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That’s what the wife’s school SLP is doing as well 

My wife works for Conroe ISD and they are trying to have their SLP’s stay as close to on schedule as possible. She also has to hold ARD’s, send out encrypted process reports which require 2 emails per her 50 kids, and then try to do therapy remotely. Therapy will probably be ok with the fluency only kids, but she has trouble with the life skills kids in person...how in the hell is she supposed do therapy for them?? She’s understandably stressed especially when she sees the Gen Ed and Resource teachers basically in summer break.
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2 minutes ago, Hate said:


My wife works for Conroe ISD and they are trying to have their SLP’s stay as close to on schedule as possible. She also has to hold ARD’s, send out encrypted process reports which require 2 emails per her 50 kids, and then try to do therapy remotely. Therapy will probably be ok with the fluency only kids, but she has trouble with the life skills kids in person...how in the hell is she supposed do therapy for them?? She’s understandably stressed especially when she sees the Gen Ed and Resource teachers basically in summer break.

No doubt it’s problematic.   

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12 minutes ago, Francisco 2.0 said:

Heartbreaking:

 

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/24/magazine/coronavirus-family.html?referringSource=articleShare

 

 

 

 

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Since then, T has been confined alone in our bedroom at the front of the apartment, where he complains of hearing trucks idling at the curb just outside and long blasts from the ships in New York Harbor a few blocks west. He creeps out only to go to the bathroom. The bedroom door stays firmly shut to keep out the cat, who is determined to get in and who howls outside it at night. “What to do if you are sick with coronavirus disease 2019 (Covid-19)” reads the sheet T is handed at the clinic two days after his symptoms begin. “Separate yourself from other people and animals in your home.” By then he has a fever of 101.5. He tests negative for the flu. Then, because he is considered high risk with what his medical chart calls “severe” asthma that sent him to the emergency room with an acute attack a few months ago, he is tested for Covid-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus — just days before a national shortage of testing supplies emerged and the restrictions were tightened further.

Now we live in a world in which I have planned with his doctor which emergency room we should head to if T suddenly gets worse, a world in which I am suddenly afraid we won’t have enough of the few things tempering the raging fever and soaking sweats and severe aches wracking him — the Advil and Tylenol that the doctors advise us to layer, one after the other, and that I scroll through websites searching for, seeing “out of stock” again and again. We are living inside the news stories of testing, quarantine, shortages and the disease’s progression. A friend scours the nearby stores and drops off a bunch of bodega packets of Tylenol. Another finds a bottle at a more remote pharmacy and drops it off, a golden prize I treasure against the feverish nights to come.

His doctor calls three days later to say the test is positive. I find T lying on his side, reading an article about the surge in confirmed cases in New York State. He is reading stories of people being hospitalized, people being put on ventilators to breathe, people dying, sick with the same virus that is attacking him from the inside now.

CK and I had settled in to watch “Chernobyl,” the HBO series about the 1986 nuclear accident and its aftermath, when T first felt sick and went to lie down in the bedroom. We stopped after three episodes. That time, when we would sit on the couch watching something together, is behind us. Now there is too much rushing back and forth, making sure T has a little dinner — just a tiny bowl of soup, just an appetizer, really, that he is unable to smell, that he fights nausea to choke down — taking his temperature, monitoring his oxygen-saturation levels with the fingertip pulse oximeter brought by a friend from the drugstore on the doctor’s advice, taking him tea, dispensing his meds, washing my hands over and over, texting the doctor to say T is worse again, standing next to him while he coughs into the covers, rubbing his knees through the blankets.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” he says, but he gets more frightened as night comes, dreading the long hours of fever and soaking sweats and shivering and terrible aches. “This thing grinds you like a mortar,” he says.

CK’s high school, closed on March 13, is now preparing with the rest of New York City’s public schools to begin distance learning. For days she and her classmates have received instructions about what to expect, turning administrator and teacher directives into endless memes, feeds filling with repeated admonitions: This is regular school. This is not vacation. I start an email to her principal, guidance counselors and teachers. “I am writing to let you know what CK has been going through at home.” The draft sits open all day.

I am texting the doctor. I am texting T’s five siblings on a group chat, texting my parents and my brother, texting T’s business partner and employees and his dearest friends and mine, in loops and loops, with hearts and thankful prayer-hands emoji. He is too exhausted, too weak, to answer all the missives winging to him at all hours. “Don’t sugarcoat it for my family,” he tells me. He has asked for the gray sweater that was his father’s, that his father wore when he was alive. He will not take it off.

It’s as if we are in a time warp, in which we have accelerated at 1½ time speed, while everyone around us remains in the present — already the past to us — and they, blissfully, unconsciously, go about their ordinary lives, experiencing the growing news, the more urgent advisories and directives, as a vast communal experience, sharing posts and memes about cabin fever, about home-schooling, about social distancing, about how hard it all is, while we’re living in our makeshift sick ward, living in what will soon be the present for more and more of them. “I took out the kitty litter,” CK says, “and I saw some people standing on the corner, and I was like, I want to see strangers! And then I heard them saying: ‘It’s actually been really nice. It’s been a chance to connect as a family.’ And I was like, No, actually, I don’t want to see strangers, and I came back in.”

CK and I confine ourselves to the half bathroom, the one with the litter box, which she is now in charge of. Over the past days and days, drifty, dreamy CK has become my chief assistant on my nursing/housekeeping/kitchen rotations, feeding the cat and cleaning the litter box, folding laundry, preparing T’s small meals, washing dishes and pots, coordinating with me in a complicated choreography when I come out of the sickroom holding dishes so we can get them into the dishwasher without my touching the handles or having to wash my dry, raw hands even more. “I feel like we’re talking to each other more like equals now,” she says. She is right.

I am consumed with trying to keep us safe. I wipe down the doorknobs, the light switches, the faucets, the handles, the counters with disinfectant. I swab my phone with alcohol. I throw the day’s hoodie into the laundry at night as if it were my scrubs. I wash all our towels, again and again. When CK wants to shower, I wipe down the whole main bathroom — where T refills his water cup, where he has had diarrhea, where he coughs and spits out phlegm — with bleach, take out T’s washcloth, towels and bathmat and replace them with clean ones, telling CK to try not to touch anything, to shower and go right back to her room. Then I do the same. If T needs to use the bathroom before we’re ready to shower, I do the whole bleach routine again before we go in. Twice, in the first week of the illness, I eased him into an Epsom-salt bath. But not since then. He is too weak. It would be too much. There is no way. When he shuffles down the hall from the bedroom to the bathroom, he lists against the wall. He splashes water on his face in the bathroom, and that has to be enough.

I run through possibilities. I’m not so worried about CK getting sick. I can nurse her too. It’s if I get sick. I show her how to do more things, where things go, what to remember, what to do if — What if T is hospitalized? What if I am? Could a 16-year-old be left to fend for herself at home, alone? How would she get what she needed? Could she do it? For how long?

The one thing I know is that I could not send her to my parents, 78 years old and nearby on Long Island. They would want her to come, but she could kill them, their dear grandchild coming forward to their embrace, radioactive, glowing with invisible incubating virus cells. No. Not them. Someone else would have to take her, someone who has a bedroom and a bathroom where she could isolate and be cared for. Someone would. I lie awake at 4 a.m., on the floor, listening, thinking, wide awake with adrenaline.

The nights are hardest, when the fear and dread descend, T feverish, lying on his back, murmuring hoarsely about “anomie,” saying he almost just called CK by the name of his 20-years-ago ex-girlfriend. Three times we have tried to decide whether we need to go to the emergency room while on speakerphone with the doctor, once after I burst into sobs in the bathroom, saying out loud, “I’m afraid to make the wrong call.” Each time we decided to stay at home. He doesn’t have trouble breathing, and that would be the reason to go to the hospital.

We do a video call on one of these nights with a New York University emergency-room doctor, one of 250 who have been mobilized to do urgent-care video calls with patients who have flulike symptoms. She tells us that they are seeing this illness run two to three weeks. She tells us that T is OK to stay home if his oxygen-saturation reading doesn’t get too low, if he is not struggling to breathe. He is not. When I open the bedroom door to check on him and find him sleeping, I tiptoe closer and bend to make sure he is alive, to make sure he is still breathing, as I used to do when CK was an infant, asleep in her crib.

On one of the worst nights, I stay next to the bed, rubbing his body through the piled-on blankets, trying to comfort him. I hear myself start to hum, low, the only song I would: the song both my mother and my grandmother used to sing to me. When my mother sang it, it was “Tura Lura Lura,” with “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” cut into it after the words “That’s an Irish lullaby.” When my grandmother sang it to me, it was “Tura Lura Lura” with the words changed to “That’s a Russian lullaby.” That is the song of my early childhood, and more than four decades later I am humming it to my gravely ill husband.

“Now we live in a dystopian story,” I say to CK in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she says. And then: “Lots of people already did.”

Out on the street, T somehow looks even more frail, his 6-foot-1 frame stooped and swaddled in his winter jacket over another jacket over his father’s gray wool sweater over a Duofold wool undershirt over a white ribbed tank. He says it’s cold, blinking in the March sun over the white surgical mask he wore at the clinic when he was tested.

We both wear disposable gloves. I put my hand through the crook of his arm, and we slowly start for the clinic. The day before was one of the harder ones, with T lightheaded and nauseated most of the day, eating only if I spoon-fed him, coughing more and using his albuterol inhaler more, then coughing more again. He was soaked in sweat in the morning and by evening was lying curled up, looking apprehensive. “I coughed up blood just now,” he told me quietly.

We talked to his doctor on speakerphone. “We are all kind of working blind,” he told us. Many patients, he said, seem to begin to feel better after a week. But others, the more serious and severe cases, take a downturn, and the risks rise as the virus targets the lungs. Pneumonia is a common next step in that downward progression. We read about it in the patients admitted to the hospital. Now the doctor called in a prescription for antibiotics to the CVS pharmacy that would close in less than an hour. I texted T’s friend down the block, and he texted back that he would pick up the medicine. I asked if he would get oranges too; T has been accepting a little fresh-squeezed juice or cut-up pieces, and we were down to one last orange. They suddenly seemed an unimaginably exotic treat.

The doctor told us to go back to the clinic for a chest X-ray first thing in the morning. Now we slowly walk the three blocks, T coughing behind his mask. As we move along the street, we see some other people too — fewer than a few days ago, before Gov. Andrew Cuomo directed New Yorkers to stay indoors as much as possible. Some joggers go by. Just over a week ago, that was still me. Now I point out the buds about to bloom on the branches we pass, drawing T’s attention away from the few passers-by so we won’t see if they start or turn around. A few are wearing their own masks, but they are walking upright, striding along, using them as protection for themselves. Not like us.

At the clinic, another couple wearing masks opens the door and walks in. A man in a mask sits in the waiting area. T eases into a chair and leans against the wall with his eyes closed. I go to the desk. “My husband has already tested positive for Covid-19,” I tell the attendant, whose eyes meet mine over her mask.

She hands me a mask. T’s doctor is working at a different clinic today, so we’ll see another doctor, and they will compare notes. We wait, wearing our masks. T’s eyes are still closed. I look out the window behind us, where people on the street are walking along as if it were an ordinary day. A man opens the door of a tiny cafe across the street with his bare hand and goes inside.

Another attendant comes to the desk, and the first attendant murmurs quietly to her. The second attendant puts on a mask.

We’re called inside. The nurses, in masks, check T’s vitals. He has a slight fever, just over 99 degrees, but that may be lowered because of the recent ibuprofen and acetaminophen in his system. His blood pressure is fine. His pulse is fine. His oxygen saturation is fine. We tell them about the fevers, the sweats, the nausea, the coughing, the spots of blood he is continuing to cough up, the lower oxygen-saturation number we recorded at home this morning.

When the nurses leave, T leans back in the examination chair, resting his head with his eyes closed. Out in the hall, I hear someone telling a patient that he has been sick for a long time. It’s time to go to the hospital five blocks away.

The doctor comes in, wearing a mask and a plastic shield over it. T, shivering in a paper gown, follows her out for the X-ray. “That was strangely difficult,” he says when he returns. “Just holding my arms above my head.” The X-ray looks different from the one a week ago, the doctor tells us after consulting with the radiologist. Now it shows pneumonia in the left lung. T’s doctor was right to order the antibiotics last night. T’s lungs sound all right when she listens through a stethoscope — he is not wheezing. He is not having breathing problems. He can keep being treated at home. “But now we’re going to be watching you even more closely,” she says.

At the door of the clinic, we stand looking out at two older women chatting outside the doorway, oblivious. Do I wave them away? Call out that they should get far away, go home, wash their hands, stay inside? Instead we just stand there, awkwardly, until they move on. Only then do we step outside to begin the long three-block walk home. I point out the early magnolia, the forsythia. T says he is cold. The untrimmed hairs on his neck, under his beard, are white. The few people walking past us on the sidewalk don’t know that we are visitors from the future. A vision, a premonition, a walking visitation. This will be them: Either T, in the mask, or — if they’re lucky — me, tending to him.

Jessica Lustig is a deputy editor of The New York Times Magazine.

 

 

Just scary 

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2 minutes ago, Mother mopar said:
12 minutes ago, Sgt Hulk said:
Pushed it to 25 May today I’m supposed to PCS in July and it’s looking dicey 

We are still sending folks to everywhere except level 3 countries. It's a complete shit show.

Really??? We are on a full on stop no PCs no tdy hell no work unless you have to be in the office 

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1 hour ago, Modessit said:
8 hours ago, Larry T. Spider said:
It going to be optional activities for a long time. As soon as it’s required or grades are taken then we have to fulfill special education requirements. We have no capability to do that at this time. We are basically providing resources for kids as well as ways for them to connect with their teachers and each other. 

We were wondering that. Wife is PPCD and had a Zoom conference call and told me they're still trying to figure out what to do about special education. She's trying to figure out how they're going to get ARDs and other required stuff done.

We are waiting on TEA for guidance. Don’t want to start doing one thing only to get slammed with lawsuits down the road. There are a few lawyers in town who basically sue us for a living so I’m sure the sharks are circling.

TEA says they are waiting on the US department of education for guidance because the laws are federal. I can’t say anything about them without it being political.

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Really??? We are on a full on stop no PCs no tdy hell no work unless you have to be in the office 
Yup, we are being told the aircraft maintence training pipeline has been deemed mission essential. To prevent combat capabilities degradation and thwart readiness issues. 2 star general said press until I say stop. So.....puts the lotion on the skin. Does what it's told.
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40 minutes ago, Modessit said:
5 hours ago, Pasken said:
Good lord, what the hell is going to happen to the electric grid this summer if people are still working from home and all running the AC? Can we fire up that bio fuel plant we just bought? 

COA Utilities sent us an email saying we used 4% more electricity this week over last week.

god the same, except ours was 29%. We haven't really change utilization greatly.  There may be a few more lights on during the day, but that is it.  

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2 minutes ago, Anastasis said:

god the same, except ours was 29%. We haven't really change utilization greatly.  There may be a few more lights on during the day, but that is it.  

ours went down 4%. I make my kids embrace the suck during the day. You feel hot, go outside, it's all relative.

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We are waiting on TEA for guidance. Don’t want to start doing one thing only to get slammed with lawsuits down the road. There are a few lawyers in town who basically sue us for a living so I’m sure the sharks are circling.
TEA says they are waiting on the US department of education for guidance because the laws are federal. I can’t say anything about them without it being political.

Every school has that sue happy parent. My wife has one too.
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11 minutes ago, Mother mopar said:
14 minutes ago, Sgt Hulk said:
Really??? We are on a full on stop no PCs no tdy hell no work unless you have to be in the office 

Yup, we are being told the aircraft maintence training pipeline has been deemed mission essential. To prevent combat capabilities degradation and thwart readiness issues. 2 star general said press until I say stop. So.....puts the lotion on the skin. Does what it's told.

As a prior maintainer this all doesn’t shock me 

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3 hours ago, akhornfan said:

I know you said you would, but can you show this model out past just one day?  Curious where you show it going. . . 
Thanks for doing this - it’s interesting to watch.

So this is a short-term chart of total cases/deaths on top and the rate trends below (darker=longer trend, blue=case, orange=death).  Note the top graph is logarithmic - those lines are quasi-exponential, not linear.

So the only reason I'm really posting this is to show how deaths were on a completely different trajectory, but are starting to match cases in both graphs.  I'm attributing that to the Oregon nursing home giving us a burst of early deaths.  You can also see the the daily cases have a pretty large variability, but over 10 days the variability waters down.  Which is why I'm using the 10-day trends to project forward.

You can also tell that the total cases is weirdly good data, so relatively easy to project.

spacer.png

 

This is probably ore of what you want to see (daily cases and total deaths):

zSRcPblYvU23lkCPcNpx_rIOatmbzYRmu863DvKa

Still logarithmic, each tick is 10x the previous.

It's easier to see here that there's more wiggle in the daily cases than total cases.  I really just wanted to post this to show how the split between the base scenario and goal scenario could look in the numbers as we go forward.  Each bar is 10x greater the the one below, so it's a giant reduction even in early April.

There's a big caveat in longer-term projections with this thing, however.  Critical to the model is the ratio of susceptible-to-infective persons within a well-mixed population base.   The entire nation is not well-mixed, but it works for the current small numbers and general spread-out-ness of the disease.  When places inevitably become "hotspots" this thing is built to adjust as it goes - not to predict these things a month in advance.  An ideal model would need to rely on a particularly robust set of information wrt geo-demograhics and travel habits.

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SIAP

wonder what an “I told you so” from the entire world feels like...

 

Attention seeker who licked toilet seat and joked about getting coronavirus now has coronavirus

 Comment
coronavirus challenge
A young American who licked a toilet seat to take part in the ‘coronavirus challenge’ has reportedly since come down with the disease (Picture: TikTok)
 
Author image
Jacob GeanousWednesday 25 Mar 2020 1:39 pm

A clout-chaser who licked a toilet seat and joked about catching coronavirus has reportedly done just that.

The unidentified youngster gained internet notoriety after he filmed himself putting his mouth on the toilet as part of the ‘coronavirus challenge,’ which has seen people licking objects in the face of the global pandemic. The footage was later posted to TikTok

That person has since reportedly contracted Covid-19, according to Piers Morgan. 

‘You may remember also the other idiot, this is also in America, as part of the coronavirus challenge some morons are doing, went into his local toilet cubicle and licked the bowl,’ Morgan said on Good Morning Britain.

‘I think this called karma – he’s got coronavirus.’ 

coronavirus crisis
The ‘coronavirus challenge’ has seen young people all over the world lick public objects despite the worsening public health crisis (Picture: TikTok)

Health experts have branded the internet challenge to be ‘highly irresponsible’ and said it will lead to the spread of the viral infection. It reportedly began after a woman was filmed licking an airplane toilet seat as someone in the background said, ‘It’s corona time’.......

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5 minutes ago, JBJ said:

So this is a short-term chart of total cases/deaths on top and the rate trends below (darker=longer trend, blue=case, orange=death).  Note the top graph is logarithmic - those lines are quasi-exponential, not linear.

So the only reason I'm really posting this is to show how deaths were on a completely different trajectory, but are starting to match cases in both graphs.  I'm attributing that to the Oregon nursing home giving us a burst of early deaths.  You can also see the the daily cases have a pretty large variability, but over 10 days the variability waters down.  Which is why I'm using the 10-day trends to project forward.

You can also tell that the total cases is weirdly good data, so relatively easy to project.

spacer.png

 

This is probably ore of what you want to see (daily cases and total deaths):

zSRcPblYvU23lkCPcNpx_rIOatmbzYRmu863DvKa

Still logarithmic, each tick is 10x the previous.

It's easier to see here that there's more wiggle in the daily cases than total cases.  I really just wanted to post this to show how the split between the base scenario and goal scenario could look in the numbers as we go forward.  Each bar is 10x greater the the one below, so it's a giant reduction even in early April.

There's a big caveat in longer-term projections with this thing, however.  Critical to the model is the ratio of susceptible-to-infective persons within a well-mixed population base.   The entire nation is not well-mixed, but it works for the current small numbers and general spread-out-ness of the disease.  When places inevitably become "hotspots" this thing is built to adjust as it goes - not to predict these things a month in advance.  An ideal model would need to rely on a particularly robust set of information wrt geo-demograhics and travel habits.

This is very interesting. Thank you for doing it. By the way, your second image isn't showing. 

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5 hours ago, Pato del Muerto said:

If your actual infected is 150k to 300k (your multipliers of confirmed cases) then you need to take 10% of those numbers to get expected hospitalizations. 15-30k. 

you are correct.  my 5x-10x number is probably light because everyone is hollering at about how so much more contagious this is than other virus' we've seen.

I'm using 10% as a hospitalization rate because of the limited testing to people that really have bad symptoms or direct contact(I know that has started to loosen recently).  My opinion is it is much lower but whatever.

If Cuomo is saying 20% of tested need hospitalization and 3% for ICU/vents and hes asking for 140K beds and 30K vents. that means he thinks  700K+ are infected(we can round to probably 1M and there is your 30K vents.

Just extrapolating his numbers and of course this is just conjecture in my part.

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39 minutes ago, Hate said:


My wife works for Conroe ISD and they are trying to have their SLP’s stay as close to on schedule as possible. She also has to hold ARD’s, send out encrypted process reports which require 2 emails per her 50 kids, and then try to do therapy remotely. Therapy will probably be ok with the fluency only kids, but she has trouble with the life skills kids in person...how in the hell is she supposed do therapy for them?? She’s understandably stressed especially when she sees the Gen Ed and Resource teachers basically in summer break.

My wife is the special ed director in a district and she's been non stop on zoom i guess. Its non stop video conferencing all day from our kitchen table.  

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Update on my dad in Sun City.  He has a presumed case.  He caught it from my step mom. She developed mild pneumonia in her right lung but is getting better.  He was 5 days behind her.  Cough started has gotten progressively worse the last 5 days.  Today he told me it has moved into his lungs.  Damn it.  Doc through telemedicine gave him abuterol inhaler and antibiotic.  I made him promise if he feels any pressure on his chest to go to ER.  He had a fever a few days ago but only for part of the day and it went away.  Hope this is bad as it gets due to his quad bypass, age and overall health.  Ugh. 

Hope he gets better. Just finished another trail for the hiking club up there
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11 minutes ago, tjhooker said:

Update on my dad in Sun City.  He has a presumed case.  He caught it from my step mom. She developed mild pneumonia in her right lung but is getting better.  He was 5 days behind her.  Cough started has gotten progressively worse the last 5 days.  Today he told me it has moved into his lungs.  Damn it.  Doc through telemedicine gave him abuterol inhaler and antibiotic.  I made him promise if he feels any pressure on his chest to go to ER.  He had a fever a few days ago but only for part of the day and it went away.  Hope this is bad as it gets due to his quad bypass, age and overall health.  Ugh. 

Man, that's not good news. Hope he pulls through with no issues

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Quote

When do we decide as a society that those who do shit like lick public toilet seats as some kind of need to go "viral' should get sent on a one way ticket to Mars on a Space X test rocket?

The Brits used to send them to Australia, and then they bred:

 

Edited by clapclapclap
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18 minutes ago, Macanudo said:

When do we decide as a society that those who do shit like lick public toilet seats as some kind of need to go "viral' should get sent on a one way ticket to Mars on a Space X test rocket?

Why not on a one way ‘viral’, dick measuring rocket fired by DPRK?   

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I’m mildly annoyed by some nurses on Facebook lecturing everyone that they should be donating masks to local hospitals, and they’re assholes if they don’t. 

I don’t understand the sentiment that people who prepared for this situation should give up their supplies to people, in the healthcare profession, that didn’t. They should be bitching at the hospital they work for being unprepared.

I say this as someone that donated masks to a local hospital.

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36 minutes ago, tjhooker said:

Update on my dad in Sun City.  He has a presumed case.  He caught it from my step mom. She developed mild pneumonia in her right lung but is getting better.  He was 5 days behind her.  Cough started has gotten progressively worse the last 5 days.  Today he told me it has moved into his lungs.  Damn it.  Doc through telemedicine gave him abuterol inhaler and antibiotic.  I made him promise if he feels any pressure on his chest to go to ER.  He had a fever a few days ago but only for part of the day and it went away.  Hope this is bad as it gets due to his quad bypass, age and overall health.  Ugh. 

Dammit. Tell the old man to keep fighting. 

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35 minutes ago, StruggleBus said:

I’m mildly annoyed by some nurses on Facebook lecturing everyone that they should be donating masks to local hospitals, and they’re assholes if they don’t. 

I don’t understand the sentiment that people who prepared for this situation should give up their supplies to people, in the healthcare profession, that didn’t. They should be bitching at the hospital they work for being unprepared.

I say this as someone that donated masks to a local hospital.

I know a girl in the healthcare industry. She started posting about staying home and letting healthcare workers have ppe AS SOON AS SHE GOT BACK FROM HER HAWAIIAN VACATION. 

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1 minute ago, Bevo VIII said:

San Antonio now to 84 cases and 3 deaths. 3 days in a row cases jumped by 12+

I have a family member in SA working in the ER at a hospital here. They have 30 or so confirmed or expected confirmed patients. They also have drugs to continue treating those patients for the next few days, with no ETA on when they’ll receive more. 

I’m in SA and I’ll continue to just chill at home. It’s pretty apparent that the hospitals here are woefully underprepared for this.

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11 minutes ago, Liquor and Poker said:

Waay too expensive.  Bullets are cheap. 

Not advocating death.    But the Instagram/Social Influencer/Famous Because They're Famous crowd needs to go away.

No one really benefits from their presence.

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Same.  wife is a supervisor that works PT and if the parents of kids decline therapy, ARD's by Zoom are required.  This is DISD so most either don't speak English or have no internet.  Trying to get them on Zoom is challenging and time consuming.  
This is a big one as probably 80% of my wife's students were not born in this country and sometimes translators are necessary. Also, they have to have a recording and I'm not familiar with Zoom to know if you can record the entire thing. They usually do it with Audacity and have to keep the file size below a certain point in order to upload it for HQ.
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You certainly did, and I countered a bit.  People like you thinking outside the box, along with those building the open-source ventilators.  There's not much different between the Raspberry Pi (you suggested) compared to the Arduino used for the open-source ventilators.  Both are primarily used for open-source projects, as I understand.
Get me the parts list and schematic/ board layout of the 80s versions of ventilator cpus and I probably have the necessary parts in the garage to build some. I can burn ROMs too if anyone has some code. No need to go full TTL.
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NW has around 100 COVID patients hospitalized.  They still have some vent capacity but not much.  Swedish Covenant on the north side down to one vent left and starting to flood.  Latest predictions in Chicago market are a spike starting around April 1 and peaking April 14. 

Oh a fun fact that doesn't have to do much with anything but gets to some of the financials.  Hospitals clean up on electives which are on pause.  Also they are leaving as much capacity as possible bed wise...so NW currently is charging 30M less per day in their system so that's a real time hit of about 15M per day.  When you're doing billions a year that's not too crazy and I'm definitely not saying feel sorry for the bastards but just some big numbers all around. 

And does anyone have the social distancing grades by city?  Chicago was doing well but it's still cold as shit here.  That's my theory because as a whole we are certainly  no smarter around these parts. 

Stay safe out there...

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  • hayden_horn changed the title to Formerly DT: COVID-19 - Featuring Lots of Politics, now CR because political talk not going away


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