My mother was suffering from a stomach cyst that was crowding her other organs and causing discomfort. According to her physician, it was a “watermelon” sufficiently liquid to be deflated by simple suction without general anesthesia. I steered my Ford Fusion along the Charles River in Cambridge, where runners outdoors in Massachusetts still have to wear masks. As we drove along the river, where I have run for thousands of miles during my life, I saw that nearly all the runners were dutifully masked. As a lifelong runner, for whom free breathing of the air is the point of the exercise, I find this rule beyond comedy. I burst out laughing, explaining to my mother, “We’re in Maskachusetts!” I proceeded on under the Prudential Center and down Huntington Avenue past the elegant contrarian cautionary cathedral of the Christian Scientists, who deny the very existence of illness. Having a number of Christian Scientist relatives, and noticing their tendency to die rather young, I have remained a skeptic. But their plaza on Huntington Avenue is magnificent, and in the face of the lockdown-laughables surrounding it, I had to admit that the Christian Scientists may have a point. Then I pass the monumental Boston Museum of Fine Arts, empty as a cenotaph, and on into the belly of the beast near Harvard’s School of Public Health. This establishment has been an important source of epidemiological counsel used in the COVID-19 crisis. According to most of the advice received by Governor Charlie Baker and his ilk, the key to meeting the crisis is “safety first,” imposed by detailed top-down rules, such as the four-phased opening up now very tentatively and timorously under way and frequently reversed as a result of proliferating tests that predictably yield increasing numbers of “cases” and an epidemic of viral new-mania. |
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