to help draw up a plan for isolation, which could entail figuring out how to get groceries or medications delivered.
Current guidance by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends patients who test positive isolate themselves until the following three criteria are fulfilled: 10 days have passed since symptoms first appeared, the patient has had three full days with no fever, and other symptoms like cough or shortness of breath are also improving. For close contacts who have been exposed, the CDC recommends a 14-day quarantine after the last date of exposure. (“Isolation” is the term used for confirmed positive patients, “quarantine” is used for exposed contacts; practically speaking, what you need to do is the same — stay away from others.)
A contact will be told when they were exposed, but never who it was that exposed them to the virus; the health department keeps that information anonymous.
Since the isolation period for patients with the disease depends on symptoms, health department staff need to call back regularly to monitor their progression and help determine when they can safely leave home again. They also check in on quarantined contacts, to see if they are developing symptoms and may need to get tested.
How Does Contact Tracing Work?
In theory, the process sounds straightforward, but the details can be daunting. I had many questions, starting with: Who exactly counts as a contact?
For now, I am still working from home and have had no prolonged or close contact with anyone other than my husband. But when New York’s stay-at-home orders end, I wanted to know: If someone in my office got sick, would my whole newsroom have to go into quarantine? What happens if someone has a subway commute — would contact tracing break down?
Public health workers will make decisions on a case by case basis, said Dr. Marcus Plescia, chief medical officer of the Association of State and Territorial Health Officials. “You don’t want too many people slipping through the cracks, but at the same time, it’s a big ask, since you’re asking people to stay at home for two weeks.”
In my hypothetical scenario, a contact tracer might consider the office’s ventilation system, Plescia said, to help decide if a whole office needed to go into quarantine. (A case study of a restaurant in Guangzhou, China, concluded that currents from an air conditioner likely helped carry the virus from an infected person to two neighboring tables.) Another factor would be how well the patient remembered all of his or her interactions in the two days before symptoms began.
When it comes to public transit, the experts told me that transmission risk would be much higher if a patient spent their whole commute chatting with a friend — in which case, they’d know who that person was and could give that information to a contact tracer — while risk would be much lower for commuters who are not touching or talking to one another, especially if everyone was wearing a mask.
Dr. Emily Gurley, an associate scientist at Johns Hopkins and instructor of a free online course now required for all tracers hired by the state of New York, noted that the CDC definition of a close contact presumes that people are not wearing masks. (And if you think you’ve got the knowledge to be a contact tracer, try our quiz.)
Still, contact tracing efforts may be hampered by other circumstances, such as when patients are too sick to interview. Then, Gurley said, “you’re trying to understand who their contacts are by talking to their family member — but they’re not going to have been with the patient all day long.”
Other times, patients may not know the names of everyone they came in contact with, such as at a gym or grocery store. In those cases, contact tracers will use whatever pieces of information they can get to track down potential contacts, according to Capt. Eric Pevzner, chief of the CDC’s Epidemic Intelligence Service program.
“You might say, ‘I talked to Bob at the grocery store, but I don’t know his last name,’ then I will call the local grocery store and ask, ‘Do you have someone called Bob who works in the produce section?’”
Pevzner recently traveled to Utah to help with contact tracing efforts. (I was surprised to hear that such a high-ranking official would be deployed to do such tedious work, but Pevzner said that the magnitude of the pandemic is so large, even he got sent into the field.)
In Utah, Pevzner made sure to always use a landline, because people wouldn’t pick up if he rang from his cellphone, presuming an out-of-state number was a spam call.
“The hard part right now is that everyone’s days are blending together, because everyone’s at home,” he said. “Normally, I could ask, ‘When did your symptoms start?’ And you might say, ‘Normally I go to spin class on Wednesday night, so it was Wednesday morning at work that I started to feel bad.’ Now, people can’t remember what day it is, so I might ask, ‘What did you watch on TV?’ And I’ll Google the TV show to figure out what day it was.”
Contact Tracing Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect to Work
What happens if a contact slips through the net? Much has been made of South Korea’s meticulous contact tracing abilities, which includes sweeping up citizens’ cellphone and credit card information and publishing digital diaries of positive patients — with information as granular as the seats they sat in at movie theaters and the restaurants they ate at. In Hong Kong, incoming travelers are placed in mandatory quarantine and given wristbands to track their movements to ensure compliance.
We wouldn’t do that in the United States, for both privacy and logistical reasons. Does that mean we’re doomed to contact tracing failure?
Not so, the experts told me, and there’s preliminary data that can help us estimate the levels of testing and tracing needed.
Let me first note that the following studies are preprints, which are draft research papers shared publicly before being published in an academic journal. While they are yet to be peer reviewed, outside experts not involved in the papers told me they look sound. Both papers testify to the power of contact tracing, when done robustly but not necessarily perfectly.
Researchers in the U.K. used a model to simulate the effects of various mitigation and containment strategies. The researchers estimated that isolating symptomatic cases would reduce transmission by 32%. But combining isolation with manual contact tracing of all contacts reduced transmission by 61%. If contact tracing only could track down acquaintances, but not all contacts, transmission was still reduced by 57%.
A second study, which used a model based on the Boston metropolitan area, found that so long as 50% of symptomatic infections were identified and 40% of their contacts were traced, the ensuing reduction in transmission would be sufficient to allow the reopening of the economy without overloading the health care system. The researchers picked Boston because of the quality of available data, according to senior author Yamir Moreno, a professor at the institute for biocomputation and physics of complex systems at the University of Zaragoza in Spain. “For other locations, these percentages will change, however, the fact that the best intervention is testing, contact tracing and quarantining remains,” he said.
Johns Hopkins’ Gurley reminded me: “This isn’t an all or nothing game — our goal isn’t to get rid of the virus, we missed that boat. Our goal is now to keep numbers low enough that the health care system can handle the cases and that we don’t have any large outbreaks even as we open up.”
Is the United States Doing Contact Tracing?
Contact tracing can only be effective, however, if there are sufficient staff to carry it out. Local health departments have eliminated more than 50,000 jobs over the past decade, said Oscar Alleyne, chief of programs and services for the National Association of County and City Health Officials. “Those positions have not been refilled. They’ve just done more with less.”
It’s only now, in May, that states are starting to build up contact tracing forces. Estimates for how many we will need are staggering.
Wuhan, China, has a population of 11 million. At one point, it employed 9,000 contact tracers, split into 1,800 teams of five people, according to the World Health Organization-China joint mission report. That’s a ratio of 81 contact tracers per 100,000 residents. Massachusetts, which has a population of 7 million, is hiring 1,000 contact tracers, which would be about 14 contact tracers per 100,000 residents. California Gov. Gavin Newsom has said the state will recruit up to 20,000 people to do contact tracing work, including librarians and city attorney staff not able to do their current jobs. That would amount to 50 contact tracers per 100,000 residents.
Of course, the number of contact tracers needed doesn’t just depend on population, but also on the size of the outbreak and compliance with physical distancing and other mitigation measures. New Zealand, which has the virus well under control, has only 190 contact tracers for the whole country (a ratio of 4 per 100,000 residents). It’s hard to argue that they need more.
George Washington University’s Fitzhugh Mullan Institute for Health Workforce Equity has created a tool that estimates the contact tracing workforce needs by state, taking into account coronavirus case counts. As of May 7, it estimated that the United States would need about 184,000 contact tracers, or about 56 per 100,000 Americans.
Many states are still in the process of hiring. Georgia began to allow businesses to reopen on April 24, but it only announced plans to increase its contact tracing force from 250 to 1,000 workers on May 12.
New York City will hire 1,000 tracers by June 1, and it plans to hire 5,000 in total, according to NYC Health + Hospitals spokeswoman Karla Griffith. As of May 17, the city had hired “upwards of 50 people pending background checks,” she said.
“We’re still playing catch-up,” Alleyne lamented. “We’re trying to get to a place where we can move forward.”
It’s important to remember that contact tracing doesn’t work in a vacuum. States need to have robust testing capacity; without the ability to find positive cases in the first place, contact tracers can’t do their work. Once cases and contacts are identified, they also need a way to truly isolate themselves, which can be a challenge for people who share bedrooms and bathrooms with family members or roommates. Many states are now considering the use of hotels or other facilities to offer patients and contacts a place to stay if needed. This is why you often hear the phrase, “Test, trace, isolate” — “trace” on its own is not very effective. You need all three working in concert to properly cut off transmission.
And even when we have a robust contacting tracing corps in place, that doesn’t mean all physical distancing can go out the window. The U.K. modeling study assumed each case had 20 to 30 contacts. If we all started going to football games and hanging out in crowded bars, we’d massively increase the number of contacts we each had and could rapidly overwhelm the capabilities of our local health departments. In South Korea, health authorities scrambled to locate and test more than 5,000 people when a 29-year-old man tested positive after visiting five nightclubs in the capital, Seoul. Since then, more than 100 infections have been connected to the cluster — it’s unclear if all are due to this one individual — and the Seoul city government has shut down all bars and nightclubs indefinitely.
Contact Tracing Also Helps Us Learn About the Virus
There’s more to contact tracing than suppressing transmission. Contact tracing is also a great way to gather data, which can help scientists learn about the virus.
Pevzner, of the CDC, was in Utah because he was helping to conduct a household study in which both nasal and blood samples were collected from every member of households where one person had tested positive for the coronavirus. Fourteen days later, samples were collected again. The nasal samples were used to test for an active infection, while the blood samples were used to test for antibodies, an indication of past infections. By using both types of tests, the researchers could see whether there were any family members who previously had been infected without knowing it. By testing twice over two weeks, the researchers also hoped to find out whether home isolation was successful or not, by monitoring whether any new infections developed within the household.
Dr. Adam Karpati, senior vice president of public health programs at health organization Vital Strategies, said that such studies can also help tease out “patterns of transmission,” whether that is identifying high-risk settings — are homeless shelters or certain types of workplaces particularly vulnerable? — and types of contacts that are more likely to be infected.
One question on many people’s minds is how children are affected by and transmit the coronavirus. Contact tracing studies can help to start answering that question. For example, a study of 391 COVID-19 cases and their 1,286 close contacts in Shenzhen, China, published in the journal Lancet Infectious Diseases, found that young children were as likely to get infected as adults, though the disease was far milder.
The same study found that contacts who lived with the patient or who had traveled with the patient were at higher risk of infection than other close contacts, which included people who had shared a meal or interacted socially. More studies will need to be done to confirm this type of finding — especially in different geographical and societal contexts.
Isn’t There an App for That?
Beyond traditional manual contact tracing, there’s been considerable buzz about the potential use of phone apps for contact tracing, particularly after Apple and Google announced last month that they would work together to create a contact tracing system.
The Apple-Google system uses the Bluetooth antennas in smartphones to record when two people with the same app come close to each other, but it does not log any location data. If one person later tests positive, and records that in the app, a notification will be sent to all users who were close by in recent days, without revealing the identity of the person who had tested positive. Apple and Google are not developing an app but rather a platform — the apps are to be designed by local public health authorities and run on this system.
Many of the experts I spoke to were skeptical about the success of digital contact tracing apps, because a high degree of uptake is necessary for them to be successful.
In a best-case scenario, an app could be a welcome “workforce multiplier,” helping to identify contacts and new cases at a time when speed is critical, said Watson, of Johns Hopkins, but she cautioned that if information about exposure is only shared with app users and doesn’t get shared with public health departments in a manner that allows public health workers to follow up, then utility will be limited.
Even as digital apps continue to be explored, there are other, less flashy technologies that can be helpful to contact tracing efforts. Something as simple as text messages to ask exposed contacts how they’re feeling can reduce the number of daily follow-up calls that a health worker needs to make every day.
“Let’s say you have a mild case, it may be less invasive to just text. But if you’re 75 and you say, ‘I hate texting!’ Someone should call you,” said Gurley, the instructor of the contact tracing course. “Those tech options should be there to help, not replace.”
The Key to Successful Contact Tracing? Trust.
Across all the interviews I did, there was one word that every single person I interviewed said at least once, if not multiple times: trust.
Contact tracing, ultimately, depends on the goodwill of a population. While health departments, in theory, may have some legal authority to enforce isolation of a confirmed COVID-19 patient, it’s highly unlikely in the United States that health departments could enforce a quarantine order for a contact who hasn’t yet developed symptoms, said ASTHO’s Plescia, meaning that success will be down to the voluntary cooperation of the community.
Dr. Raj Panjabi, CEO of nonprofit Last Mile Health, which works to improve access and quality of care in rural and remote communities, told me a story about contact tracing in Liberia during the Ebola outbreak. A woman in her 40s had come down with Ebola and, unable to find treatment in the city, had gone back to her home in the middle of a rainforest to be with her loved ones, where she died. A couple of weeks later, 21 people, including many who had attended her funeral, had contracted the disease.
The Ministry of Health hired people from the community and paired neighbors with nurses to go door to door to conduct interviews. Ultimately, they identified 216 contacts for the 21 cases and managed to halt transmission.
The key, Panjabi said, was “hiring the neighbors of the patients — that builds trust. You’re less likely to give your information to a stranger. You have to have rapport and empathy. It comes when someone sounds like you.”
After the Ebola outbreak, Liberia not only maintained all the health workers it had hired, but it even scaled up to create a national community health workforce of 4,000, which goes door to door providing preventive care for mothers and children, as well as testing and treatment for diseases like malaria, Panjabi said. When the coronavirus pandemic emerged, they were rapidly retrained to look out for COVID-19 cases. As of May 16, the country had reported 219 cases.
“When someone has taken the time to find you in your home village, to tell you important information about your health and to try and help you, that’s pretty compelling and that shows their commitment to you,” Johns Hopkins’ Gurley said.
Contact tracers may not have to come to my door here, in America, but I hope that if I do get called someday and am told that I was exposed to the virus, that after I get over the initial shock, I’ll have the presence of mind to say: “Thank you for all the work you’ve done to bring me this information. I’m happy to stay at home.”
With regular employees out sick, CVS and Walgreens rely on traveling workers to fill in at short notice. But when these floaters show up at a store, they often aren't told if anyone there has tested positive.
This story was first published on Monday, May 18, 2020 in ProPublica.
He joined Walgreens around a decade ago, fresh out of pharmacy school and eager to learn. Like many new grads, he started as a floater — a substitute for employees who call out sick or take vacation — and he was floated as far as he was willing to go. Sometimes he would drive hours east of the Dallas area, where he lived, to pick up shifts in rural Texas, sleeping in hotels for days at a time.
The pharmacist, who requested anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to the media, eventually worked his way up to become a full-time manager at a store in Dallas. But recently he's returned to floating, this time at CVS, preferring its flexible hours. In the past three months, he's traveled between 10 stores.
As the pandemic rages on, though, he wonders if he's made a terrible mistake. When he shows up at a store, he said, he's not told whether any employees have shown symptoms or tested positive, so he doesn't know if he's at risk. On two occasions, the Dallas floater said, he only heard from colleagues after he started his shift that they had just been working alongside someone who was self-isolating with COVID-19 symptoms. Because his temporary co-workers had not shown symptoms, they were not advised to quarantine.
"There's no heads-up," he said. "It's terrifying to learn about it after you show up, if at all." Even more terrifying, he added, is the possibility that he and other floaters are catching the virus and unwittingly spreading it to other stores.
Floaters are common in hospitals, nursing homes and pharmacies, and they play a critical role in making sure that these facilities have enough staff to properly care for patients. But in a pandemic, workers who pitch in at multiple sites could be at higher risk of both contracting and spreading the coronavirus, forming an overlooked link in the chain of transmission. They may catch the virus at one location, and once they're reassigned, carry it to their next stop.
"It's absolutely a concern to move people around where there's active transmission, some of whom might be susceptible," said Denis Nash, a professor of epidemiology at CUNY School of Public Health. "It puts the floater pharmacist at risk, and it potentially seeds transmission where it might not otherwise happen."
At pharmacies, some floaters are full-time employees. Others, including the Dallas floater, work part time for a specific chain; they don't qualify for general sick leave, although they do get two weeks' paid leave if they contract the coronavirus. Most are given schedules weeks in advance. But with pharmacies needing immediate replacements for people who have tested positive or fallen ill, floaters said that they are being given shorter notice than usual about where they'll be working next — and little information about whether anyone there has been exposed or infected.
Fifteen employees at CVS and Walgreens, the country's two largest retail pharmacy chains, told ProPublica that floaters are not given information about whether any employee has gotten sick with the coronavirus at a store when they show up to work there. One floater told ProPublica that he has worked in as many as 20 stores in the past month without being told about any infections before he showed up at a location. Several floaters said that managers at both companies refused to fill them in about potential exposure, citing privacy laws. Those privacy laws do not apply, experts told ProPublica. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines advise employers to inform employees about possible exposure to the coronavirus in the workplace.
A floater in Ohio, who works at about a dozen Walgreens a month, said he warns his colleagues that he may endanger them. "I always tell people, 'Definitely stay away from me, don't get close to me, because as the floater, I'll probably be the one who is going to bring the virus to you,'" he said.
The use of floaters "is just going to turn pharmacies into hot spots," said John Fram, a senior pharmacy tech at a Walgreens in New York City. "Techs and pharmacists who worked with positive employees or work within a hospital are still moving around working at lots of other stores in the city." Fram said that a tech who took a shift at his store had previously worked at a Walgreens in Chelsea where ProPublica reported an outbreak of the virus among at least three employees in April.
Walgreens said that, to help reduce the risk of exposure, it is taking steps to limit the number of stores where floaters are working and "to fill open shifts with the same individuals as much as possible." When notified of a confirmed or presumed case of COVID-19, it said, its responses include "identifying and contacting individuals who may be at risk in order to self-quarantine or self-monitor their health, as well as cleaning and disinfecting impacted areas of the store or the entire location."
While there were pharmacists at the Chelsea location who worked at other stores, "none were ever presumed positive or in contact with someone who was presumed positive," Walgreens said.
CVS said it has introduced policies to ensure the safety of employees, whether they work at a single location or are part of the "subset of pharmacists who 'float' between different store locations." Those policies include requiring employees to wear masks; installing protective shields at counters and checkout stations; hourly cleanings for hard surfaces; and a wellness and temperature check before an employee begins a shift.
All employees, including floaters, are notified if they have been exposed to a co-worker who tested positive, CVS said. Regarding whether employees are notified if they are assigned to a store that has had previous cases of COVID-19, CVS said, "Employees who were not exposed and work subsequent shifts are in a work environment that has been deep cleaned or has had hourly or more regular cleanings."
Both a CDCreport and a New England Journal of Medicine study flagged staff members who work in multiple facilities as a factor in the hundreds of cases of COVID-19 associated with the Life Care Center of Kirkland, a nursing home in King County, Washington, and to the spread of the virus to other nursing homes in the area. "It's a common practice within the nursing industry and within health care to work in multiple places," said Timothy Killian, a spokesperson for Life Care Centers of America, which manages more than 200 long-term care facilities nationwide, acknowledging that "it was possible" that such mobile workers "contributed to the spread of COVID-19."
An employee at a Walgreens in Houston who tested positive worked at other store locations while infectious, in close contact with fellow employees, according to an informal complaint submitted in March to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. "The employer is aware of this information and has not communicated that to other employees, nor allowed them to self-quarantine for 14 days as per current CDC guidelines," a summary of the complaint stated.
Walgreens said that it used contact tracing to investigate the complaint, which involved a pharmacist who worked at two stores. It then informed OSHA that the complaint was inaccurate, it said. "All employees who were deemed in close contact with the team member were asked to self-quarantine at home and put on paid leave," Walgreens said. "None of the employees that worked with this team member tested positive for COVID-19." After receiving the company's response, OSHAclosed the complaint.
Recognizing the propensity to increase contagion, some long-term care facilities and nursing homes, including Life Care Centers, have discontinued the practice of having staff float from one facility to another. "When we got notified about the first case, we stopped that right away and put in place a policy that if a nurse had a job elsewhere we would make them choose one location," Killian said. In April, the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services advised long-term care facilities that "staff as much as possible should not work across units or floors."
Floaters are often younger graduates of pharmacy schools, though many late-career pharmacists also take up the role, prizing its freedom from the demands of a single store's bureaucracy. Neither CVS nor Walgreens provides information on the percentage of its workforce — some half a million workers combined — that floats.
Many large companies have come to rely on a temporary pool of workers, whether they are in-house or drawn from an agency, said Susan Houseman, the director of research at the Upjohn Institute for Employment Research, a think tank in Kalamazoo, Michigan. "This kind of on-demand workforce, where workers just appear as regular employees but have unpredictable schedules, is very prevalent in retail, restaurants and across the hospitality industry," she said. Such precarious work schedules can make it difficult for temps, substitutes, floaters and part-time employees to benefit from the same safety precautions as their stationary counterparts, she added.
Whitney Abbott floated for about nine years as a pharmacist, traveling anywhere within a two-hour radius, until she settled at a Walgreens in Columbia, South Carolina. She's witnessed firsthand the pressures on current floaters to pick up part-time work. "If you see a shift pop up, even if it's in a hot spot, you can't really afford to turn it down," she said. Now the ex-floater is worried that floaters taking shifts at her location may be carrying the virus. After a co-worker contracted the virus from an unknown source, Abbott, who is in her third trimester of pregnancy, was recently quarantined for possible exposure. Multiple floaters have been filling in for her. "They could have come from a town that was a hot spot and potentially brought it into our store," she said, "and the next day they could be back in a small town where everyone knows everybody."
Such a travel dynamic is "exactly how a virus like this keeps spreading," according to Colin Furness, an infection control epidemiologist and assistant professor at the University of Toronto. "The disease follows people," he said. "So if there's a higher risk in a populated area, and you travel to a rural area, you are bringing the disease from a higher-risk area to a lower-risk area."
Conditions at CVS and Walgreens may heighten the dangers for floaters and for those who come into contact with them. Depending on a store's layout, recommended social distancing measures can be difficult if not impossible to enforce behind the counter. "Our locations are too small to socially distance while we work, so we're potentially exposing all sorts of people," said Fram, the Walgreens tech in Manhattan, who spends hours in the same small space as colleagues.
Despite the cleanings stipulated by both Walgreens and CVS, employees said that it is difficult to clean stores frequently and that supplies remain scarce. When someone tested positive at one of the CVS stores where the Dallas floater worked, the people in charge of sanitizing it were the pharmacist and the lead technician, who cleaned the counters, keyboards and phones with Lysol wipes. It was a valiant effort, he said, but hardly the work of professionals.
CVS and Walgreens did not respond to questions about employee complaints that it's hard to maintain social distance and that cleaning is inconsistent.
Whether they're floaters or not, CVS and Walgreens employees say that management rarely tells them when a co-worker shows symptoms or tests positive. But employees stationed at a single location are more likely than their roving counterparts to learn about such developments by word of mouth. While managers "have avoided giving us any notifications when someone gets sick," said Fram, who stays put at the Walgreens in upper Manhattan, "it's such a tiny district that we all know each other's business."
Floaters said that they are unaware of what's happened not only before they've come into a store, but also after they've departed. In one case, a floater stopped working at a store, and days later an employee there fell sick; the floater said he was not informed at the time and still doesn't know whether he was also exposed or even the source of the exposure.
"Because you're not on a conference call or on a mailing list with a core group of employees and managers, you don't receive the same regular communications that others would," the Dallas floater said. "You are relying on others to play telephone with you about what's going on."
When employees notify CVS or Walgreens that they are presumed to have COVID-19 or have tested positive, they are advised to quarantine for two weeks, for which they can receive paid leave. The CDC advises that workplaces then identify and contact any individual who "has been within 6 feet of the infected employee for a prolonged period of time." In practice, however, each workplace exercises significant discretion to define what prolonged means and just how risky the exposure was.
One floater in Ohio described receiving a last-minute change to her schedule and showing up to a store where co-workers told her that there had been a confirmed case. "Everything was done secretively and the safety of the employees [was] endangered," the floater wrote in an email to ProPublica in April. "If the company is sending people to work in a store that recently has a positive case, they should tell the people what to expect. They should, at least, tell them what happened there and advise them to wear masks or take precautions."
Employees in several CVS and Walgreens stores say that district managers have referred to the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, or HIPAA, as a justification for not informing them about their potential exposure. "They tell us it's HIPAA, but they really just don't want us to be scared or to have to shut down the store," said one pharmacist, who worked in a store where neither he nor floaters were told by managers that multiple workers had fallen ill with the virus.
HIPAA, however, does not apply to this situation, said Joy Pritts, the former chief privacy officer at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. "In this case, it's being used as a shield," she said. HIPAA protects health information shared between patients and providers in health care settings, but it does not govern the notifications employers may provide to employees in a pandemic, she added.
While the Americans with Disabilities Act requires employers to keep medical information about individual employees confidential, employers are encouraged by the CDC and local health agencies to communicate anonymized information that may prevent the spread of an infectious disease. "When businesses don't want to share information, they often blame privacy laws," Pritts said. "But they are often making a business calculation as to whether to share the health information, not a legal one."
CVS and Walgreens did not directly respond to questions about whether managers were improperly citing HIPAA when employees sought information about possible exposure. A Walgreens spokesperson said that HIPAA and other privacy policies do not "prevent us from identifying and contacting employees who may be at risk from exposure to COVID-19."
During the first week of April, the Dallas floater was offered an open shift at a store. CVS didn't tell him that there had been two positive cases at that location, but he was lucky enough to know the manager there, who tipped him off, he said.
Once again he faced the same grim calculus as so many part-time workers in America: risk exposure or lose a paycheck. "If I don't take the shift, there are plenty of other people who would be willing to pick up those hours," he said. "They will pull people from all over Texas if they need to fill that shift, and they are banking on somebody not caring about the risk to do it."
Nevertheless, he declined.
Do you have information you'd like to share about working at a pharmacy or a tip on how your pharmacy is handling the pandemic? Please email ava.kofman@propublica.org.
California’s governor and San Francisco’s mayor worked together to act early in confronting the COVID threat. For Andrew Cuomo and Bill de Blasio, it was a different story, and 27,000 New Yorkers have died so far.
This article was first published on Saturday, May 16, 2020 in ProPublica.
By March 14, London Breed, the mayor of San Francisco, had seen enough. For weeks, she and her health officials had looked at data showing the evolving threat of COVID-19. In response, she’d issued a series of orders limiting the size of public gatherings, each one feeling more arbitrary than the last. She’d been persuaded that her city’s considerable and highly regarded health care system might be insufficient for the looming onslaught of infection and death.
“We need to shut this shit down,” Breed remembered thinking.
Three days later in New York, Mayor Bill de Blasio was thinking much the same thing. He’d been publicly savaged for days for not closing the city’s school system, and even his own Health Department was in revolt at his inaction. And so, having at last been convinced every hour of delay was a potentially deadly misstep, de Blasio said it was time to consider a shelter-in-place order. Under it, he said, it might be that only emergency workers such as police officers and health care providers would be allowed free movement.
“I think it’s gotten to a place,” de Blasio said at a news conference, “where the decision has to be made very soon.”
In San Francisco, Breed cleaned up her language in a text to California Gov. Gavin Newsom. But she was no less emphatic: The city needed to be closed. Newsom had once been San Francisco’s mayor, and he had appointed Breed to lead the city’s Fire Commission in 2010.
Newsom responded immediately, saying she should coordinate with the counties surrounding San Francisco as they too were moving toward a shutdown. Breed said she spoke to representatives of those counties on March 15 and their public health officials were prepared to make the announcement on their own. On March 16, with just under 40 cases of COVID-19 in San Francisco and no deaths, Breed issued the order banning all but essential movement and interaction.
“I really feel like we didn’t have a lot of good options,” Breed said.
In an interview, California Health and Human Services Secretary Dr. Mark Ghaly said it was critical to allow Northern California counties to rely on their own experts, act with a degree of autonomy and thus perhaps pave the way for the state to expand on what they had done. And three days after San Francisco and its neighboring counties were closed, Newsom, on March 19, imposed the same restrictions on the rest of California.
Breed, it turns out, had sent de Blasio a copy of her detailed shelter-in-place order. She thought New York might benefit from it.
New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo, however, reacted to de Blasio’s idea for closing down New York City with derision. It was dangerous, he said, and served only to scare people. Language mattered, Cuomo said, and “shelter-in-place” sounded like it was a response to a nuclear apocalypse.
Moreover, Cuomo said, he alone had the power to order such a measure.
For years, Cuomo and de Blasio, each of whom has harbored national political ambitions, had engaged in a kind of intrastate cold war, a rivalry that to many often felt childish and counterproductive. When de Blasio finally decided to close the city’s schools, it was Cuomo who rushed to make the public announcement, claiming it as his decision.
“No city in the state can quarantine itself without state approval,” Cuomo said of de Blasio’s call for a shelter-in-place order. “I have no plan whatsoever to quarantine any city.”
Cuomo’s conviction didn’t last. On March 22, he, too, shuttered his state. The action came six days after San Francisco had shut down, five days after de Blasio suggested doing similarly and three days after all of California had been closed by Newsom. By then, New York faced a raging epidemic, with the number of confirmed cases at 15,000 doubling every three or four days.
Health officials well understood the grim mathematics. One New York City official said of those critical days in March: “We had been pretty clear with the state about the implications of every day, every hour, every minute.”
As of May 15, there were nearly 350,000 COVID-19 cases in New York and more than 27,500 deaths, nearly a third of the nation’s total. The corresponding numbers in California: just under 75,000 cases and slightly more than 3,000 deaths. In New York City, the country’s most populous and densest, there had been just under 20,000 deaths; in San Francisco, the country’s second densest and 13th most populous, there had been 35.
The differing outcomes will be studied for years, as more is learned about the virus, its unique qualities, its varying strains, its specific impact on certain populations, and the role of factors like poverty, pre-existing health problems and public transportation in its spread and lethality.
California, if twice as populous as New York, does not have nearly as many people living on top of one another; despite San Francisco’s density, it does not have millions of people packed into subways and buses the way New York City does. New York City is home to far more African Americans, a population hit hard by the virus.
But the timing of New York’s shutdown undeniably played a role in the dire human toll the virus has exacted. In April, two prominent experts said in a New York Times opinion article that their research showed that had New York imposed its extreme social distancing measures a week or two earlier, the death toll might have been cut by half or more.
It’s an assessment shared by Dr. Tom Frieden, the former head of New York City’s Health Department. “Days earlier & so many deaths could have been prevented,” Frieden tweeted in April.
Asked if Cuomo questioned the accuracy or integrity of the findings on how many deaths might have been prevented with an earlier imposition of the statewide shut down, a spokesman wrote:
“Our job is to make policy decisions based on the facts and data we have at the time and that’s exactly what we did. We needed the public’s buy-in, which is what happened, and how we ultimately flattened the curve.”
In recent days, Cuomo has said he wished he had been quicker to see the threat, “blow the bugle” and take action, only to all but instantly shift tone and cast blame everywhere: at international and U.S. health agencies; at the federal government; at news organizations.
“Governors don’t do global pandemics,” Cuomo said.
In an interview, a senior Cuomo administration official, authorized to speak but not be named, defended the timeliness of New York’s response to the virus. He said the administration had closely followed a variety of models showing the evolving scope and impact of the spread and had calibrated its actions accordingly. The governor, he said, had conducted an orderly unwinding of a giant economy and a state of 20 million people. Each measured step — closing schools, gradually reducing the state’s daily workforce — had been undertaken to limit panic and gain the public’s compliance with developments that could upend lives and diminish and damage a great city.
The official asserted that, from the discovery of the first positive COVID-19 case in the state on March 1 to the shutdown on March 22, New York had acted faster than any other state.
“Three weeks, 20 million people,” the official said. “Insane.”
The official noted that California’s first case surfaced on Jan. 26, its first death occurred March 4 and its statewide shutdown went into effect March 19, a span of almost two months.
But a range of health officials and scientists interviewed by ProPublica say creating such timelines misses the central issue: No later than Feb. 28, federal officials warned the country that a deadly pandemic was inevitable. It is from that point forward, they say, that any individual state’s actions should be judged.
Of the models showing how earlier action might have spared lives, the Cuomo administration official insisted that the governor’s decisions had been guided by the data.
“We could have closed in November,” the official said. “When there were no cases. For nothing.”
“We followed the models,” he said. “We followed your goddamn models. All the models were wrong.”
There was certainly one model that proved prescient, and it had been made public by late February.
Marc Lipsitch, a Harvard professor of epidemiology and the director of the Center for Communicable Disease Dynamics, created one of the first modeling tools used in the U.S. for the COVID-19 pandemic. The model was available to both city and state officials in New York in February, a full week before the first confirmed New York case. The state said the Lipsitch model was not one they looked at for guidance. The city did make use of it, and concluded that just a couple of dozen sick people in New York could ultimately produce more than 100,000 cases by the middle of April, which is quite close to what happened.
In an interview, Lipsitch offered no opinion on New York’s actions, but emphasized that models are meant to be but one source of helpful information to guide policy makers. They don’t predict the future, and using them to do so is misguided.
“For any decision-maker to say they relied exclusively on models to make decisions about what to do and when and how,” he said, “is an abdication of responsibility.”
For New York and California, the clock for quick and prudent action in the fight against COVID-19 began ticking no later than Jan. 17, when the federal government announced it would begin screening passengers arriving in both states from China. The virus had been found outside China and would soon be discovered in dozens of countries. New York and California were known destinations for a steady stream of weekly travelers from China. The Jan. 26 announcement of California’s first case surprised no one.
If California’s lower infection and death totals could owe to a wide variety of still undetermined factors, the state’s efforts, especially its partnership with San Francisco, were marked by both cooperation and a degree of daring. The elected officials turned to their health experts for advice, and they trusted and followed it.
Breed, in particular, was quick to see the limited utility of waiting for confirmed cases to drive policy choices. The testing had begun late; there were too few tests available; they would never be able to accurately capture the existence and spread of the disease.
An examination of New York’s response paints a different picture.
While New York’s formal pandemic response plan underscores the need for seamless communication between state and local officials, the state Health Department broke off routine sharing of information and strategy with its city counterpart in February, just as the size of the menace was becoming clearer, according to both a city official and a city employee. “Radio silence,” said the city official. To this day, the city employee said, the city can’t always get basic data from the state, such as counts of ventilators at hospitals or nursing home staff. “It’s like they have been ordered not to talk to us,” the person said.
The city official also said that after the city had been assisting the state in identifying and responding to outbreaks in city nursing homes, the state two weeks ago abruptly told the city its help wasn’t needed. More than 5,000 nursing home residents in New York have died of COVID-19.
Asked about the city’s claims, a Cuomo administration official insisted the state was working “hand in glove” with all local health departments.
For his part, de Blasio spent critical weeks spurning his own Health Department’s increasingly urgent belief that trying to contain the spread of the virus was a fool’s errand. The clear need, as early as late February, was to move to an all-out effort at not being overrun by the disease, which meant closing things down and restricting people’s movements. The frustration within the department grew so intense, according to one city official, plans were discussed to undertake a formal “resistance”; the department would do what needed to be done, the mayor’s directives be damned.
Breed, San Francisco’s mayor, issued a local emergency order granting her wide powers to confront the virus before there was a single confirmed COVID-19 case in the city. There were nearly 100 in New York before de Blasio issued a similar order.
Freddi Goldstein, a spokeswoman for de Blasio, said that any organized rebellion at the Health Department was news to the administration, and that de Blasio had been “nothing but upfront, honest and blunt with New Yorkers from the start.”
“Everyone underestimated the threat because the information we had was greatly limited from the start,” Goldstein said.
In California, state health officials did their own modeling of the outbreak, while New York’s state health officials acknowledged to ProPublica that they did not and instead relied only on publicly available data, some of it first-rate, some suspect.
New York’s pandemic preparedness and response plan, first created in 2006 and running to hundreds of pages, predicted the state’s health care system would be overwhelmed in such a situation, and it highlighted two vital necessities: a robust and up-to-date state stockpile of emergency equipment and protective gear, and a mechanism for quickly expanding the number of hospital beds available.
Despite repeated requests, New York state health officials would not say what was in the state’s stockpile at the start of 2020, but it clearly wasn’t adequate. Cuomo publicly lamented the lack of such resources almost from the start of the crisis. One senior health executive said he recalled Cuomo being frustrated early on by the state’s stockpile, asking: “What’s in it? Is it expired?”
As for expanding hospital capacity, it was not until March 16 that Cuomo designated a task force to engineer greater numbers of beds, demanding a 50% increase in capacity in 24 hours.
“You could make an argument that it should have happened a month before,” said Michael Dowling, the chief executive officer of Northwell Health, the largest hospital organization in the state and one of the health care leaders Cuomo appointed to the task force.
It took another two weeks before Cuomo announced he had created a “command center” that would get a handle on emergency supplies and available beds at hospitals across the state so that such resources could be directed at places of need. It had been a month since the state’s first case.
As for the state pandemic plan that laid out how hospital expansion should happen, Northwell’s Dowling said that he’d never seen the document and did not know of its existence.
“I can’t recall in the last 15 years a discussion with the state about what would need to be done in a pandemic,” Dowling said in an interview.
The state’s performance once New York fell under siege from the disease has also been challenged. State Health Commissioner Howard Zucker — one of a half-dozen advisers who made up Cuomo’s brain trust during the crisis — has been pilloried by the local press for his decision to allow nursing home residents who tested positive for the disease to be returned to those homes. The administration reversed its position this week.
Meanwhile, the New York State Nurses Association has sued the state Health Department and its commissioner for failing to adequately equip front-line medical workers with protective wear and allowing hospitals to order nurses sickened by the virus back to work.
In the lawsuit, the association laid out what its own survey had shown about the harm that had come to its members because of shortages in protective equipment. Some 70% of the nurses who responded to the survey said they had been exposed to the virus at work; 11% said they had tested positive for the disease.
In a statement, Jonah Bruno, a Health Department spokesman, said: “The State of New York continues to take every step necessary to ensure that health care workers, particularly those who are sampling and providing direct care, have the support and supplies needed to address this unprecedented public health emergency. Throughout the course of this pandemic response, we have sent healthcare facilities approximately 29 million masks, 475,000 eye shields, 16 million gowns, and 446,000 pairs of gloves.”
“This Isn’t Our First Rodeo”
In New York, the inevitable arrived March 1 when a Queens woman became the first in the state to test positive for COVID-19. She had recently returned from Iran, where the virus had been rocketing through the country for weeks, killing almost 1,000 and sickening 23 members of Parliament.
Cuomo took the news in stride.
“There is no cause for surprise — this was expected,” he said in announcing the test result. “As I said from the beginning, it was a matter of when, not if.”
The next day, the state’s second case surfaced. A lawyer in New Rochelle, just miles north of New York City, had tested positive. The circumstances were far more disturbing: The man had not traveled beyond his daily commute to his Manhattan office, certainly not to any known COVID-19 hot spots such as China or Italy. He’d been infected in the U.S. by an unknown person, a phenomenon in the world of infectious disease known as “community spread.”
New York’s first two cases came as health officials, around the globe and in the U.S., were sounding heightened alarms. Five days before New York’s first positive test, Dr. Nancy Messonnier, director of the National Center for Immunization and Respiratory Diseases at the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said publicly that COVID-19 had thus far met two of the three factors needed to be classified as a pandemic: illness resulting in death and sustained person-to-person spread.
Community spread, Messonnier said, was now happening in Italy, Iran, Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan and elsewhere. If COVID-19 began spreading in U.S. localities, she said, shutting down schools, limiting businesses and banning mass gatherings would have to be quickly considered.
In those first days of March, Cuomo and his administration were, in the words of one official, “trying to get their sea legs.” Countries around the world had taken a variety of steps to limit the spread of the disease, starting aggressive testing and contact tracing programs, as well as closing schools and businesses, and forcing people to stay in their homes except for emergencies. But in Washington, President Donald Trump had for weeks been minimizing the threat of COVID-19, calling growing concerns about it a Democratic hoax one day, predicting its miraculous disappearance another.
It had become evident by then to local officials like Cuomo in New York and Newsom in California that it was going to be up to them to navigate the crisis on their own with advice from their experts and advisers.
In early February, with the virus raging mostly in China, Cuomo struck a note of caution, aimed at calming what he considered unreasonable fear of the new virus. The seasonal flu was a graver worry, he said. New Yorkers needed, in his words, to preserve a sense of reality.
By late February, Cuomo seemed to have begun apprehending the growing threat. He had company. Frieden, who had served as the New York City health commissioner for a decade and had helped oversee the response to the H1N1 flu pandemic in 2009, wrote publicly that COVID-19 was already approaching the category of “severe” pandemic. Frieden argued that more aggressive, even radical, interventions to limit people’s interaction had to be on the table.
The Cuomo administration official said that by then Cuomo’s designated inner circle — his health commissioner, his budget director, his closest aide and an old hand who would return to Cuomo’s side from his position in academia — were conferring every day, dozens of times.
Cuomo on Feb. 26 announced that the state’s highly regarded laboratory had developed a test for the virus, and he was seeking federal approval to begin using those tests. He said the state Health Department had $40 million to hire additional staff as well as procure equipment “and any other resources necessary to respond to the potential novel coronavirus pandemic.”
And so when the March 2 news of community spread surfaced in New Rochelle, Cuomo urged calm. The state, he proudly noted, had successfully confronted a wide variety of health scares over the years.
“We are fully coordinated, and we are fully mobilized, and we are fully prepared to deal with the situation as it develops,” Cuomo said.
“This isn’t our first rodeo.”
New York had a detailed plan on preparing for and responding to a pandemic, first produced by the state Health Department in 2006. After 9/11, the federal government had funded state and local efforts meant to better protect the country from a wide variety of threats, from terrorism to hurricanes to biowarfare to infectious disease outbreaks. New York used the money and the moment to address a possible pandemic.
New York’s plan anticipated that a flu-like disease would likely sicken large numbers of people and overwhelm the health care system; and since outbreaks could occur simultaneously throughout the country, localities would need to rely on their own resources to respond. It noted that health care workers and first responders would be at high risk of illness, further straining the health system.
But while the report’s subsequent pages of charts and subsections tackle a raft of issues — legal authorization to impose limits on public events; the creation of an “incident command system” that would coordinate efforts from a range of state agencies — there are few specifics on what officials should do to prevent or mitigate the potential calamities the report presciently predicted.
The document simply says it’s up to hospitals and local authorities to develop plans that turn the document’s vision for adding hospital beds and protecting health care workers and first responders into reality.
Dowling, the Northwell CEO and a trusted adviser to Cuomo who said he didn’t even know the document existed, said, “A plan on a piece of paper that doesn’t have an operational part means nothing,” Dowling said.
Asked about Dowling’s remarks, and whether hospital officials statewide were aware of the plan, Bruno, the Health Department spokesman, said “representatives from all responding services to the multi-service plan meet several times throughout the year to review and update the plan.”
Stanley Brezenoff, a legendary New York public servant who was head of New York City’s Health and Hospitals Corporation under Mayor Ed Koch, and who has been called on in times of crisis by mayors and governors, said the state’s response plan seemed noble enough on its face.
“It’s one thing to have a kind of check-the-boxes planning,” Brezenoff said. “But it needs to go to the next level and become concrete. If we need 200 more hospital beds, what does that entail? Plans, tabletop exercises. These can easily fall into empty exercises. Turning them into being useful is the challenge.”
State Health Department officials have said that the plan had been useful in 2009 during the H1N1 pandemic, a threat that turned out to be less damaging than first feared, and that it had been regularly updated since. Bruno said the department had participated in a variety of drills with federal and local authorities meant to better prepare for a pandemic.
The document is emphatic on several points, not least the need for a state stockpile of emergency equipment.
One former senior Health Department official said he remembers the creation of the stockpile around the time the 2006 plan was issued. He said he recalled it contained things like medicine for the common flu, but he didn’t think it included sophisticated equipment such as ventilators.
The former official said the federal money that had funded the response plan and the initial stockpile soon dried up. There was always another crisis for the federal government to be financing.
“The threat diminishes, the dollars go away, the focus drops,” the official said. “It’s a cyclical routine. The stockpile was in theory a costly enterprise to do. Your backstop was always the federal stockpile.”
But while the state’s plan makes clear its obligation to be adequately prepared, Cuomo over many weeks sought to portray the federal government as the culprit for the crisis in shortages of protective gear and medical equipment such as ventilators.
“I can’t say to a hospital, ‘I will send you all the supplies you need, I will send you all the ventilators you need,’” he said at one point. “We don’t have them. It’s not an exercise. It’s not a drill. It’s just a statement of reality.”
Trump has dismissed such claims as little more than poor excuses.
“The complainers should have been stocked up and ready long before this crisis hit,” he said in a tweet.
A Cuomo administration spokesman refused to say if the governor had ever read the state’s pandemic plan or if he was satisfied with what was in the state’s stockpile. The administration also refused to make Zucker, the health commissioner, available for an interview.
Dowling, the Northwell executive, said he had talked with Cuomo about the state stockpile during the crisis. Asked if he knew what was in it, Dowling said bluntly, “Not enough.”
“Forgive Them, for They Know Not What They Do”
By March 5, the number of COVID-19 infections in New York City were doubling every five or six days, and officials within the city’s Health Department had become increasingly frustrated at what they regarded as the mayor’s failure to comprehend the size and nature of the crisis. That day, he’d issued a press release expressing confidence that the city could still “beat this thing.”
But some within the department felt there was hope of a breakthrough. The following day, March 6, de Blasio’s most senior aides were to be briefed on the disease model created by Lipsitch at Harvard. Lipsitch had worked with the city Health Department during the 2009 H1N1 pandemic, helping figure out such things as if, when and how to close schools. He was a trusted source.
A city official told ProPublica the department had used Lipsitch’s model to do what it called “a Monte Carlo simulation,” which is what it sounds like: a series of random numbers punched into the model to see the range of possibilities. The official said that the median result out of 50 speculative runs was this: If as few as 25 infected people had arrived from Wuhan, the major Chinese city where the pandemic began, in January, New York would experience “epidemic disease transmission,” perhaps as many as 100,000 cases by April.
It was hardly reckless speculation. Flights from China to New York had gone on daily for nearly three weeks after the first cases were detected in Wuhan and before the authorities began screening arriving passengers. Italy’s first case surfaced on Feb. 20, but flights to New York from that country and others in Europe continued until March 16.
The briefing didn’t work.
“He does not want to believe transmissions are occuring silently,” the city official wrote at the time of de Blasio. “That things might blow up.”
The disconnect between de Blasio and his own Health Department played out — perhaps decisively — in late February and early March. The events of those days have been reconstructed through notes kept at the time by the city official alarmed by what they were seeing — the diminishment and disregarding of one of the world’s most respected local health departments.
The official’s notes show that late February was the first opportunity for de Blasio to have absorbed what his department was warning about. It didn’t go well.
“He said all the wrong things,” the official wrote after a Feb. 26 news conference.
To many in the Health Department, de Blasio’s Feb. 26 appearance was an opportunity for the mayor to level with New Yorkers and prepare them for a true pandemic and its consequences. The virus was likely spreading unseen among people in contact with travelers. Relying on the results of the handful of tests the city had sent to the CDC to set policy was not enough. Aggressive “mitigation” efforts — closing schools or limiting mass transit — needed to be considered, and the millions of people who would be affected needed to be prepared for those possibilities.
De Blasio said at the briefing that he was taking the threat with deadly seriousness, that he was confident he could add 1200 hospital beds if needed, and that people at risk of having been exposed should get tested and seek care.
But he also talked about how there were no confirmed cases in the city, how the seven tests that had been done were all negative, how the city had plenty of time to ramp up its response if things changed. The city official watched disbelieving.
“Awful press conference,” the city official wrote. “He doesn’t seem to appreciate the fact that hospitals have been hit real bad in China and South Korea by COVID-19. Many patients and healthcare workers have been infected. Our message to providers has been to ‘protect your patients and staff’ by preventing hospital outbreaks, as happened catastrophically in Toronto in 2003 with SARS. The mayor is sending a horrible message that can give permission to providers to be complacent.”
The official noted that the New York City Health Department is a revered institution, with an international reputation for its size, resources and expertise. Discouraged and angry that its talent and commitment were being blunted, the official noted how the department’s commissioner had been humiliated by de Blasio in a formal meeting, reduced to tears. Both she and her top deputies, the official wrote, later spent too much of their time at the side of a mayor making public health policy on the fly.
Taken together, the official’s contemporaneous notes, later shared with ProPublica, read like a disturbing diary of what the official came to see as a slow motion leadership disaster.
On Feb. 28, the official noted that the CDC had “made the pivot” to treating the COVID-19 threat as a full-blown pandemic. Why New York’s leaders, Cuomo and de Blasio, had yet to do similarly was beyond understanding. An onslaught was all but inevitable. The public would be rightly furious to be surprised by it.
“It’s incredible that the government hasn’t made the pivot yet to prepare the public for the likelihood that things are about to get very bad,” the official wrote. “Once public credibility is lost, it’s next to impossible to regain.”
Goldstein, de Blasio’s spokeswoman, disputed the idea that the mayor was ignoring or at odds with his top health officials, saying “their guidance was in lockstep with his.” She maintained that the lack of widespread testing had hindered the administration’s efforts.
“The issue was that we had one hand tied behind our back until after we had our first confirmed case, which we now know was likely weeks after the virus was spreading throughout the city. We were not given the tools we needed to properly detect the spread in the five boroughs, which left us with limited understanding for some time into the crisis.”
Asked about whether the mayor was briefed on the Lipsitch model, the one shared with the city in February suggesting the city could see tens of thousands of cases within weeks, Goldstein said she didn’t know.
The city official’s notes show that the Health Department into early March remained confounded by the mayor’s continued talk about prevailing against the threat.
“He doesn’t get it,” the official wrote. “Not convinced that there’s a volcano about to blow beneath us and thinks we need to beat this thing through ongoing containment efforts.”
On March 5, the notes became darker. The official said de Blasio had gagged the Health Department commissioner and her top deputy for infectious diseases for the last three days, ordering them to effectively endorse decisions he was making on his own. The official took a dim view of a mayoral press release claiming that “disease detectives” would be chasing down every case and ordering the infected into quarantine as fantasy.
“The hospital networks are looking to us for information and support, but we’re hampered by the official stances,” the official wrote. “More like China and Iran than what the city is used to getting.”
There were people in the Health Department who knew what was needed, the official said. They went unheeded.
The mayor, the official wrote, should be “employing a risk communication strategy that prepared the public for what we think will happen, that encouraged them to get ready for this — as we do with hurricanes — to figure out how to support the most vulnerable in our family, neighborhood, community, to get prepared for a time when one’s life might get disrupted, to be sure that one has 1-2 months of medications, etc.”
“Then, I’d get people ready for a time when the healthcare system may not function as it typically does, when hospitals will need to care for potentially thousands of severely ill patients when there’s a shortage of beds and ventilators, when there may be hospital outbreaks, when it may be hard to be seen by an outpatient provider. In short, we’d be preparing the public and health care community for a pandemic.”
The next day, March 6, after the failed briefing of de Blasio’s most senior aides on the disease model’s implications, the official wrote: “The inmates truly have taken over the asylum.”
“There is growing internal opposition and coalescence of determination to resist,” the official said of people within the Health Department, regardless of the mayor’s mistaken micromanaging. The official anticipated that it would be “a tough balancing act,” and that officials within the department would try to do what was needed “without getting fired.”
The department’s defiance quickly intensified, the official noted, saying that people at the “highest levels” were “mobilizing” to deliver an “ultimatum” to City Hall: “either pivot to pandemic planning today or they start to deal with a health department that won’t follow his orders.”
Cuomo, the city official said, did not help matters when he at the same time ordered all health departments statewide to quarantine people who might have come in contact with an infected person or traveled to a country with an outbreak. The city was ordered to provide housing with single rooms and private bathrooms for such people. To the official, it was yet another waste of precious time, energy and resources chasing the lost idea that the virus could be contained.
“Forgive them,” the official wrote, “for they know not what they do.”
The city’s Health Department was not alone in despairing of the mayor’s handling of the crisis.
On March 9, a letter was sent to de Blasio and his health commissioner by 18 academics and community leaders demanding that the mayor seriously begin to consider closing schools and curtailing business hours. The signers included at least four distinguished professors at major schools of public health as well as the presidents of several organizations devoted to African American and Latino health and justice.
Those who signed the letter saw a particular threat to minority and poor communities, who are sicker and often rely on the local public hospital as their only source of care.
“What is the plan for them?” the letter asks. “There is no virtue in being a late adopter for these crucial interventions.”
There was no disagreement within the Health Department. Frustration had turned to fury.
Several top officials developed a plan to have one of the department’s most senior leaders effectively dare the mayor to fire him by going live on television and expressing the urgent need to close schools and issue more serious restrictions immediately.
Goldstein, de Blasio’s spokeswoman, said to her knowledge no one at the department had threatened to quit. She could not say if the mayor had seen the March 9 letter. She again maintained the mayor had followed the federal government’s guidance on the threat and how to test for it. She said it is now clear that advice was wrong, and that New York should have been focusing on people arriving in New York from Europe, not China.
On May 14, The New York Times reported that de Blasio’s failure to heed his own Health Department’s concerns was attributable in part to his reliance on the advice of Dr. Mitchell Katz, the head of the city’s Health and Hospitals Corporation. The Times uncovered a March 10 email from Katz to de Blasio’s top aides in which he downplayed the impact of social distancing measures.
There was “no proof that closures will help stop the spread,” Katz wrote in the email, according to the Times.
“We have to accept that unless a vaccine is rapidly developed, large numbers of people will get infected,” Katz wrote, the Times reported. “The good thing is greater than 99 percent will recover without harm. Once people recover they will have immunity. The immunity will protect the herd.”
Goldstein did not dispute the report, saying that de Blasio relied on a variety of advice, including his Health Department’s.
That is not how it was seen within the Health Department, according to the city official’s notes. De Blasio, the official wrote, wasn’t listening at all to his own most experienced experts.
“I don’t know what else to say,” the city official wrote of the mayor in early March. “Every message that we want to get to the public needs to go through him, and they end up getting nixed. City Hall continues to sideline and neuter the country’s premier public health department.”
“We’re getting introductions into congregate settings and hospitals, which is an indication that we’re well into community transmission.”
“We’re fucked.”
“This Is Ridiculous”
London Breed admits some wishful thinking when first confronted with the specter of COVID-19.
“I was kind of like, ‘Stop talking about it,’” the San Francisco mayor said in a recent interview with ProPublica. “Like, you know, like in my mind, I’m like, stop talking about it. It’s not going to hit. It’s like I knew it was coming, but I was trying to will it not to hit.”
But from January on, her chief of staff, Sean Elsbernd, would scarcely let a day go by without bringing it up. Elsbernd and the director of public health, Dr. Grant Colfax, reminded Breed that her city had one of the largest Chinese American communities in the country. They thus paid close attention as the numbers of infected grew exponentially in Wuhan and the virus made its way across Europe.
Colfax was particularly well-suited to recognize the threat early. He was inspired to enter the medical profession some 30 years earlier by the devastating impact of HIV/AIDS on the gay community in the San Francisco Bay Area. Before Breed chose him to lead her Health Department, Colfax had worked in the Obama White House from 2012 to 2014, where he was the director of the Office of National AIDS Policy. He had been involved in response efforts to Ebola and SARS. He was plugged into the world-renowned epidemiology community in the area.
So in January, Breed saw him as a natural fit to lead a kind of improvised cabinet that would advise her on the threat of COVID-19.
Colfax’s briefings for Breed pretty quickly turned ominous. Colfax began to share distressing figures with her, drawn from data publicly released by the World Health Organization and Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. He’d later draw on models from the University of California schools in Berkeley and San Francisco to help understand how many beds would be necessary for treatment, but even without such local forecasting, it was clear to Colfax that the coronavirus could exact a heavy toll on the city.
Breed remembers the briefings vividly. The projections were like something out of a movie. She still feels the fear and confusion as she describes what she learned in those early days.
“We just didn’t have what we needed. We didn’t have what we needed in terms of testing. We didn’t have what we needed in terms of PPE [personal protective equipment], and I just couldn’t believe that we were in a situation like that even though we knew something like this was coming,” she said.
She remembers confronting Colfax and his staff with her disbelief. In her mind, if there were ever an ideal place to get sick, it was San Francisco. There were prestigious hospitals. Biotech research labs. And, as Breed put it, “all these little medical places on the corners everywhere in the city.”
“All of this here in San Francisco and we don’t have the ability to handle this situation if we do nothing? That was what set off an alarm for me,” Breed recalled.
She thought of her own grandmother, who had raised her in a housing project in the city’s Western Addition.
“Just imagine people showing up to the hospital, like if my grandmother, who is not alive today, but let’s say if she were and I took her to San Francisco General because she had the virus and she couldn’t hardly breathe. And she was turned away because they didn’t have a bed for her,” Breed said.
On Jan. 27, Breed and her team established an Emergency Operations Center, pairing clinicians with emergency responders to identify and respond to the city’s needs under the guidance of multiple city agencies. Over the coming weeks, they would figure out where the city could place additional hospital beds and create makeshift hospitals if necessary. They developed strategies to defuse the threat by spreading out people living in congregate settings like homeless shelters and assisted living facilities. Still, Colfax was worried that the city was not moving fast enough.
On Sunday, Feb. 23, Colfax said he was heading home from a weekend away in the Sierras. As his partner drove and the California landscape zipped by along I-80, Colfax reviewed data on his cellphone in the passenger seat. What he saw leapt off the screen: There was the attack rate, which is how quickly the virus spreads among an at-risk population; the death rate, which is how many people die once they get it; and then, perhaps most alarming, the lack of treatment options, which showed how quickly it could overwhelm a health system.
“This is not an incremental process,” he said he realized. “And it became really clear to me that we needed to act faster than the virus,” he said. “It wasn’t as though jurisdictions were saying, ‘Oh, we overreacted.’”
Before he even got home, he called a meeting with his staff from the car and arranged to meet the mayor the following day, Monday, Feb. 24. He told his staff they would need to persuade her to issue a local emergency order.
Breed did not resist. Such a step, though drastic, would allow her to respond to an unseen virus the same way she would a very visible disaster, like an earthquake. If that’s what Colfax deemed necessary, that’s what she would do.
“They are the experts in this world, and so with every decision I’ve made, I had to feel confident in the science and the facts and the data,” she said. “They’re the ones who understand this stuff and know what’s going on and what it can do. And I trusted them.”
Any city employee from that point on would be activated as a disaster service worker, which meant they could be redeployed to tasks that might range from monitoring hotels temporarily housing the homeless to feeding people who have been quarantined to distributing information to San Francisco residents on how best to protect themselves.
She would not have to wait on legislative or bureaucratic approval to spend city money to address such concerns. It would cut a lot of red tape, but it would come with significant risk: The city’s economy revolves around tourism, which was already suffering. Conventions had been canceled. Chinatown, which Breed said was already a “ghost town” at that point, had been the site of several xenophobic attacks. Would this amplify panic? Stigma? Violence?
“As much as it pains me to have to go this route,” she said of her thinking at the time, “it was necessary because we knew that it was coming to San Francisco. We just didn’t know when, and we had to be ready because … we just weren’t moving fast enough.”
She issued the order on Feb. 25, the day before de Blasio’s reassuring press conference in New York. De Blasio would not issue New York City’s emergency order for another 16 days, waiting until March 12 when the number of cases reached 95.
“Although there are still zero confirmed cases in San Francisco residents, the global picture is changing rapidly, and we need to step up preparedness,” Breed said in her announcement. “We see the virus spreading in new parts of the world every day, and we are taking the necessary steps to protect San Franciscans from harm.”
She has acknowledged there was some backlash from economic leaders and Bay Area sports fans, but she stood fast and, over the ensuing weeks, made increasing use of her emergency powers. She issued a series of increasingly cautious, restrictive measures: On March 6, she issued an order recommending that people ages 60 and older stay home as much as possible and told San Francisco employers to eliminate nonessential travel; on March 9, she authorized $5 million in funding to reduce risk of exposure for the homeless and people living on the margins; on March 11, gatherings of 1,000 or more were banned; by March 13, that number was reduced to 100.
That weekend, Colfax absorbed more bad news. He was in awe of the now infamous graphical representations of viral spread. The curves showing spread did not move along a gradual ridge, but in sharp spikes. Colfax explained that part of what drives that spike upward so quickly is that people can spread the virus without knowing it.
“I remember very distinctly looking at the John Hopkins website and just seeing the same damn curve that we saw in Wuhan,” he said in an interview. “The same damn curve [in Italy] and then, you know, very similar curves that were developing in Spain. So I called my staff again on Sunday and said, ‘Look, you know we have been given the gift of time.’ And that’s where I said, ‘You know, we’ve got to think about shutting down restaurants.’”
Breed was starting to come to that conclusion on her own. For her, the revelatory moment came out of frustration. By March 13, she had issued three consecutive orders at the behest of her advisers over about two weeks limiting public gatherings to increasingly smaller numbers.
“It got to a point where I’m like, this is ridiculous,” she said. “There’s no data that helps to make that decision. I’m not going to keep announcing these arbitrary numbers of the events that we have in the city. That it needs to be reduced to 50 or five or what have you.”
She was also looking warily at one county to the south, Santa Clara, which at that time already had more than 100 known cases and had issued a local emergency order two weeks prior to San Francisco.
For her, the direction was clear: Shut it down.
But she knew she couldn’t do it on her own. Unlike their counterparts in New York, Newsom and Breed have a strong rapport. They have shared staff and policy ideas. Jason Elliott, one of Newsom’s senior advisers, had worked in Breed’s office.
“I’m always yelling at him about something to do,” she said of Elliott with a laugh. “They’re very supportive of us. I don’t have this ‘you better not’ kind of tension.”
In an interview, California Health and Human Services Secretary Dr. Mark Ghaly said the Newsom administration was having daily conversations with the public health officers in San Francisco and the surrounding cities and counties in advance of the shelter-in-place orders and that in those conversations, they decided it was important for the counties “to demonstrate they could go with a more stringent order than the state.”
“It felt like it was the right move at the time,” Ghaly said.
He said that the entire state took the same step days later “because it does turn out that every day seems to make a difference in how quickly we were able to respond and control this sort of transmission.”
He said that the limitations imposed in San Francisco and the surrounding area seemed to help Californians adjust to the idea they’d face the same hardships.
“It was actually a decision that, although heavy and hard to make, we made with a great deal of confidence,” he said. “We knew that it would be sort of heard with a lot of scrutiny. But honestly, in retrospect, we’re very pleased with how California reacted pretty much immediately.”
“A True Phenomenon”
In New York, where alarm would lead to action on its own trajectory, Cuomo was most closely concerned with testing. He’d mobilized the state lab to develop one, and in early March he would strike a deal with 28 private labs to produce as many as possible.
Testing, a Cuomo administration official said, offered the best tool for tackling the basic questions: where the virus was and how fast it was moving.
Events in and around New Rochelle, the scene of the second case in New York, provided some of that evidence. Members of the sickened man’s family tested positive, then members of his synagogue. By March 5, there were 18 cases in Westchester County, home to New Rochelle and directly north of New York City.
Cuomo was unfazed. Even a touch piqued.
“The facts do not merit the level of anxiety we are seeing,” he said. “The number will increase because it is math. The more people you test, the more positives you are going to find. I’m a little perturbed about the daily angst when the number comes out and the number is higher. Perturbed meaning, I’m perturbed that people get anxious every time the number goes up. The number has to go up if you continue to test.”
There were, however, growing numbers of experts and elected officials in the U.S. who had already been questioning the strategy of waiting for test results and acting in targeted ways. To them, the likelihood was that the virus already was everywhere.
On March 8, Frieden weighed in again. Frieden, after his stint as health commissioner in New York City, had run the CDC in the Obama administration and is considered a leading authority on public health.
“Last week, I noted that we were in the calm before the storm,” he wrote. “Now, the storm has started in the United States and is gathering strength.”
On March 2, Cuomo convened an interagency state task force to create and execute a strategy for combating COVID-19, with every department from homeland security to administrative services represented. Melissa DeRosa, Cuomo’s closest aide, was placed on the task force, as was Zucker, the state’s health commissioner. Zucker’s department had the experts and had written the state’s pandemic response plan.
More than a week later, on March 10, Cuomo decided there had been enough positive tests to take action in New Rochelle. Westchester County had 100 cases, many of them believed to be traceable to the lawyer who had turned up positive on March 2.
Cuomo closed the local schools and cordoned off the city, even calling in the National Guard. In an interview, the Cuomo administration official said the move amounted to a dramatic response to real numbers of cases. It felt calibrated and appropriate.
“This is unique. We’ve not seen this elsewhere,” he said of the spread in Westchester County. “It’s a true phenomenon.”
The cause for wider alarm was not great, Cuomo emphasized.
“As the number of positive cases rises,” Cuomo went on, “I am urging all New Yorkers to remember the bottom line: We talk about all this stuff to keep the public informed — not to incite fear — and if you are not a member of the vulnerable population, then there is no reason for excess anxiety.”
The Cuomo administration official said the governor had not meant to downplay what was happening in Westchester County. He had merely been struck by the implications of a single man’s illness, calling the lawyer a “super spreader,” and saying Cuomo regarded the events as unique in the U.S.
ProPublica spoke with a half a dozen epidemiologists who said the events in New Rochelle could have been an opportunity for Cuomo to have acted more boldly and broadly. Instead of treating the threat as isolated to Westchester County, Cuomo could have seen a sign of wider infection in tightly packed New York City that hadn’t been detected because of inadequate testing.
“What made anyone in New York think it wasn’t going to get hit, and hit hard?” asked Rupak Shivakoti, an epidemiologist at Columbia. When you’re dealing with a pandemic’s exponential growth in the number of infections, he said, “even a week makes a huge difference.”
More radical steps were already being taken elsewhere. Italy ordered its national lockdown on March 9. Spain did the same a week later, barring children from setting foot outside their homes. On March 13, Los Angeles closed its public schools.
Recent disease models now estimate that, by the time of the first confirmed cases on March 1 and March 2, at least 10,000 people in New York were infected with the coronavirus.
The Cuomo administration official said that from the beginning their team had made use of a variety of disease spread models in their deliberations on what actions to take and when. He said Zucker, the health commissioner, had taken the lead in analyzing the models
In San Francisco and California, officials had looked at similar models, as well as ones state and local officials had commissioned, and decided their value was not in guiding incremental decisions, but in making clear the daunting big picture: a possible tidal wave of cases. One waited for concrete evidence at one’s peril.
In New York, the city Health Department both made use of the modeling tool created by Lipsitch at Harvard and separately partnered with Columbia University’s Mailman School of Public Health to create a model. But Jeff Shaman, who oversaw the modeling work at Columbia, said the state didn’t contact him until March 20 to make use of the tool.
The people responsible for equipping Cuomo and his health commissioner with expert analysis are the scientists at the state Health Department.
“If you have a state Health Department, you damn well better have someone intimately familiar with disease modeling,” Shaman said.
Bruno, the Health Department spokesman, said the state’s epidemiology team at the department was highly accomplished.
Whatever was coming to Cuomo from the state Health Department, one New York City official said it didn’t reflect the input of city health experts. The state had chosen to effectively do without the help of the city Health Department, the official said. While the state’s own pandemic response plan underscored the necessity for state and local health departments to be working together, the city official said the state had opted for “radio silence” in its dealings with the city.
The official said early on, the two departments had worked closely and in sync. They conducted joint webinars for health care providers to keep them informed and guide them in their preparations.
“There was an amazing trust,” the city official said. “Then, in late February, the switch flipped. All communication ended. We were left to work in a black box.”
City health officials were disinvited from subsequent planning meetings with health care providers. Calls and emails were ignored. Information sharing in the midst of a pandemic halted.
The city official said city health workers asked their state counterparts what had caused the sudden lack of communication and cooperation. It was out of character for people the city had worked with intimately for years. Their counterparts would not or could not say, but the city official concluded it had been ordered from the governor’s office.
“It was,” the city official said, “smoke from another fire.”
In the coming weeks, the lack of a collaborative relationship between city and state officials played out in real ways. Nursing homes, all overseen by the state, had become scenes of misery and death as the virus swept through the aging populations. Initially, the state asked the city’s help in identifying and then responding to the increasingly dire outbreaks. The city took on responsibility for monitoring 25 nursing homes and offered to help coordinate any interventions.
And then, again, the partnership foundered.
“We were told our help wasn’t needed,” the city official said. “A lot of switches being flipped. And all in the same direction.”
“The Panic We Are Seeing Is Outpacing the Reality of the Virus”
Deeper into March, Cuomo appears to have come to the conclusion he needed to act more boldly. On March 11, he told New Yorkers they only needed to worry if they were among the vulnerable population, the aged or people with other serious diseases. But the very next day, he banned mass gatherings of more than 500 people. Three days after that, he warned of a wave of COVID-19 cases that could “crash our health care system.”
Even then, though, in pleading for more federal help with testing and maybe building emergency hospital capacity, his message was mixed.
“While again I want to remind people that the facts do not warrant the level of anxiety that is out there, we will continue working closely with every level of government to mitigate the impact of this virus and protect the public health.”
No one ProPublica spoke with for this article failed to appreciate the size of the decisions Cuomo faced. To shut down New York was to do immeasurable economic harm and upend the lives of more than 20 million people, as it appears to have done. That harm could well prove lasting, consigning New York to a damaged and diminished stature for years.
“Gubernatorial leadership is important. The moment was made for someone like Cuomo,” said Chris Koller, president of the Milbank Memorial Fund, a health policy organization in New York. “That said, a leader plays the hand he’s been dealt. He was dealt a pretty crappy hand because of the failures at the federal level.”
Brezenoff, the former New York City official who ran the city’s public hospitals under Mayor Ed Koch, said when fate deals a political leader the worst possible cards, it’s crucial not to make things even worse.
“I respect the complexity of what they were facing,” Brezenoff said. “Lots of things to weigh and not an enviable position. Personalities, governing styles, they do play a part in all that. And their implications can be magnified in circumstances like these.”
The Cuomo administration said what they sought to achieve from March 15 to March 22 was an “orderly winding down” of one of the country’s most populous states and an enormous economy. They feared the effects of a sudden announcement that New York was locking down its populace.
“You go too fast, and you scare the hell out of people,” the Cuomo official said.
Cuomo ordered all New York schools closed on March 15. The administration told local governments to keep 25% of their workforces at home, then, 50%, then 75%. The official said Zucker was a critical adviser on those decisions.
“He was very forceful about the health aspects of social isolation,” the official said of Zucker.
The Cuomo administration official said they were balancing all sorts of information and risks in moving the state toward closure.
In mid-March, the work of the modelers inclined the governor and his aides to consider more extreme measures, even a shutdown. He said, though, that some local officials and business owners pushed back against the idea of shutting down. The administration, he said, believed that the effectiveness of a shutdown would depend on the willingness of people to go along.
“Turn the valve, isolate hot spots, wind things down,” the official said. “It’s a big undertaking. You want people to comply.”
Newsom, of course, had to balance taking dramatic action to limit the spread of the virus with the needs of business interests in his state, too. California, which would have the world’s fifth largest economy if it were its own nation, is home to crucial segments of the nation’s oil and gas and food industries.
In an email, the Newsom administration said those sectors were designated as part of the essential workforce during the state’s shutdown because of their importance to public health and safety. The administration said it had been in frequent contact with business and labor leaders across the state, talking individually to groups representing grocers, growers, farmworkers and Chevron.
The Newsom administration would not answer a question about whether it had communicated its shelter-in-place strategy with Cuomo.
With New York City’s schools closed, de Blasio on March 17 raised the possibility of asking everyone in the city to shelter in place.
The Cuomo official said de Blasio’s talk was “freaking people out.” If the most drastic sorts of constraints on the public were to be ordered, it would be done with deliberation.
On March 19, Cuomo announced what he called “the ultimate step.” He issued an executive order requiring “that all nonessential businesses statewide must close in-office personnel functions.” Cuomo said he was temporarily banning “all nonessential gatherings of individuals of any size for any reason.”
It would be another two days before the order went into effect.
“We know the most effective way to reduce the spread of this virus is through social distancing and density reduction measures,” Cuomo said. “I have said from the start that any policy decision we make will be based on the facts, and as we get more facts we will calibrate our response accordingly.”
“Again, I want to remind New Yorkers that the panic we are seeing is outpacing the reality of the virus,” Cuomo added, “and we will get through this period of time together.”
ProPublica asked Denis Nash, a professor of epidemiology at the CUNY Graduate School of Public Health and Health Policy, to evaluate the Cuomo administration’s repeated boast: that it had acted faster than any other state in moving from the discovery of the first case to the closing of the state.
Nash said the claim was misleading, and that the administration’s measure is irrelevant. The more telling metric is the timing of action in relation to spread. One way to calculate that, he said, would be deaths per million, which was about 10 times higher in New York than in California by the time officials decided to close down the state.
“There is no question that California timed its response better,” he said.
Nash was one of 18 experts who tried to get the city to act sooner in a formal letter to de Blasio.
“As early as the first week of March, the governor and the mayor were being told from all around them that there was active community transmission happening in New York and they needed to take action,” he said. “They knew. And it seems disingenuous to now claim they were the fastest.”
This Isn’t Italy
In recent days, both Cuomo and de Blasio have talked about the importance of looking candidly at the deadly events that have unfolded in New York, of identifying mistakes and better preparing for future disasters, including a potential second wave of COVID-19.
But it remains to be seen how searching that look back will be.
De Blasio, for instance, again seemed to insult his Health Department when he last week assigned oversight of the city’s critical contact tracing program to Katz, the city hospital executive who had expressed skepticism in March about the need for the city to close down.
The contact tracing effort, under which the city will try and systematically hunt down people at risk of having been infected, will be a vital part of any effort to open New York back up. The Health Department has always done this work, but now it will be answerable to Katz.
De Blasio has said the arrangement will help make the effort more efficient and less expensive.
As for Cuomo, he has swerved from what seemed like moments of personal reckoning to harsh assaults on others he blames for New York’s dire outcomes.
“If you don’t understand how it happened last time and you don’t learn the lessons of what happened last time, then you will repeat them, right?” Cuomo said at a May 8 news briefing. “And there’s a chance this virus comes back. They talk about a second wave. They talk about a mutation. And if it’s not this virus, another public health issue. And I think we have to learn from this.”
Yet at the same briefing, Cuomo laid out a narrative of the disaster that seeks to blame the CDC and others for failing to make clear one of the great threats to New York came not from China, but from those infected in Europe.
“Nobody was saying, ‘Beware of people coming from Europe.’ We weren’t testing people coming from Europe,” Cuomo said. “We weren’t telling anyone at the time if you have a European visitor or European guest, make sure they get tested. They walked right through the airport.”
The narrative, of course, fails to note people were not just flying from Europe to New York, but to California and other cities and states. And it seems to portray New York, its health departments and government officials, as somehow innocent bystanders, incapable of having themselves seen the threat from Europe and factored that in their response. That Italy and Spain were being overwhelmed by the virus was hardly a secret.
As for his own state’s actions, Cuomo today appears to see little reason for regret or apology.
At one media briefing in April, as New Yorkers died by the hundreds daily, Cuomo made a bold claim.
“Today, we can say that we have lost many of our brothers and sisters, but we haven’t lost anyone because they didn’t get the right and best health care that they could,” he said. “The way I sleep at night is I believe that we didn’t lose anyone that we could have saved, and that is the only solace when I look at these numbers and I look at this pain that has been created that has to be true.”
Cuomo just last week seemed to double down on the sentiment.
“I don’t think New Yorkers feel or Americans feel that government failed them here,” he said in an interview. “I think they feel good about what government has done. ... Their health care system did respond. This was not Italy, with all due respect. ... There were not people in hallways who didn’t get health care treatment.”
TSA stockpiled a huge shipment of N95 masks they knew they didn't need. Airport traffic fell 95 percent, and the masks have sat unused as hospitals searched desperately for them.
This article was first published on Wednesday, May 6, 2020 in ProPublica.
By J. David McSwane
The Transportation Security Administration ignored guidance from the Department of Homeland Security and internal pushback from two agency officials when it stockpiled more than 1.3 million N95 respirator masks instead of donating them to hospitals, internal records and interviews show.
Internal concerns were raised in early April, when COVID-19 cases were growing by the thousands and hospitals in some parts of the country were overrun and desperate for supplies. The agency held on to the cache of life-saving masks even as the number of people coming through U.S. airports dropped by 95% and the TSA instructed many employees to stay home to avoid being infected. Meanwhile, other federal agencies, including the Department of Veterans Affairs' vast network of hospitals, scrounged for the personal protective equipment that doctors and nurses are dying without.
"We don't need them. People who are in an infectious environment need them. Nobody is flying," Charles Kielkopf, a TSA attorney based in Columbus, Ohio, told ProPublica. "You don't take things for yourself. It's the wrong thing to do."
Kielkopf shared a copy of an official whistleblower complaint he filed Monday. In it, he alleges the agency had engaged in gross mismanagement that represented a "substantial and specific danger to public health."
TSA has not required its screeners to wear N95s, which require fitting and training to use properly, and internal memos show most are using surgical masks, which are more widely available but are less effective and lack the same filtering ability.
Kielkopf raised a red flag last month about the TSA's plan to store N95 respirators it had been given by Customs and Border Protection, which found more than a million old but usable masks in an Indiana warehouse. Both agencies are overseen by DHS. That shipment added to 116,000 N95s the TSA had left over from the swine flu pandemic of 2009, a TSA memo shows. While both stockpiles were older than the manufacturer's recommended shelf life, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said that expired masks remain effective against spreading the virus.
Kielkopf and another TSA official in Minnesota suggested that the agency send its N95 masks to hospitals in early April, records show. Instead, TSA quietly stored many of them in its warehouse near the Dallas-Fort Worth airport and dispersed the rest to empty airports across the nation.
"We need to reserve medical masks for health care workers," Kielkopf said, "not TSA workers who are behind an X-ray machine."
The TSA didn't provide answers to several detailed questions sent by ProPublica, but spokesman Mark Howell said in an email that the agency's "highest priority is to ensure the health, safety and security of our workforce and the American people."
"With the support of CBP and DHS, in April, TSA was able to ensure a sufficient supply of N95 masks would be available for any officer who chose to wear one and completed the requisite training," the statement read.
"We are continuing to acquire additional personal protective equipment for our employees to ensure both their and the traveling public's health and safety based on our current staffing needs, and as supplies become available," TSA said.
A review of federal contracting data shows the agency has mostly made modest purchases such as a $231,000 purchase for gallons of disinfectant, but has not reported any new purchases of N95s.
An internal TSA memo last month said the surplus of N95s was expected to last the agency about 30 days, but the same memo noted that estimate did not account for the drastic decline in security officers working at airports. ProPublica asked how long the masks were actually going to last, accounting for the decreased staffing levels.
"While we cannot provide details on staffing, passenger throughput and corresponding operations have certainly decreased," the TSA statement said.
The trade journal Government Executive reported this week that internal TSA records showed most employee schedules have been "sharply abbreviated," while an additional 8,000 security screeners are on paid leave over concerns that they could be exposed to the virus.
More than 500 TSA employees have tested positive for COVID-19, the agency reported, and five have died.
The CDC has not recommended the use of N95s by TSA staff, records show, but that doesn't mean workers who have or want to wear them can't.
In one April 7 email, DHS Deputy Under Secretary for Management Randolph D. Alles sent guidance to TSA officials, urging them to wear homemade cloth face coverings and maintain social distancing. But the N95s, which block 95% of particles that can transmit the virus, were in notoriously short supply and should be "reserved" for health care workers.
"The CDC has given us very good information about how to make masks that are suitable, so that we can continue to reserve medical masks and PPE for healthcare workers battling the COVID-19 pandemic," Alles wrote.
But two days later, on April 9, Cliff Van Leuven, TSA's federal security director in Minnesota, followed up and asked why he had been sent thousands of masks despite that guidance.
"I just received 9,000 N-95 masks that I have very little to no need for," he said in the email, which was first reported by Government Executive. "We've made N95s available to our staff and, of the officers who wear masks, they overwhelmingly prefer the surgical masks we just received after a couple months on back order."
Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz had publicly asked that anyone who had PPE donate their surplus to the state's Department of Health, Van Leuven said in the email to senior TSA staff.
"I'd like to donate the bulk of our current stock of N-95s in support of that need and keep a small supply on hand," he wrote, adding the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport had screened fewer than 1,500 people the previous day, about a third of which were airport staff.
Van Leuven declined to comment, referring questions to a TSA spokesperson.
Later that day, Kielkopf forwarded the concerns to TSA attorneys in other field offices, trying to get some attention to the stockpile he felt would be better used at hospitals.
"I am sharing with you some issues we are having with n95 masks in Minnesota," he wrote. "And the tension between our increasing supply of n95 masks at our TSA airport locations and the dire need for them in the medical community."
Weeks went by, and finally, on May 1, Kielkopf wrote: "I have been very disappointed in our position to keep tens of thousands of n95 masks while healthcare workers who have a medical requirement for the masks — because of their contact with infected people — still go without."
DHS did not respond to ProPublica's questions about why it transferred N95 masks to TSA despite a top official saying they should be reserved for healthcare workers.
"So now the TSA position is that we desperately need these masks for the protection of our people," Kielkopf said. "At the same time, most of our people aren't even working. It's a complete 180 that doesn't make any sense."
One of every four Filipinos in the New York-New Jersey area is employed in the health care industry. With at least 30 worker deaths and many more family members lost to the coronavirus, a community at the epicenter of the pandemic has been left reeling.
This article was first published on Sunday, May 3, 2020 in ProPublica.
When Alfredo Pabatao told his family that he had helped move a suspected coronavirus patient through the hospital where he’d worked as an orderly for nearly 20 years, he didn’t make a big deal out of it. “My parents are the type of parents who don’t like to make us worry,” his youngest daughter, Sheryl, recalled. But Sheryl was concerned that her father’s vulnerabilities weren’t being given more consideration as he toiled on the pandemic’s front lines in hard-hit northern New Jersey. “Why would they let a 68-year-old man with an underlying heart condition … transport a suspected COVID patient when there’s younger transporters in the hospital who could do it?”
Sheryl’s mother, Susana, was an assistant nurse in a long-term care facility where she often pulled double shifts, saving money for her annual trips back to the Philippines. At 64, she wasn’t much younger than the elderly patients she helped bathe and feed, and she had diabetes, which increased her risk of severe complications if she got sick. The nursing home wasn’t providing adequate personal protection equipment, Susana reported, so Sheryl brought home a stash of surgical masks for her mother to wear on the job. That didn’t go over well with Susana’s managers, Sheryl said: “They gave her a warning, saying she shouldn’t be wearing that. … She was really mad.”
Alfredo fell ill first, his symptoms flaring on March 17. Susana soon developed a fever. The couple had grown up on the same street in Manila and shared a romance that reminded their daughter of a telenovela; after 44 years of marriage and five children, they were all but inseparable. “Where mom goes, my dad goes. Where my dad goes, my mom goes. That’s the way they are,” Sheryl said. The day Alfredo was admitted to the ICU, his heart failing, Susana checked into the same hospital. They died four days apart.
Filipino American medical workers have suffered some of the most staggering losses in the coronavirus pandemic. In the New York-New Jersey region alone, ProPublica learned of at least 30 deaths of Filipino health care workers since the end of March and many more deaths in those peoples’ extended families. The virus has struck hardest where a huge concentration of the community lives and works. They are at “the epicenter of the epicenter,” said Bernadette Ellorin, a community organizer.
Some of the largest Filipino enclaves on the East Coast are in the New York City borough of Queens and northern New Jersey — the very places now being ravaged by COVID-19.
Filipinos are on the front lines there and across the country, four times more likely to be nurses than any other ethnic group in the U.S., experts say. In the New York-New Jersey region, nearly a quarter of adults with Filipino ancestry work in hospitals or other medical fields, a ProPublica analysis of 2017 U.S. census data found. The statistic bears repeating: Of every man and woman in the Filipino community there, one in four works in the health care industry.
“So many people can rattle off five, 10 relations that are working in the medical field,” said filmmaker Marissa Aroy, whose most recent documentary is about Filipino nurses. Her parents were registered nurses in California, and various relatives are in health care professions, including a cousin who works in a rehab center in the Bronx and recently recovered from COVID-19. “Think about all of those family members who are going to be affected,” Aroy said. “We’re talking about huge family structures here.”
The scale of the trauma and the way it is unfolding are “similar to times of war,” said Kevin Nadal, a professor of psychology at John Jay College of Criminal Justice and The Graduate Center of the City University of New York who has written extensively about Filipino American psychology and culture.
The majority of the reported deaths have involved nurses, including Susan Sisgundo and Ernesto “Audie” DeLeon, who worked at Bellevue Hospital in New York City, and Marlino Cagas, who spent 40 years as a pharmacy tech at Harlem Hospital before embarking on a nursing career at the age of 60. A handful, including Jessie Ariel Ferreras, a family practitioner in Bergen County, were doctors. Others worked in support roles, like Louis Torres, 47, the director of food services at a nursing home in Woodside, Queens, and his 73-year-old mother, Lolita, or Lely, a clerk at a nearby hospital. They lived together and fellsick around the same time, both developing pneumonia. Lolita died on April 7, her son, the following day.
Don Ryan Batayola, a 40-year-old occupational therapist, was from a big, tight-knit family and lived in Springfield Township, New Jersey. He is believed to have caught the virus from a patient and was rushed to the hospital on March 31. By April 4, he had improved enough to FaceTime with his wife, also an occupational therapist who was sick and self-isolating at home, their children sheltering with relatives. Then, an hour later, he went into cardiac arrest.
One of the most wrenching aspects of the epidemic is the sense of disconnection and helplessness in a community that stakes its economic well-being on providing care and comfort and cherishes its closeness. So many members of Batayola’s extended family are health care workers, “we could almost open our own hospital,” said his oldest sister Aimee Canton, an oncology nurse in Northern California. But to protect each other, they’ve had to remain apart, with no idea when they’ll be able to come together again. “It’s so sad when you’re a nurse,” Canton said, “and you can’t even help your own family.”
Almost all the deaths of Filipino American health care workers that ProPublica found involve people, like the Batayolas, who immigrated during the 1970s to 2000s, when critical shortages created opportunities for medical personnel with the right training.
But the story of Filipino nurses in the U.S. goes back much further, to the end of the Spanish-American War in 1898, when the Philippines became a U.S. territory, said Catherine Ceniza Choy, a professor of ethnic studies at the University of California, Berkeley, and author of “Empire of Care: Nursing and Migration in Filipino American History.” One legacy of the colonial era is a network of hundreds of Americanized nursing schools that eventually produced tens of thousands of caregivers a year, making the country “the leading exporter of nurses in the world,” Choy said.
Nursing offered an escape route from economic and political instability and a path to the middle class for those who had few other options. It also appealed to deeply held cultural values: “kapwa,” Tagalog for “a feeling of interconnectedness to all people, putting others before yourself and taking care of the community,” Nadal said, and “utang ng loob,” the idea that people owe a debt to each other and to those who came before.
Most nurses trained in the Philippines who sought work abroad hoped to end up in the U.S. (They also migrated in large numbers to the Middle East and the U.K.) American immigration policies ebbed and flowed depending on labor shortages and political expediency. In the first third of the 20th century, the numbers of Filipino nurses were small; most workers from the islands were sent to the fields of California and the plantations of Hawaii. Then, in the wake of the Great Depression, Filipino immigrants were capped at just 50 per year, rising to 100 after World War II.
After the war, U.S. nursing shortages grew acute. Even as the passage of Medicare and Medicaid made health care more accessible to the elderly and poor, the rise of the feminist movement, which opened up professional opportunities for American women, made caregiver work less appealing, Choy said. The Immigration Act of 1965 swept aside the long-standing system of country-based quotas, instead giving preference to immigrants with professional degrees. Tens of thousands of Filipino nurses answered the call.
Many ended up at inner-city and rural hospitals that had the greatest difficulty recruiting staff, often working the least desirable jobs and shifts, including, in the 1980s and ’90s, on the front lines of the AIDS epidemic. It was part of a historical pattern, said Nadal, of “immigrants doing a lot of the dirty work that people don’t want to do... being painted as heroes, when in reality they are only put in these positions because their lives are viewed as disposable.”
Yet it was a template for economic security that many of their American-born children and grandchildren embraced. “It’s like any kind of family dynamic,” Aroy said. “You see your parents do the job. And so then you know that that’s accessible to you. As a second- generation kid, I always knew that was a path for me if I wanted it.”
Today, people of Filipino ancestry comprise about 1% of the U.S. population but more than 7% of the hospital and health care workforce in the United States — nearly 500,000 workers, according to census data. They find themselves fighting not just a potentially lethal illness, but the scapegoating stoked by President Donald Trump and supporters who have taken to calling COVID-19 the “Chinese virus.” Since late March, civil rights organizations have received nearly 1,500 reports of anti-Asian hate incidents, mostly from California and New York, including against Filipino Americans.
“This anti-Asian racism that’s happening right now,” Aroy said, “what it makes me want to do is scream out: ‘How dare you treat us like the carriers? We are your caregivers.’”
A host of factors, from medical to cultural, have put large numbers of Filipinos in harm’s way and made them vulnerable to the types of severe complications that often turn deadly. They begin with the specific type of health care work they do.
A survey by the Philippine Nurses Association of America published in 2018 found that a large proportion of respondents were concentrated in bedside and critical care — “the opposite of social distancing,” said executive director Leo-Felix Jurado, who teaches nursing at William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey. Many of the organization’s members have contracted the virus, he said, including the current president, New Jersey-based registered nurse Madelyn Yu; she is recovering, but her husband died.
For Daisy Doronila, employed at the Hudson County Correctional Facility in northern New Jersey for more than two decades, the profession was almost a religious calling. “My mom had a very, very humble beginning,” said her only child, Denise Rendor. “She really wanted to take care of people that no one wanted to take care of.”
Doronila saw her responsibilities to her colleagues no less seriously. The single mother and devout Catholic “was always the most reliable person at the job,” Rendor said. “If there was a snowstorm, people called out, nope, not her: ‘I’ll be there.’” As a kid, Rendor sometimes resented the missed volleyball games and dance recitals. Looking back now, “I don’t think I would have the life that I had had my mom not worked so hard.”
It’s not clear how Doronila contracted the virus, though the Hudson County jail has had at least four deaths. Once she fell ill in mid-March, she was turned away for testing by clinics and doctors on three occasions because her symptoms didn’t meet the criteria at the time, Rendor said. On March 21, Doronila started feeling breathless and drove herself to urgent care, which sent her by ambulance to the hospital. She died on April 5 at the age of 60.
If she hadn’t gotten sick, Rendor is sure she would have been volunteering for extra shifts. “That’s just who my mother was. She was just always willing to help.”
That selflessness is common among Filipino immigrants, said Zeine Cortez, a registered nurse in the San Francisco Bay Area who is the president of the California Nurses Association/National Nurses United. “They have such a profound willingness to work that they would forget their own well-being,” she said. “They would think of their loved ones in the Philippines — if they don’t work, then they can’t send money back home.”
In 2019, Filipinos abroad sent $35 billion back to the Philippines, making it the fourth-largest recipient of overseas remittances in the world; many are also helping to support networks of relatives in the U.S. “That’s the economic factor that is on the minds of a lot of Filipino nurses,” Cortez said. “If we miss work, there will be no income.”
It’s a worry that keeps many Filipinos doing sometimes-grueling labor well into their 70s. Doronila’s colleague at the Hudson County jail, nurse Edwin Montanano, was 73 when he died in early April. Jesus Villaluz, a much-beloved patient transporter at Holy Name Medical Center in Teaneck, one of the worst-hit hospitals in northern New Jersey, was 75. “They cannot in their conscience walk away from patients who need them,” said Maria Castaneda, a registered nurse and the secretary-treasurer of 1199SEIU United Healthcare Workers East, who immigrated from the Philippines in 1984. “At the same time, they are there in solidarity with other co-workers. If they are not there, it adds to the burden of those who are working.”
COVID-19 risks are magnified in people who are older or suffer underlying chronic conditions. Filipinos have very high rates of Type II diabetes and cardiovasculardisease, both of which render the virus more dangerous. “They’re doing amazing things and helping others to survive,” Nadal said. “But they’re putting themselves at risk because they have immuno-compromised traits that make them susceptible to severe sickness and death.”
And in many situations, they’ve been forced to do that work without proper PPE and other safeguards, said Ellorin, the Queens-based community organizer and executive director of the advocacy group Mission to End Modern-Day Slavery. They are “being infected and not being protected, and then their families, or whoever they live with, are getting infected.”
Sheryl Pabatao thinks of the many people she knows who are working in hospitals and other medical settings and feel unable to speak out. “Even though they don’t want to do things, they still do it because they don’t want to lose their jobs.”
When they first applied to immigrate to the U.S. in the 1980s, Alfredo Pabatao was in the car business; Susana was a former nursing student turned housewife and mother of two. By the time their petition was approved about 14 years later, their two eldest children were too old to qualify to come to the U.S. with their parents, so the Pabataos were forced to leave them behind, bringing only their youngest two daughters and son. “To this day, that was one of the hardest things — being separated from everyone,” Sheryl said.
They arrived in the U.S. a few weeks after 9/11. One of Alfredo’s sisters, a registered nurse, helped him get a job transporting patients at her hospital, now known as Hackensack Meridian Health Palisades Medical Center, in North Bergen, New Jersey. “My father grew up with wealth, and when he came here, he had to be modest and humble,” Sheryl said. Susana earned her assistant nursing certification while working as a grocery store cashier, then went to work at what is now called Bergen New Bridge Medical Center in Paramus, the largest hospital and licensed nursing home in the state. Taking care of elderly people helped ease the sadness and guilt at what she had left behind. “She was not able to take care of her own mother,” Sheryl said. “So when she does her job here, she cares for them like her own.”
America proved to be both generous and hard. The couple prospered enough to buy a house, then lost it in the Great Recession. They managed to rebuild their lives and gained their U.S. citizenship, the kids choosing careers in the pharmaceutical side of health care. After 18 years in the same job, Alfredo was waiting for Susana to retire so he could, too.
Then came the pandemic.
Sheryl had been following the news reports from China since early February and was concerned enough about her family to procure a small supply of masks before vendors ran out; “I’d put my parents in a bubble if I can,” she said. Her father was more easygoing: “He has survived so many things in his life. His attitude is: ‘If I get it, I get it. I’ll be OK with it.’”
Sheryl doesn’t know how the responsibility fell to him to transport a patient suspected of having COVID-19 during the second week in March. “But knowing my dad, he agrees to anything. He has that work ethic: ‘This is my job. If I can do it, l do it.’ Knowing him, if one of the other [orderlies] didn’t want to transfer the patient, they asked him and he said yes.”
When Susana found out her husband had been exposed to the virus that way, she was not happy, Sheryl said. Susana was having her own issues at the nursing home. In mid-March, she received an email from her bosses that warned in boldface, “Facemasks are to be used only by staff who have an authorized or clinical reason to use them. Do not wear non-hospital issued facemasks.” It was a policy Susana complained was being made by people who weren’t doing bedside care and didn’t understand the real risks. She was also told the masks would scare patients. She pretended to obey the directive when her managers were around, Sheryl said, “but my mom was stubborn, so when they left, she put [her mask] back on.”
Bergen New Bridge called Susana a “valued” employee who is “greatly missed.” The hospital denied that it has experienced any PPE shortages, but it noted that “guidance from federal and state health officials regarding the use of PPE has been evolving.” Early on, “it was recommended that masks were to be worn only by those individuals who were sick or those who were caring for COVID-19 patients.” Once the virus began spreading within the community, “we quickly moved to universal masking of all employees,” the hospital said. “Like all healthcare facilities, our Medical Center has stressed the importance of using hospital-issued PPE, as guided by the CDC.”
As of April 29, New Bridge’s long-term care facility had recorded 120 confirmed COVID-19 cases and 26 deaths. Hackensack Meridian Health didn’t respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment about Alfredo’s case.
It wasn’t just Alfredo and Susana who fell ill. Sheryl and her brother, both living at home, caught the virus, too. The weekend before Alfredo’s symptoms emerged, he and the rest of the family attended a gathering in honor of a relative who had died in January from cancer. Alfredo spent much of the party talking to his younger brother; later, the brother ended up with COVID-19 and on a ventilator for nearly three weeks. An aunt of Sheryl’s who is a housekeeper in the same hospital system as Alfredo wasn’t at the gathering but fell ill anyway and was out sick for two weeks. Her symptoms weren’t as severe as those of some of the others; she’s already back at work.
The spread of the virus has been unrelenting for Sheryl. When she returned to her own job as a pharmacy tech this past week, a month after her parents died, she learned that someone who worked at her company — who was also Filipino — had died during her absence. “You have no idea about the extent of this,” she said, “until it hits you.”
Darcel Richardson knows she's fortunate in one sense: She still has her job as a vocational counselor in Baltimore. But despite that, she won't be able to make her rent payment this month because she's not getting her full salary for a while. More than $400 per biweekly paycheck — about a quarter of her after-tax income — has been siphoned off by Johns Hopkins University for unpaid medical bills at one of its hospitals.
Richardson, 60, got word of the garnishment from her employer just as the coronavirus pandemic was arriving in full force last month. "My job was going to take the money out. They don't want to get in trouble," she said. "I spoke with our payroll accountant, and the bottom line was, even though the crisis had begun, they still had to pay my money to them."
In a moment when hospitals nationwide are being heralded for their role at the front lines of fighting the pandemic, some Americans continue to experience a less favorable side of hospital operations: aggressive collection for unpaid medical bills, even at a time when many of the debtors are seeing their income plunge. Debt collection is occurring on other fronts as well, over unpaid college and bank loans among others, prompting debates over protecting people's economic stimulus checks from collection agencies or suspending garnishments outright. But collection by the very hospitals that are treating coronavirus patients brings the health and economic exigencies of the moment into especially stark relief.
In a few cases, hospitals have brought new cases against former patients in recent weeks, such as in Wisconsin, where Froedtert Hospital in Milwaukee filed 46 small-claims lawsuits even after the governor declared a state of emergency on March 12, and other hospital systems in the state filed dozens more, according to a report by Wisconsin Public Radio and Wisconsin Watch. Steve Schoof, Froedtert's director of external communications, told ProPublica in a statement that the hospital stopped filing small claims suits on March 18. "Moving forward," the statement continued, "Froedtert Health will no longer be filing small claims suits for medical debt collection. Unfortunately, there was a miscommunication that resulted in small claims filings after March 18. We immediately rectified this miscommunication and dismissed these small claims cases that were filed after March 18."
More often, though, the collection stems from cases filed months before the pandemic arrived, as the legal process grinds its way forward. "Where debt collection is underway for pre-COVID medical debt, they will continue to do that," said Jenifer Bosco, a staff attorney for the National Consumer Law Center.
In Richardson's case, the debt stemmed from a two-day 2018 visit to Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center in southeast Baltimore, one of a string of medical visits she has had to make over the years to deal with a knee injury from a fall, a hip injury from a car accident, hernia repairs and back trouble. She had insurance coverage through her job, which at the time was with the state Division of Correction, but it left a balance of almost $1,000 for her to pay. Richardson, who lives by herself in a modest apartment complex just east of the city, started hearing from a collections lawyer for Hopkins last fall and tried to work out a payment schedule with him, but she couldn't make it work.
"I just didn't have the money," she said. "I said to the lawyer, I might be able to pay an amount monthly, but when it came time, I just didn't have it. What can you do when you're caught between a rock and a hard place? I prioritize. I'm going to try to pay my rent first, pay for gas and electric, cellphone costs. And I've got to eat."
The court judgment was finally entered against Richardson in Baltimore City District Court in January: $923.21, plus $34 in court costs and $138.49 in attorney's fees. The notice of wage garnishment went out on March 6 — the day after Maryland Gov. Larry Hogan announced the state's first three coronavirus cases. The garnishment was confirmed by Richardson's new employer, the nonprofit drug treatment organization Gaudenzia, on March 16, the day that Hogan decreed the closure of all bars, restaurants, gyms and movie theaters, and three days after Richardson and her colleagues were barred by safety precautions from providing counseling inside prisons. She now works at a small treatment center that houses seven women, where social distancing is easier.
Johns Hopkins, by far the largest private-sector employer in the state and the largest beneficiary of billionaire Michael Bloomberg's charitable giving, has long faced scrutiny for its aggressive collection of medical debt, including from the many low-income Baltimore residents it serves, who in theory should be able to qualify for the hospital's charity care programs. In 2008, The Baltimore Sun reported that Hopkins and other Maryland nonprofit hospitals had filed more than 32,000 debt-collection suits over the past five years, winning at least $100 million in judgments. Last May, a coalition that includes the AFL-CIO and National Nurses United, which has been trying to organize Hopkins nurses, released a report finding that Hopkins had launched 2,400 lawsuits in Maryland courts since 2009 against patients with unpaid bills, increasing from 20 in 2009 to a peak of 535 in 2016.
In response to the 2019 report, Hopkins officials said they offered considerable free and discounted services, and that "for patients who choose not to pursue those options or who have a demonstrated ability to pay, we will make every effort to reach out to them and to accommodate their schedule and needs. In those rare occasions when a patient who has the ability to pay chooses not to, we follow our state required policies to pursue reimbursement from these patients."
The cases have slowed in pace but not stopped altogether since the report. Bayview, one of several hospitals under the Hopkins umbrella, has filed about 60 cases over the past year, according to Maryland court records. Dozens of them, including Richardson's, remain open.
Kim Hoppe, vice president for communications for Johns Hopkins Medicine, said in a statement that after looking into the matter, the medical system has become aware of nine garnishments that went into effect in February and March, and that it has now placed a "hold" on them. "Johns Hopkins remains committed to providing affordable access to all patients in need of our care, regardless of ability to pay," Hoppe said. "We also make numerous efforts to communicate with patients who have overdue bills. Typically, patients receive more than a dozen contacts via mail or phone call along with multiple opportunities to file for medical or financial hardship. At all points in that process, patients are encouraged to speak with financial counselors; their bills will be forgiven if they can show financial hardship or inability to pay."
Politicians have touted debt relief, but the various proposals are patchwork. Many homeowners and renters won't get much help; those struggling with credit card, car and other loan payments will get none.
For Cheri Long, aggressive medical debt collection came with less warning than it did for Richardson. Long, a nurse at an assisted living center in northern West Virginia, had stopped by a Dollar General on March 23 to pick up some groceries for her kids and some requests for residents at the center: prunes, caramel candies and adult diapers. When she went to pay with her debit card, the machine told her she had insufficient funds. She checked the account after leaving the store and found there had been a debit for about $900. She assumed her account had been hacked and the funds would be restored. In fact, the bank told her, her account had a hold on it from the magistrate court.
She told the bank she had not received any notification. But that night, a card was waiting in her mailbox alerting her that there was a certified letter waiting for her at the post office. She picked the letter up the next day and rushed to the magistrate court, and she learned that the account had been garnished by West Virginia University Hospitals, the official name for J.W. Ruby Memorial Hospital, the large nonprofit academic medical center in Morgantown that is the flagship of the WVU Medicine system.
The bills were for care received by her husband, Seth — after a motorcycle accident seven years ago and after a visit for alcohol rehab after he had started drinking heavily upon losing his coal mining job three years ago. He had insurance coverage at the time of both hospital stays, even supplemental motorcycle insurance, but the coverage had left a balance of about $3,500. Seth had gotten work at another mine but lost it again two years ago, leaving the family relying on Cheri's income, about $3,000 per month in take-home pay. "Times are hard," she said in an interview. "That [medical bill] was my last priority. I didn't think they would do anything over $3,500."
The bank garnishment sent her into a panic. She was in tears at the courthouse, pleading for someone to help her. She eventually filed for an "affidavit for exemption" through the sheriff, seemingly got the garnishment lifted temporarily and changed her direct deposit to another account to be on the safe side. But when she went for groceries again on April 3, her card was declined. Her account had been zeroed out again despite the exemption, apparently due to a bureaucratic oversight.
She borrowed money for groceries and gas from her co-workers, nursing aides who make minimum wage. Her father-in-law offered to cover the house payment. And, on Easter Sunday, she started writing emails — to the governor, to the attorney general. "It was a very depressing time," she said later. "I'm out working, busting my butt, and they're going to take my money."
At last, she got help. The National Consumer Law Center put her in touch with a local legal aid lawyer, Jennifer Wagner with Mountain State Justice. Wagner filed a lawsuit on behalf of Long, arguing that it was unconstitutional to seize her property when the closure of the court system undermined her ability to seek due process.
On April 15, Preston County Judge Steven L. Shaffer issued an emergency order halting seizure of both Long's bank account and her imminent stimulus funds, thereby restoring the money already taken. "Seizure of personal property during the court closure and stay at home order and related state of emergency ... violates due process of law," he wrote in the order, first reported by the Times West Virginian newspaper.
In a statement, WVU Medicine spokeswoman Angela Knopf said that the system gave guidance to its third-party collection vendors in March to be mindful of the economic impact of the pandemic crisis in seeking repayment, but it did not order them to hold back entirely. "At WVU Medicine, we need to balance our need to liquidate patient balances with the needs of our community, especially during times of disruption," read the guidance. "Collection calls and letters can continue. However, please take a soft approach to calls and express the compassion that WVU Medicine has for our community during this difficult time. We do not want to beat our patients up as they are sequestered in their homes, compounding the stress of the current situation. We want to be a partner in helping them through this." The guidance instructed vendors not to file any new lawsuits for "at least the next 60 days," but it does not explicitly address the garnishing of accounts from cases launched before the crisis.
Wagner, the legal aid lawyer, said she is getting calls from more than a dozen other people in the area facing collection from the hospital and is considering filing a class-action lawsuit over the garnishments. "We're contemplating seeking broader relief because of our concerns that they haven't stopped, notwithstanding the order," she said. "It's actually going to dissuade people from seeking medical care during a time when it's really important to seek medical care, and that is really alarming."
Governors have issued orders temporarily banning wage and bank garnishments in several states, including in Illinois, Massachusetts and Washington. The Texas Supreme Court has decreed that any new garnishment orders not be served until after May 7. Governors or state attorneys general have taken the more limited step of barring the seizure of stimulus checks during bank account garnishments in some other states, among them California, New York and Ohio. But this leaves several dozen states where medical debt collection can still carry forward, with or without the ability to seize stimulus checks in the process.
Meanwhile, though, another Memphis hospital, Baptist Memorial, has kept up aggressive collection during the economic crisis. The Shelby County court system lists about 20 garnishments for Baptist Memorial debts initiated last month alone, some of them for debts going back more than a decade.
In Memphis, Methodist Le Bonheur Healthcare has brought 8,300 lawsuits for unpaid medical bills in just five years.
One of the Baptist Memorial targets found out that she was about to have her paycheck garnished for a 13-year-old debt when she received a letter in the mail from a lawyer seeking to represent her in the matter. "It's just been very hard," said the woman, who asked that her name not be used. "I had offered a settlement, but they wouldn't work with me. They're playing hardball."
A Baptist Memorial spokeswoman said in a written response, "These are not new cases; these judgments were made months ago. You're looking at renewals that were filed in January — well before the first known COVID case was diagnosed in the U.S. If any of these people lost their jobs, we would stop trying to collect. If they have other financial issues, they can contact us and we'll work with them. We have modified payment plans for hundreds of patients since the COVID pandemic began."
Critics of the hospital debt collection say they are aware that hospitals may be more sympathetic creditors at the current moment, when they are strapped by the demands of treating victims of the pandemic, while losing much of their usual business. Johns Hopkins, for one, announced this week that it was running a $100 million deficit, due largely to a dropoff in the elective medical procedures that provide much of its revenue base.
But the National Consumer Law Center notes that hospitals nationwide are receiving $100 billion in the federal relief packages to help recover some of the costs of the crisis. And Cecilia Behgam, an AFL-CIO researcher who helped produce the 2019 report on Hopkins, notes that collection on unpaid bills makes up just a tiny sliver of hospital revenue — for a giant institution like Hopkins, typically less than one-tenth of a percent. "This is not making a significant difference in the budget of these hospitals," she said.
Behgam also noted that in cities such as Baltimore and Memphis, the lawsuits and garnishments are being brought mostly against exactly the demographic that has been shown to be most vulnerable in the pandemic: lower-income African Americans with underlying health conditions. "These are people who are already disproportionately feeling the impact of the epidemic," she said.
In Baltimore, Darcel Richardson says she has so far managed to talk the managers of her apartment complex into letting her pay the outstanding balance of her rent once the garnishments stop. They might even be willing to cancel the usual fees for late payment, she said. "I am a firm believer in trusting God," she said. "He'll meet my needs. So far, he's still kept the roof over my head."
When a 27-year-old critical care nurse volunteered for Santa Clara Valley Medical Center’s COVID-19 unit last month, she knew that caring for patients with failing lungs and an untreatable disease would be frightening and heartbreaking. What she didn’t expect was to be shunned by fearful workers in other departments, surrounded by uncollected trash and forced to use up health benefits on a technicality.
She had graduated from nursing school in 2017 and worked for a year at an urban hospital in the Midwest. Last fall, she joined the staff of Santa Clara Valley, a public hospital in San Jose, California. She had barely acclimated to her new job before patients began testing positive for COVID-19 in February.
Santa Clara County had several of the earliest confirmed cases of COVID-19 in California, including what are now the first two known coronavirus-related deaths in the U.S. More than 1,900 people in the county have tested positive and 94 have died, according to the Johns Hopkins University COVID-19 dashboard. As of Wednesday, 52 employees at Santa Clara Valley had tested positive, according to the hospital.
In a written statement, Santa Clara Valley acknowledged its health care workers have been under significant strain during the pandemic.
“Protecting our healthcare workers and our patients, including our patients’ privacy, is our highest priority,” the hospital said. “We understand this is a very stressful time for our staff, particularly those who are on the front line caring for patients. We truly appreciate and care deeply about all of our healthcare workers and all of our patients and remain committed to doing everything possible to ensure everyone is supported and safe.”
The nurse spoke with ProPublica reporter Ryan Gabrielson at least twice a week throughout late March and April, describing her experience. She requested anonymity for fear of online harassment or career repercussions. The following is an edited transcript.
Santa Clara Roulette
With few volunteers for the hazardous duty, staffing of the COVID-19 unit is left to the luck of the draw.
“When the COVID-19 unit opened in early March, we opened it in one day. It’s a pandemic and no one had time to really prepare. We didn’t have a process for how to select who goes there to work.
Assignments are normally based on rank. It’s union policy. The nurses working as per diem, as extra help, they don’t get health benefits but they get paid a ton per shift. So they’re the ones who have to float on whatever units the nursing office needs them on. Per diem people were being forced to float almost every single shift to the COVID unit.
It got to be too much for one of them. He just started yelling at the charge nurse. They were both under so much stress and really angry at each other. She didn’t want to change things after she had already planned it out. And he didn’t want to go again to the COVID unit. It wasn’t fair for him to go so much when some staff nurses didn’t have to.
There were days where no one volunteered to go, and after that argument, the charge nurses didn’t force it anymore, because it was unfair. They asked if there were any volunteers, and no one wanted to. The medical ICU nurses, we agreed to change the process, to be fairer.
It was 10 minutes before the shift started and the charge nurse had to choose someone to go. And you have to do it quickly because no one likes to lose time. You want to be ahead of your work, because it’s a super stressful job anyway.
We came up with something on the spot. It was kind of funny. We have these patient belongings bags, they got one of those. The nurses wrote their names on pieces of paper and put them in the bag, and the charge nurse just drew a name. Whoever got picked got up to go to the unit.
One day last week, they were going to start drawing names again, so I told them: ‘I volunteer. I’ll go.’
I live with just one other person, my boyfriend, who’s also isolating. I’m fairly young and healthy. He’s fairly young and healthy. I’m extremely cautious; my first degree was in microbiology, so I bleach everything. I felt like I was in a better position to not get sick or, if I got sick, to recover faster.
Plus, there’s too much uncertainty with this virus going around. I’d rather have a patient I know is positive.”
In its written statement, Santa Clara Valley said nurse assignments to the COVID-19 unit are rarely left to chance, except when choosing between two “floaters,” or nurses who move from one unit to another. “For the COVID-19 unit, the hospital does ask for volunteers first because there may be nurses who want to work on that specific unit, but if there are no volunteers, then the float log will be used,” it said. “The only time there may be a situation of picking names from a bag is the unusual occurrence where there are two people with the exact same float date and no volunteers.”
A Reason Not to Be Tested
When the nurse felt ill, she got herself checked for COVID-19. But policies were changing on the fly.
“There’s a lot of paranoia going around, and I was really worried a couple weeks ago because I was sick with sort of atypical symptoms.
I insisted on getting swabbed. Then I had to call in sick until I got my results. It was a whole thing; it took a very long time and I lost all of my sick leave during that wait.
The policy was changing really frequently that week, it was the middle of March and it was chaotic for everyone. Originally they told us if we are tested we’ll be put on paid administrative leave. I got tested on Wednesday and I called my nurse manager and the employee health department. They said different things. My manager said I’d go on paid admin leave. Employee health said it was up to the manager’s discretion, but we’re supposed to use our sick leave unless we were exposed.
I was working in the COVID ICU, I was exposed every day.
Turns out, the hospital changed policy the next day and said if you’re using PPE, you’re not considered exposed, which is unfair because we’re reusing PPE in a way it’s not meant to be reused.
On Friday, I got a call from my nurse manager saying that since I wasn’t technically exposed, I didn’t meet the criteria to be swabbed or tested. She couldn’t put me on paid admin leave, it was denied by the hospital. It was all coming out of my sick leave.
I asked her: ‘Can I go back to work then? I’m afebrile, my symptoms have resolved and it looks like a cold that was really bad for one day.’ She said, ‘Sure.’ It was 3 in the afternoon. At 6:30, employee health called and said I can’t go back to work until I get my results.
I remember specifically saying, ‘If I don’t qualify to be tested, then why can’t I go back to work?’ She said, ‘Because it’s policy, you’ve been tested, now you can’t return.’
I didn’t get my results until Sunday. They were negative, and I finally got to go back to work that day.
This is encouraging people not to be tested because we don’t want to lose all of our sick leave. They’re not intentionally doing that, but that’s definitely an outcome. What if we fall sick later during this pandemic? Since this all happened, the hospital started giving nurses 80 hours of paid leave while we wait for test results.
It’s kind of disappointing, to find out that you weren’t positive and you might still get sick and be hospitalized and go through what your patients are going through.”
Santa Clara Valley confirmed that employees with symptoms are not allowed to work until the hospital has received test results and that it now provides 80 hours of emergency paid sick leave for all COVID-19 related absences. “We currently have expanded and rapid testing capacity where results are returned in much shorter time frames,” the hospital said.
Contingency Plans
Constantly exposed to the virus, she prepared for the worst.
“A lot of people that I work with are sleeping in separate rooms from their partners. They’re getting undressed in their garage after finishing a shift so they don’t bring dirty scrubs inside. One of my friends has a 2-year-old daughter that she sent to live with her parents weeks ago, because she doesn’t want to get her daughter sick.
When we started seeing COVID patients in the community, my boyfriend and I discussed what we would do if we get sick.
I said, ‘Hey, I’m going to be working in the COVID unit, we’re both going to have to isolate.’
I might get more sick than someone who just has, like, a passing meeting with someone who’s COVID positive. I’m exposed to a much higher viral load, so it could hit me all at once.
If I start feeling sick, I’ll limit contact with my boyfriend as much as possible. We are lucky we have an extra room in our house, not the norm for most people in the Bay Area. I would sleep in the spare room and use the spare bathroom. He would leave food for me outside the door, on the hallway floor.
We don’t go out anywhere, we can’t get our own groceries, we’re pretty much under the impression that we’re infectious all the time, just in case. We drive around to get fresh air and wait to go out on walks when it’s raining so that we don’t run into other people.
My boyfriend’s parents and his grandfather both live pretty close to us and normally they’d come over frequently. All three of them are high risk, from age and comorbidities. They haven’t been in our house for a month, he hasn’t been to their house or hugged them or anything.
They bring food to our house when they take walks and wave to us from outside. We have conversations through the door.
My boyfriend’s very concerned, he doesn’t want us to get sick at the same time. If that happens, he won’t ask his parents for help, and obviously I won’t ask my parents for help. So if both of us are really, really sick, but not sick enough to go to the hospital, we will be stuck taking care of each other.
We’ll be alone.”
A Mystery Disease
The nurses had never seen anything quite like COVID-19 before.
“We get some patients that are really, really stable. Then we get some patients where, you look at them, and you’re not sure how they’re still alive after a week.
Many of our sickest patients are relatively young. It’s kind of freaking out some of my co-workers.
There’s no clear reason why COVID made these guys so sick. They don’t really have much of a medical history, apart from maybe having an infection a week before they got sick. An infection lowers your immune system, and maybe it makes you more susceptible to a very severe COVID infection.
Some of them smoke, that’s the only other thing. Not all of them, and they weren’t chain smokers.
One guy, his chest X-ray looks better than others on the unit, but he’s not doing well. He still fights the ventilators if we pause the vecuronium [a drug that relaxes the skeletal muscles], for even a little bit of time.
Another patient arrived at the emergency department in full-blown hypoxic respiratory failure, there wasn’t enough oxygen going into his brain and the neurons started to die. You normally want to have a blood-oxygen saturation of 92 to 100. His was far lower. Which is, like, how are you alive? I’ve never had a patient that bad before.
I’m worried he won’t make it. Even if he survives, he’s probably going to need a lung transplant. What I’ve seen on his chest X-rays, it doesn’t look like there’s any function. He’s still breathing, still getting oxygen. But listening to his lungs, it sounds like a dishwasher, you just hear water.”
New Responsibilities
With other workers scared of even indirect contact with COVID-19 patients, nurses have taken on cleaning jobs.
“Auxiliary staff in the hospital are starting to avoid our COVID unit. Environmental services, the custodians, they don’t want to go in the patient rooms. Some nurses agreed to clean everything to help protect the rest of the hospital from exposure. Now we take out our own trash. I get really frustrated sometimes. It’s one thing for the nurses to do it to be nice, but we’re not getting any bonuses. They won’t empty the sharps container for needles and other dangerous medical waste. They’ll just give us one and tell us to put it on the ground in the room. Now we have trash all over the floor until we get a chance to sweep it up. Our nurse manager offered to take out the unit’s trash for us, which was really nice. She comes into the unit and talks to us in person.
A few days ago, the plumbers refused to go into a room when the toilet backed up. We literally gave a nurse a plunger and told him to go unplug it. And he did, because he had no other choice.
I’m sorry, if someone tells me that I need to unclog the toilet, I will lose it. I will absolutely lose my mind. We’re an ICU, we had someone code last night.
There was a custodial worker today who refused to clean another room that was empty and had been empty for over 12 hours. It’s like any hospital room, you don’t know what’s living in there. We have C-diff patients all the time and it’s not like you want to get C-diff either. That’s a spore that’s very hard to kill. There’s so much misinformation about COVID. People are scared and it gives the unit a stigma.
A pharmacy technician told us that she’s not comfortable going into the COVID unit and refilling our pyxis, the med dispensing machines. It is in a completely different location. It is not in a patient room. She wore an N95 just to go into the unit and restock our machine when all of us around her were not wearing N95s. In the hallway we’re wearing our surgical masks. And I know that she’s probably going to take it off the minute she goes out of our unit, and there’s no point, she used it for five minutes.
Maybe they’re living with someone who has asthma or is immunocompromised or something. Not everyone can self-isolate. We get desensitized to the danger. I need to keep that in mind.
We’re getting more and more exposure. We’re seeing other units getting things that we’re not getting. All donations go through the command center, so we don’t know what we’ll get or when.
They’re saying it’s a safety argument. When I asked if I could earmark donations specifically for our unit, they said that I could try to do that, but if they’re needed in other places the resources have to go there.
We still have PPE, but we have no idea how much we have left, everything is under lock and key. They keep telling us not to worry about it, but they also start locking up more and more things. We seem to be running out of gloves, those are now being locked up. I’ve heard we’re running out of disposable stethoscopes, so we’re going to have to start bleaching our own stethoscopes. The N95s, the face masks and CAPR shields have already been locked up for weeks now.
We don’t know where the future is going here. And I think that’s more stressful to us.”
Santa Clara Valley said that it currently has “sufficient” PPE. “The hospital needs to monitor and control the usage to ensure that PPE is appropriately used,” it said.
“To minimize the number of people who enter the patient room, nurses do collect trash, linen, and sharp containers and hand to housekeeping staff outside the room,” the hospital said.
The Turn of Death
COVID patients have to be flipped onto their stomachs to keep their lungs open, but some don’t survive it.
“Our COVID patients have ARDS (Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome), so we pronate them, we put them face down. It helps lungs stay open because the only thing that would compress them is the spine. When you’re on your back, all of your internal organs compress your lungs.
We’d never pronated before and we practiced on one of the nurses. We figured out how to do it safely.
But as you can imagine, it’s kind of hard to do that in an ICU when someone is intubated and has a bunch of IV lines. They’re knocked out when they have really bad ARDS, paralyzed and sedated. They’re dead weight and very heavy. It takes, like, six people. Two RT’s (respiratory therapists) to deal with the tube, two nurses, two doctors. All those people to flip the patient over and we do it every six or eight hours. We have to turn their heads every two hours. Otherwise it’ll cause pressure injuries to the face, corneal abrasions, really bad damage to the eyes.
In our ICU we talk about the turn of death. There are patients who are really unstable and you just turn them a little and they code. Our nurse manager is buying beds specially made to help pronate patients, which is gonna be a lot of help. She’s very protective of her nurses.
We are full on the COVID unit. We found out last shift that a negative pressure room didn’t have negative pressure. It’s supposed to be a specially designed patient room that keeps air inside the room so staff and patients in the rest of the unit won’t be contaminated. The hospital was cautious and set up every COVID room that way, which is a luxury other places don’t have.
But things go wrong, machines break. The patient in that room was intubated and might have had treatments that aerosolized the virus and would have spread it throughout the whole unit yesterday. Nobody knew, so no one was wearing their N95s in the hallway.
We told everyone to put on their N95s and moved the patient into a working room. Not a big deal, but now we have one less room available for other COVID-positive patients.
We actually check the negative pressure every shift. It’s very archaic: We used a syringe like the ones that take snot out of kids’ noses. We filled it with charcoal powder and squeezed it in front of each room and saw which way the powder went.
The weird thing is we have an alarm if the pressure isn’t right. If someone leaves the room doors open, that alarm will go off. So the fact that the alarm didn’t go off is kind of worrying. How long had the room not been working properly? The high-tech thing is supposed to tell us.”
A Disturbing Report
On April 10, the Los Angeles Times revealed a complaint by an anonymous Santa Clara Valley Medical Center employee that hospital administrators had not informed staff of a potential outbreak among nurses. It was news to her.
“I was so worried. The nurses work on a medical-surgery unit on the same floor as the ICU. It’s not that close, technically, because we don’t give patients to them. Hospital admin sent an email to us saying they’re doing their best. And if you have any concerns, you should talk to us first, instead of going to national media.”
Burnout
After a month, she left the COVID-19 unit.
“The last few days working COVID, I’ve been so stressed out, I’ve been missing things. There are a ton of travel nurses. They aren’t staff but fill in. Some don’t know how to chart in our system, documenting the patient’s condition and medications. It’s hard to feel sure things were done right with all the travel nurses, and I feel like I’m far too new to catch everything. I think they are training those travel nurses so we can rely on them if there is like a peak in hospitalizations. Luckily, it kind of looks like we’ve already had our peak.
There was a patient I had all of last week on COVID. After I left, his condition dipped. That’s what we see with a lot of the patients. They’ll go in, they’ll be OK on the ventilator for a week. And then suddenly they’ll start tanking. You have to put them on vecuronium, increase the air pressure to expand their lungs. It’s a crucial phase, maybe they’re gonna make it, maybe they won’t.
Afterwards, I stopped volunteering for the COVID unit. So last night (April 14), I was back in the medical ICU, my regular floor. And it’s just business as usual over there, apart from the fact that we have, like, no patients. The other patients aren’t coming to the hospital, maybe out of fear.
It’s weird, on the regular medical ICU, the lack of pandemic conversations. They talk about the nice stuff that happens now, the recognition that health care workers are getting because we’re getting a lot of it. This morning, all of the county police departments and the fire departments, they all lined up outside of the hospital to welcome the day shift.
There’s less concern about the whole pandemic away from the COVID unit. I never thought that work would be the one place where I wouldn’t hear about this constantly.
I missed the COVID unit a little last night, because every time a patient coughed or someone touched my workstation, I felt like I had to bleach it down and protect myself. Even if I’m not in the COVID unit, anyone could have it.”
Eight nurses are the majority of employees who remain at Oklahoma's Haskell County Community Hospital. The future of the 25-bed hospital is increasingly grim.
This article was first published on Thursday, April 23, 2020 in ProPublica.
By Brianna Bailey
Eight nurses at the lone hospital in the rural Oklahoma town of Stigler now double as the cleaning crew. They stabilize patients with life-threatening conditions, mop floors and scrub toilets.
The nurses, along with an office manager and a part-time maintenance worker, are the only remaining employees at the Haskell County Community Hospital, which two years ago had a staff of 68 and provided some of the highest-paying jobs in the southeastern Oklahoma town.
Andrea Randall, a nurse who also serves as the hospital's interim administrator, has watched it claw through years of financial turmoil in the decade since she started working. None, she said, have been as difficult as the past two years.
And now, the novel coronavirus is threatening to scuttle a sale that would help the bankrupt hospital escape closure.
Before the Haskell County hospital entered bankruptcy in 2019, many employees went weeks without pay. In October, about 85% of the staff was laid off to save money and entice buyers at a bankruptcy auction.
For the past several months, the hospital's remaining employees have performed housekeeping duties and avoided taking time off when they've been sick. The facility barely has enough employees to comply with state and federal laws, which require the emergency room to be staffed with at least two nurses and an on-call physician.
"We know we can't do this forever," Randall said in an interview. She's been praying for a new owner to take over and "help bring us back to life."
But the future of the 25-bed hospital, which has been whittled down to operating only an emergency room during the bankruptcy, is increasingly grim.
In January, Haskell Regional Hospital Inc., a company controlled by a spine surgeon from Indiana, submitted the sole bid of $200,000 at a bankruptcy auction to purchase the hospital. The sale was to be finalized in March.
William Janvier, an attorney for the company, told a bankruptcy court at a March hearing that the coronavirus' damage to the economy upended the proposed investment. The company had enough money to buy the hospital but couldn't afford to operate it, Janvier said.
"Our expected source of operating capital has obviously gotten very concerned because of the events that have been going on," Janvier said. He asked for more time to gather the needed money. "We are very hopeful that we will be able to close on the deal, but we're not there yet."
Hospital closures in the nearby towns of Eufaulaand Wilburtonin the past four years have made access to health care more urgent in Stigler, a community of about 2,700 people. The closest hospital is now an hour away, a distance that could be life-threatening for residents experiencing a stroke or a heart attack.
The Haskell hospital is one of many Oklahoma rural medical centers trying to remain open under financial conditions that can feel insurmountable and suffocating for the communities trying to save them.
Nearly 130 rural hospitals have closed across the country in the past decade while contending with razor-thin margins caused by a declining and aging patient pool, a greater dependence on lower reimbursement rates from the federal government and higher numbers of uninsured patients. Last year, rural hospitals suffered their largest blow with 19 closures, according todata from the Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research.
Nine rural hospitals have already shut their doors in 2020. The Maine-based Chartis Center for Rural Health released a study in February identifying about 450 rural hospitals that are vulnerable to closures. The coronavirus threatens to speed up those closures, said Michael Topchik, a national leader for the company.
In Oklahoma, rural hospitals are navigating the higher costs of treating COVID-19 cases while suffering a loss of revenue after being forced to halt elective medical procedures. More than 60% of the 2,894 COVID-19 cases in the state and 70% of the 170 deaths come from communities outside of Oklahoma City and Tulsa.
"We've essentially shut our business down," said Jay Johnson, chairman of the Oklahoma Hospital Association. "The only way we're all surviving is on whatever cash we had."
The Haskell County hospital had already reduced medical services, including elective procedures, by the time the coronavirus began reaching rural communities across the country. Nurses perform some laboratory tests and stabilize patients before transferring them to better-equipped facilities about 50 miles away.
But the number of patients still declined. Before the coronavirus pandemic, the Haskell County emergency room treated three to four patients daily. That number has dwindled to two or three patients a day in the past month.
Some days the hospital has no patients at all.
Waiting on the Promise of a Sale
By the time the Haskell County hospital entered bankruptcy in 2019, it was about $6 million in debt. It operated at a loss of more than $193,000 that year. The hospital still owes money to the employees who worked up to six weeks without pay to keep it open.
"I was so angry and I was so bitter over all of it," Darla Barger, a former human resources manager, said in an interview with The Frontier and ProPublica. "I finally just had to let it go for my own mental health."
The Haskell County hospital is one of 18 facilities owned or connected with EmpowerHMS, a private management company, that entered bankruptcy or closed in the past five years. Many of the hospitals experienced financial problems after insurance companies flagged ballooning laboratory costs as fraud. The U.S. Department of Justice is investigating the company, which allegedly took advantage of higher reimbursement rates designated for rural communities by billing for blood and urine tests that the hospitals did not perform.
Representatives for the now-defunct company could not be reached for comment. In court filings, the company denied wrongdoing, saying it followed federal guidelines.
Three of the former EmpowerHMS hospitals that sold at auction are still waiting for buyers to finalize the deals. Several companies received extensions after failing to come up with the money.
The company purchasing the Haskell hospital is the only one that pointed to the coronavirus as the reason for the delay.
Thomas Waldrep, the trustee overseeing the Haskell sale, said in court documents on April 8 that the buyer was waiting to secure federal stimulus money to help finance the purchase.
Waldrep said in an email that he didn't know what type of stimulus funding the Haskell buyer was seeking.
Oklahoma hospitals this month received nearly $500 million as part of a $30 billion federal rescue package to help health care providers with the loss of revenue from the coronavirus pandemic.
This month, Waldrep said he expected the sale of the Haskell hospital to be completed by the end of the month.
But as of Tuesday, Waldrep, who would only answer questions via email, could not provide a specific date of sale. If the deal fails, Waldrep would have to find a new buyer or close the hospital and use any remaining money and assets to pay off debts.
Brent King, a bankruptcy trustee who in 2019 oversaw the successful sale of another former EmpowerHMS hospital in Hillsboro, Kansas, said it's a challenge to find buyers even without the threat of an ongoing global pandemic.
Eight rural hospitals, previously operated by EmpowerHMS, have already closed. King says he expects more will soon suffer the same fate.
"We can only be hopeful that those hospitals can stay open but, bottom line, I suspect some of them won't," King said.
"I Have to Believe That We Have a Future Here"
A sale doesn't guarantee financial stability for the Haskell County hospital, which will need an infusion of money to reopen parts of the facility and hire additional employees.
But it would provide some sense of stability for its remaining employees.
"I have to believe that we have a future here and we have to just keep moving as if it's going to happen," Randall said.
Barry Smith, CEO of Cohesive Healthcare Management and Consulting, which has been running the Haskell hospital during the bankruptcy, said revenue from the emergency room is not enough to sustain operations.
The temporary fix that came in October 2019 was meant only to save money and meet the minimum state and federal requirements to remain open while a sale was completed, Smith said.
If the hospital closed during the bankruptcy, it would lose its critical access status, a federal designation that qualifies remote communities like Haskell County to receive higher Medicare payments than many other facilities. The hospital could also struggle to reopen under current building code requirements.
"Every day that they don't come in makes it harder," Smith said.
Smith initially said that if a sale of the hospital wasn't finalized by mid-April, financial losses would force the company to walk away. He later reversed course, saying the company understood the uncertainty caused by the coronavirus and would not place deadlines on its commitment to the hospital.
Court documents filed in March say Cohesive is owed $3.3 million for 2019, about half of which is management fees. The remaining amount owed is for other expenses paid by the company, including payroll and health benefits for employees.
"We can maintain the status quo for a while," Smith said in a text. "Hopefully, much sooner than later, a long-term solution is found for the hospital."
For Randall, maintaining the status quo means wrestling with the possibility of closure while juggling duties that include cleaning out the ice machine, planning for an influx of patients with COVID-19 and contending with new costs, including fixing the hospital's leaky roof.
But Randall said she'll keep working, as she did when the hospital stopped paying her salary and when nearly all of the staff was laid off.
"If you don't show up for work, people are going to die," Randall said.
Help us investigate: Do you live near or work with rural hospitals in Oklahoma? ProPublica and The Frontier want to connect with you to learn about your experiences.
Email us at OKhospitals@propublica.org or text us at (949) 439-4855 and one of our reporters will follow-up with you.