#my grandmother survived breast cancer for 10 years as well as covid

[houseswife]

wilson saying “I need to do this. for you.” is fucking insane actually. in the same episode where house is deciding whether or not he should commit suicide as a result of wilson’s dying. They are each other’s lines between life and death. humans have a biological instinct to preserve their survival at all costs; house has an addiction that governs his life. but they were willing to forgo all of it for one another, because they couldn’t fathom it being any other way. IM SICK

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story

Mayra Ramirez remembers the nightmares.

During six weeks on life support at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Ramirez said, she had terrifying nightmares that she couldn’t distinguish from reality.

“Most of them involve me drowning,” she said. “I attribute that to me not being able to breathe, and struggling to breathe.”

On June 5, Ramirez, 28, became the first known COVID-19 patient in the U.S. to undergo a double lung transplant. She is strong enough now to begin sharing the story of her ordeal.

Mysterious Exposure

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Mayra Ramirez began working from home. She’s unsure how she contracted COVID-19.(Northwestern Medicine)

Before the pandemic, Ramirez worked as a paralegal for an immigration law firm in Chicago. She enjoyed walking her dogs and running 5K races.

Ramirez had been working from home since mid-March, hardly leaving the house, so she has no idea how she contracted the coronavirus. In late April, she started experiencing chronic spasms, diarrhea, loss of taste and smell, and a slight fever.

“I felt very fatigued,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t able to walk long distances without falling over. And that’s when I decided to go into the emergency room.”

From the ER to a Ventilator

The staff at Northwestern checked her vitals and found her oxygen levels were extremely low. She was given 10 minutes to explain her situation over the phone to her mother in North Carolina and appoint her to make medical decisions on her behalf.

Ramirez knew she was about to be placed on a ventilator, but she didn’t understand exactly what that meant.

“In Spanish, the word ‘ventilator’ — ventilador — is ‘fan,’ so I thought, ‘Oh, they’re just gonna blow some air into me and I’ll be OK. Maybe have a three-day stay, and then I’ll be right out.’ So I wasn’t very worried,” Ramirez said.

In fact, she would spend the next six weeks heavily sedated on that ventilator and another machine — known as ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation — pumping and oxygenating her blood outside of her body.

In this photo taken before the transplant, Mayra Ramirez is being monitored by the ECMO team at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.(Northwestern Medicine)

One theory about why Ramirez became so sick is that she has a neurological condition that is treated with steroids, drugs that can suppress the immune system.

By early June, Ramirez was at risk of further decline. She began showing signs that her kidneys and liver were starting to fail, with no improvement in her lung function. Her family was told she might not make it through the night, so her mother and sisters caught the first flight from North Carolina to Chicago to say goodbye.

When they arrived, the doctors told Ramirez’s mother, Nohemi Romero, that there was one last thing they could try.

Ramirez was a candidate for a double lung transplant, they said, although the procedure had never been done on a COVID patient in the U.S. Her mother agreed, and within 48 hours of being listed for transplant, a donor was found and the successful procedure was performed on June 5.

At a recent news conference held by Northwestern Memorial, Romero shared in Spanish that there were no words to describe the pain of not being by her daughter’s side as she struggled for her life.

She thanked God all went well, and for giving her the strength to make it through.

‘I Just Felt Like a Vegetable’

Dr. Ankit Bharat, Northwestern Medicine’s chief of thoracic surgery, performed the 10-hour procedure.

“Most patients are quite sick going into [a] lung transplant,” Bharat said in an interview in June. “But she was so sick. In fact, I can say without hesitation, the sickest patient I ever transplanted.”

Bharat said most COVID-19 patients will not be candidates for transplants because of their age and other health conditions that decrease the likelihood of success. And early research shows that up to half of COVID patients on ventilators survive the illness and are likely to recover on their own.

But for some, like Ramirez, Bharat said, a transplant can be a lifesaving option of last resort.

When Ramirez woke up after the operation, she was disoriented, could barely move her body and couldn’t speak.

“I just felt like a vegetable. It was frustrating, but at the time I didn’t have the cognitive ability to process what was going on,” Ramirez said.

She recalled being sad that her mother wasn’t with her in the hospital, not understanding that visitors weren’t allowed because of the pandemic.

Her family had sent photos to post by her hospital bed, and Ramirez said she couldn’t recognize anyone in the pictures.

“I was actually sort of upset about it, [thinking,] ‘Who are these strangers and why are their pictures in my room?’” Ramirez said. “It was weeks later, actually, that I took a second look and realized, ‘Hey, that’s my grandmother. That’s my mom and my siblings. And that’s me.”

After a few weeks, Ramirez said, she finally understood what happened to her. When COVID-19 restrictions loosened at the hospital in mid-June, her mother was finally able to visit.

“The first thing I did was just tear up,” Ramirez said. “I was overjoyed to see her.”

The Long Road to Recovery

After weeks of inpatient rehabilitation, Ramirez was discharged home. She’s now receiving in-home nursing assistance as well as physical and occupational therapy, and she’s working on finding a psychologist.

Ramirez eagerly looks forward to being able to spend more time with her family, her boyfriend and her dogs and serving the immigrant community through her legal work.

But for now, her days are consumed by rehab. Her doctors say it will be at least a year before she can function independently and be as active as before.

Ramirez is slowly regaining strength and learning how to breathe with her new lungs.

She takes more than 17 pills, four times a day, including medicines to prevent her body from rejecting the new lungs. She also takes anxiety meds and antidepressants to help her cope with daily nightmares and panic attacks.

The long-term physical and mental health tolls on Ramirez and other COVID-19 survivors remain largely unknown, since the virus is so new.

While most people who contract the virus are left seemingly unscathed, for some patients, like Ramirez, the road to recovery is full of uncertainty, said Dr. Mady Hornig, a physician-scientist at the Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health.

Some patients can experience post-intensive care syndrome, or PICS, which can consist of depression, memory issues and other cognitive and mental health problems, Hornig said. Under normal circumstances, ICU visits from loved ones are encouraged, she said, because the human interaction can be protective.

“That type of contact would normally keep people oriented … so that it doesn’t become as traumatic,” Hornig said.

Hopes for the Future

COVID-19 has disproportionately harmed Latino communities, as Latinos are overrepresented in jobs that expose them to the virus and have lower rates of health insurance and other social protections.

Ramirez has health insurance, although that hasn’t spared her from tens and thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills.

And even though she still ended up getting COVID-19, she counts herself lucky for having a job that allowed her to work from home when the pandemic struck. Many Latino workers don’t have that luxury, she said, so they’re forced to risk their lives doing low-wage jobs deemed essential at this time.

Ramirez’s mother is a breast cancer survivor, making her particularly vulnerable to COVID-19. She had been working at a meatpacking plant in North Carolina, for a company that Ramirez said has had hundreds of COVID-19 cases among employees.

So Ramirez is relieved to have her mom in Chicago, helping take care of her.

“I’m glad this is taking her away from her position,” Ramirez said.

Friends and family in North Carolina have been fundraising to help pay her medical bills, selling raffle tickets and setting up a GoFundMe page on her behalf. Ramirez is also applying for financial assistance from the hospital.

Her experience with COVID-19 has not changed who she is as a person, she said, and she looks forward to living her life to the fullest.

If she ever gets the chance to speak with the family of the person whose lungs she now has, she said, she will thank them “for raising such a healthy child and a caring person [who] was kind enough to become an organ donor.”

Her life may never be the same, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She laughs as she explains how she asked her surgeon to take her skydiving someday.

“Dr. Bharat actually used to work at a skydiving company when he was younger,” Ramirez said. “And so he promised me that, hopefully within a year, he could get me there.”

And she has every intention of holding him to that promise.

This story is part of a reporting partnership that includes Illinois Public Media, Side Effects Public Media, NPR and KHN.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[stephenmccull]

Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story

Mayra Ramirez remembers the nightmares.

During six weeks on life support at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Ramirez said, she had terrifying nightmares that she couldn’t distinguish from reality.

“Most of them involve me drowning,” she said. “I attribute that to me not being able to breathe, and struggling to breathe.”

On June 5, Ramirez, 28, became the first known COVID-19 patient in the U.S. to undergo a double lung transplant. She is strong enough now to begin sharing the story of her ordeal.

Mysterious Exposure

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Mayra Ramirez began working from home. She’s unsure how she contracted COVID-19.(Northwestern Medicine)

Before the pandemic, Ramirez worked as a paralegal for an immigration law firm in Chicago. She enjoyed walking her dogs and running 5K races.

Ramirez had been working from home since mid-March, hardly leaving the house, so she has no idea how she contracted the coronavirus. In late April, she started experiencing chronic spasms, diarrhea, loss of taste and smell, and a slight fever.

“I felt very fatigued,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t able to walk long distances without falling over. And that’s when I decided to go into the emergency room.”

From the ER to a Ventilator

The staff at Northwestern checked her vitals and found her oxygen levels were extremely low. She was given 10 minutes to explain her situation over the phone to her mother in North Carolina and appoint her to make medical decisions on her behalf.

Ramirez knew she was about to be placed on a ventilator, but she didn’t understand exactly what that meant.

“In Spanish, the word ‘ventilator’ — ventilador — is ‘fan,’ so I thought, ‘Oh, they’re just gonna blow some air into me and I’ll be OK. Maybe have a three-day stay, and then I’ll be right out.’ So I wasn’t very worried,” Ramirez said.

In fact, she would spend the next six weeks heavily sedated on that ventilator and another machine — known as ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation — pumping and oxygenating her blood outside of her body.

In this photo taken before the transplant, Mayra Ramirez is being monitored by the ECMO team at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago.(Northwestern Medicine)

One theory about why Ramirez became so sick is that she has a neurological condition that is treated with steroids, drugs that can suppress the immune system.

By early June, Ramirez was at risk of further decline. She began showing signs that her kidneys and liver were starting to fail, with no improvement in her lung function. Her family was told she might not make it through the night, so her mother and sisters caught the first flight from North Carolina to Chicago to say goodbye.

When they arrived, the doctors told Ramirez’s mother, Nohemi Romero, that there was one last thing they could try.

Ramirez was a candidate for a double lung transplant, they said, although the procedure had never been done on a COVID patient in the U.S. Her mother agreed, and within 48 hours of being listed for transplant, a donor was found and the successful procedure was performed on June 5.

At a recent news conference held by Northwestern Memorial, Romero shared in Spanish that there were no words to describe the pain of not being by her daughter’s side as she struggled for her life.

She thanked God all went well, and for giving her the strength to make it through.

‘I Just Felt Like a Vegetable’

Dr. Ankit Bharat, Northwestern Medicine’s chief of thoracic surgery, performed the 10-hour procedure.

“Most patients are quite sick going into [a] lung transplant,” Bharat said in an interview in June. “But she was so sick. In fact, I can say without hesitation, the sickest patient I ever transplanted.”

Bharat said most COVID-19 patients will not be candidates for transplants because of their age and other health conditions that decrease the likelihood of success. And early research shows that up to half of COVID patients on ventilators survive the illness and are likely to recover on their own.

But for some, like Ramirez, Bharat said, a transplant can be a lifesaving option of last resort.

When Ramirez woke up after the operation, she was disoriented, could barely move her body and couldn’t speak.

“I just felt like a vegetable. It was frustrating, but at the time I didn’t have the cognitive ability to process what was going on,” Ramirez said.

She recalled being sad that her mother wasn’t with her in the hospital, not understanding that visitors weren’t allowed because of the pandemic.

Her family had sent photos to post by her hospital bed, and Ramirez said she couldn’t recognize anyone in the pictures.

“I was actually sort of upset about it, [thinking,] ‘Who are these strangers and why are their pictures in my room?’” Ramirez said. “It was weeks later, actually, that I took a second look and realized, ‘Hey, that’s my grandmother. That’s my mom and my siblings. And that’s me.”

After a few weeks, Ramirez said, she finally understood what happened to her. When COVID-19 restrictions loosened at the hospital in mid-June, her mother was finally able to visit.

“The first thing I did was just tear up,” Ramirez said. “I was overjoyed to see her.”

The Long Road to Recovery

After weeks of inpatient rehabilitation, Ramirez was discharged home. She’s now receiving in-home nursing assistance as well as physical and occupational therapy, and she’s working on finding a psychologist.

Ramirez eagerly looks forward to being able to spend more time with her family, her boyfriend and her dogs and serving the immigrant community through her legal work.

But for now, her days are consumed by rehab. Her doctors say it will be at least a year before she can function independently and be as active as before.

Ramirez is slowly regaining strength and learning how to breathe with her new lungs.

She takes more than 17 pills, four times a day, including medicines to prevent her body from rejecting the new lungs. She also takes anxiety meds and antidepressants to help her cope with daily nightmares and panic attacks.

The long-term physical and mental health tolls on Ramirez and other COVID-19 survivors remain largely unknown, since the virus is so new.

While most people who contract the virus are left seemingly unscathed, for some patients, like Ramirez, the road to recovery is full of uncertainty, said Dr. Mady Hornig, a physician-scientist at the Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health.

Some patients can experience post-intensive care syndrome, or PICS, which can consist of depression, memory issues and other cognitive and mental health problems, Hornig said. Under normal circumstances, ICU visits from loved ones are encouraged, she said, because the human interaction can be protective.

“That type of contact would normally keep people oriented … so that it doesn’t become as traumatic,” Hornig said.

Hopes for the Future

COVID-19 has disproportionately harmed Latino communities, as Latinos are overrepresented in jobs that expose them to the virus and have lower rates of health insurance and other social protections.

Ramirez has health insurance, although that hasn’t spared her from tens and thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills.

And even though she still ended up getting COVID-19, she counts herself lucky for having a job that allowed her to work from home when the pandemic struck. Many Latino workers don’t have that luxury, she said, so they’re forced to risk their lives doing low-wage jobs deemed essential at this time.

Ramirez’s mother is a breast cancer survivor, making her particularly vulnerable to COVID-19. She had been working at a meatpacking plant in North Carolina, for a company that Ramirez said has had hundreds of COVID-19 cases among employees.

So Ramirez is relieved to have her mom in Chicago, helping take care of her.

“I’m glad this is taking her away from her position,” Ramirez said.

Friends and family in North Carolina have been fundraising to help pay her medical bills, selling raffle tickets and setting up a GoFundMe page on her behalf. Ramirez is also applying for financial assistance from the hospital.

Her experience with COVID-19 has not changed who she is as a person, she said, and she looks forward to living her life to the fullest.

If she ever gets the chance to speak with the family of the person whose lungs she now has, she said, she will thank them “for raising such a healthy child and a caring person [who] was kind enough to become an organ donor.”

Her life may never be the same, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She laughs as she explains how she asked her surgeon to take her skydiving someday.

“Dr. Bharat actually used to work at a skydiving company when he was younger,” Ramirez said. “And so he promised me that, hopefully within a year, he could get me there.”

And she has every intention of holding him to that promise.

This story is part of a reporting partnership that includes Illinois Public Media, Side Effects Public Media, NPR and KHN.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

Back to Life: COVID Lung Transplant Survivor Tells Her Story published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[dinafbrownil]

Why Black Aging Matters, Too

Old. Chronically ill. Black.

People who fit this description are more likely to die from COVID-19 than any other group in the country.

They are perishing quietly, out of sight, in homes and apartment buildings, senior housing complexes, nursing homes and hospitals, disproportionately poor, frail and ill, after enduring a lifetime of racism and its attendant adverse health effects.

Yet, older Black Americans have received little attention as protesters proclaim that Black Lives Matter and experts churn out studies about the coronavirus.

“People are talking about the race disparity in COVID deaths, they’re talking about the age disparity, but they’re not talking about how race and age disparities interact: They’re not talking about older Black adults,” said Robert Joseph Taylor, director of the Program for Research on Black Americans at the University of Michigan’s Institute for Social Research.

A KHN analysis of data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention underscores the extent of their vulnerability. It found that African Americans ages 65 to 74 died of COVID-19 five times as often as whites. In the 75-to-84 group, the death rate for Blacks was 3½ times greater. Among those 85 and older, Blacks died twice as often. In all three age groups, death rates for Hispanics were higher than for whites but lower than for Blacks.

(The gap between Blacks and whites narrows over time because advanced age, itself, becomes an increasingly important, shared risk. Altogether, 80% of COVID-19 deaths are among people 65 and older.)

The data comes from the week that ended Feb. 1 through Aug. 8. Although breakdowns by race and age were not consistently reported, it is the best information available.

Mistrustful of Outsiders

Social and economic disadvantage, reinforced by racism, plays a significant part in unequal outcomes. Throughout their lives, Blacks have poorer access to health care and receive services of lower quality than does the general population. Starting in middle age, the toll becomes evident: more chronic medical conditions, which worsen over time, and earlier deaths.

Several conditions — diabetes, chronic kidney disease, obesity, heart failure and pulmonary hypertension, among others — put older Blacks at heightened risk of becoming seriously ill and dying from COVID-19.

Yet many vulnerable Black seniors are deeply distrustful of government and health care institutions, complicating efforts to mitigate the pandemic’s impact.

The infamous Tuskegee syphilis study — in which African American participants in Alabama were not treated for their disease — remains a shocking, indelible example of racist medical experimentation. Just as important, the lifelong experience of racism in health care settings — symptoms discounted, needed treatments not given — leaves psychic scars.

In Seattle, Catholic Community Services sponsors the African American Elders Program, which serves nearly 400 frail homebound seniors each year.

“A lot of Black elders in this area migrated from the South a long time ago and were victims of a lot of racist practices growing up,” said Margaret Boddie, 77, who directs the program. “With the pandemic, they’re fearful of outsiders coming in and trying to tell them how to think and how to be. They think they’re being targeted. There’s a lot of paranoia.”

“They won’t open the door to people they don’t know, even to talk,” complicating efforts to send in social workers or nurses to provide assistance, Boddie said.

In Los Angeles, Karen Lincoln directs Advocates for African American Elders and is an associate professor of social work at the University of Southern California.

“Health literacy is a big issue in the older African American population because of how people were educated when they were young,” she said. “My maternal grandmother, she had a third-grade education. My grandfather, he made it to the fifth grade. For many people, understanding the information that’s put out, especially when it changes so often and people don’t really understand why, is a challenge.”

What this population needs, Lincoln suggested, is “help from people who they can relate to” — ideally, a cadre of African American community health workers.

With suspicion running high, older Blacks are keeping to themselves and avoiding health care providers.

“Testing? I know only of maybe two people who’ve been tested,” said Mardell Reed, 80, who lives in Pasadena, California, and volunteers with Lincoln’s program. “Taking a vaccine [for the coronavirus]? That is just not going to happen with most of the people I know. They don’t trust it and I don’t trust it.”

Reed has high blood pressure, anemia, arthritis and thyroid and kidney disease, all fairly well controlled. She rarely goes outside because of COVID-19. “I’m just afraid of being around people,” she admitted.

Other factors contribute to the heightened risk for older Blacks during the pandemic. They have fewer financial resources to draw upon and fewer community assets (such as grocery stores, pharmacies, transportation, community organizations that provide aging services) to rely on in times of adversity. And housing circumstances can contribute to the risk of infection.

In Chicago, Gilbert James, 78, lives in a 27-floor senior housing building, with 10 apartments on each floor. But only two of the building’s three elevators are operational at any time. Despite a “two-person-per-elevator policy,” people crowd onto the elevators, making it difficult to maintain social distance.

“The building doesn’t keep us updated on how they’re keeping things clean or whether people have gotten sick or died” of COVID-19, James said. Nationally, there are no efforts to track COVID-19 in low-income senior housing and little guidance about necessary infection control.

Large numbers of older Blacks also live in intergenerational households, where other adults, many of them essential workers, come and go for work, risking exposure to the coronavirus. As children return to school, they, too, are potential vectors of infection.

‘Striving Yet Never Arriving’

In recent years, the American Psychological Association has called attention to the impact of racism-related stress in older African Americans — yet another source of vulnerability.

This toxic stress, revived each time racism becomes manifest, has deleterious consequences to physical and mental health. Even racist acts committed against others can be a significant stressor.

“This older generation went through the civil rights movement. Desegregation. Their kids went through busing. They grew up with a knee on their neck, as it were,” said Keith Whitfield, provost at Wayne State University and an expert on aging in African Americans. “For them, it was an ongoing battle, striving yet never arriving. But there’s also a lot of resilience that we shouldn’t underestimate.”

This year, for some elders, violence against Blacks and COVID-19’s heavy toll on African American communities have been painful triggers. “The level of stress has definitely increased,” Lincoln said.

During ordinary times, families and churches are essential supports, providing practical assistance and emotional nurturing. But during the pandemic, many older Blacks have been isolated.

In her capacity as a volunteer, Reed has been phoning Los Angeles seniors. “For some of them, I’m the first person they’ve talked to in two to three days. They talk about how they don’t have anyone. I never knew there were so many African American elders who never married and don’t have children,” she said.

Meanwhile, social networks that keep elders feeling connected to other people are weakening.

“What is especially difficult for elders is the disruption of extended support networks, such as neighbors or the people they see at church,” said Taylor, of the University of Michigan. “Those are the ‘Hey, how are you doing? How are your kids? Anything you need?’ interactions. That type of caring is very comforting and it’s now missing.”

In Brooklyn, New York, Barbara Apparicio, 77, has been having Bible discussions with a group of church friends on the phone each weekend. Apparicio is a breast cancer survivor who had a stroke in 2012 and walks with a cane. Her son and his family live in an upstairs apartment, but she does not see him much.

“The hardest part for me [during this pandemic] has been not being able to go out to do the things I like to do and see people I normally see,” she said.

In Atlanta, Celestine Bray Bottoms, 83, who lives on her own in an affordable senior housing community, is relying on her faith to pull her through what has been a very difficult time. Bottoms was hospitalized with chest pains this month — a problem that persists. She receives dialysis three times a week and has survived leukemia.

“I don’t like the way the world is going. Right now, it’s awful,” she said. “But every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is thank the Lord for another day. I have a strong faith and I feel blessed because I’m still alive. And I’m doing everything I can not to get this virus because I want to be here a while longer.”

KHN data editor Elizabeth Lucas contributed to this story.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/why-black-aging-matters-too/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

Why Black Aging Matters, Too

Old. Chronically ill. Black.

People who fit this description are more likely to die from COVID-19 than any other group in the country.

They are perishing quietly, out of sight, in homes and apartment buildings, senior housing complexes, nursing homes and hospitals, disproportionately poor, frail and ill, after enduring a lifetime of racism and its attendant adverse health effects.

Yet, older Black Americans have received little attention as protesters proclaim that Black Lives Matter and experts churn out studies about the coronavirus.

“People are talking about the race disparity in COVID deaths, they’re talking about the age disparity, but they’re not talking about how race and age disparities interact: They’re not talking about older Black adults,” said Robert Joseph Taylor, director of the Program for Research on Black Americans at the University of Michigan’s Institute for Social Research.

A KHN analysis of data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention underscores the extent of their vulnerability. It found that African Americans ages 65 to 74 died of COVID-19 five times as often as whites. In the 75-to-84 group, the death rate for Blacks was 3½ times greater. Among those 85 and older, Blacks died twice as often. In all three age groups, death rates for Hispanics were higher than for whites but lower than for Blacks.

(The gap between Blacks and whites narrows over time because advanced age, itself, becomes an increasingly important, shared risk. Altogether, 80% of COVID-19 deaths are among people 65 and older.)

The data comes from the week that ended Feb. 1 through Aug. 8. Although breakdowns by race and age were not consistently reported, it is the best information available.

Mistrustful of Outsiders

Social and economic disadvantage, reinforced by racism, plays a significant part in unequal outcomes. Throughout their lives, Blacks have poorer access to health care and receive services of lower quality than does the general population. Starting in middle age, the toll becomes evident: more chronic medical conditions, which worsen over time, and earlier deaths.

Several conditions — diabetes, chronic kidney disease, obesity, heart failure and pulmonary hypertension, among others — put older Blacks at heightened risk of becoming seriously ill and dying from COVID-19.

Yet many vulnerable Black seniors are deeply distrustful of government and health care institutions, complicating efforts to mitigate the pandemic’s impact.

The infamous Tuskegee syphilis study — in which African American participants in Alabama were not treated for their disease — remains a shocking, indelible example of racist medical experimentation. Just as important, the lifelong experience of racism in health care settings — symptoms discounted, needed treatments not given — leaves psychic scars.

In Seattle, Catholic Community Services sponsors the African American Elders Program, which serves nearly 400 frail homebound seniors each year.

“A lot of Black elders in this area migrated from the South a long time ago and were victims of a lot of racist practices growing up,” said Margaret Boddie, 77, who directs the program. “With the pandemic, they’re fearful of outsiders coming in and trying to tell them how to think and how to be. They think they’re being targeted. There’s a lot of paranoia.”

“They won’t open the door to people they don’t know, even to talk,” complicating efforts to send in social workers or nurses to provide assistance, Boddie said.

In Los Angeles, Karen Lincoln directs Advocates for African American Elders and is an associate professor of social work at the University of Southern California.

“Health literacy is a big issue in the older African American population because of how people were educated when they were young,” she said. “My maternal grandmother, she had a third-grade education. My grandfather, he made it to the fifth grade. For many people, understanding the information that’s put out, especially when it changes so often and people don’t really understand why, is a challenge.”

What this population needs, Lincoln suggested, is “help from people who they can relate to” — ideally, a cadre of African American community health workers.

With suspicion running high, older Blacks are keeping to themselves and avoiding health care providers.

“Testing? I know only of maybe two people who’ve been tested,” said Mardell Reed, 80, who lives in Pasadena, California, and volunteers with Lincoln’s program. “Taking a vaccine [for the coronavirus]? That is just not going to happen with most of the people I know. They don’t trust it and I don’t trust it.”

Reed has high blood pressure, anemia, arthritis and thyroid and kidney disease, all fairly well controlled. She rarely goes outside because of COVID-19. “I’m just afraid of being around people,” she admitted.

Other factors contribute to the heightened risk for older Blacks during the pandemic. They have fewer financial resources to draw upon and fewer community assets (such as grocery stores, pharmacies, transportation, community organizations that provide aging services) to rely on in times of adversity. And housing circumstances can contribute to the risk of infection.

In Chicago, Gilbert James, 78, lives in a 27-floor senior housing building, with 10 apartments on each floor. But only two of the building’s three elevators are operational at any time. Despite a “two-person-per-elevator policy,” people crowd onto the elevators, making it difficult to maintain social distance.

“The building doesn’t keep us updated on how they’re keeping things clean or whether people have gotten sick or died” of COVID-19, James said. Nationally, there are no efforts to track COVID-19 in low-income senior housing and little guidance about necessary infection control.

Large numbers of older Blacks also live in intergenerational households, where other adults, many of them essential workers, come and go for work, risking exposure to the coronavirus. As children return to school, they, too, are potential vectors of infection.

‘Striving Yet Never Arriving’

In recent years, the American Psychological Association has called attention to the impact of racism-related stress in older African Americans — yet another source of vulnerability.

This toxic stress, revived each time racism becomes manifest, has deleterious consequences to physical and mental health. Even racist acts committed against others can be a significant stressor.

“This older generation went through the civil rights movement. Desegregation. Their kids went through busing. They grew up with a knee on their neck, as it were,” said Keith Whitfield, provost at Wayne State University and an expert on aging in African Americans. “For them, it was an ongoing battle, striving yet never arriving. But there’s also a lot of resilience that we shouldn’t underestimate.”

This year, for some elders, violence against Blacks and COVID-19’s heavy toll on African American communities have been painful triggers. “The level of stress has definitely increased,” Lincoln said.

During ordinary times, families and churches are essential supports, providing practical assistance and emotional nurturing. But during the pandemic, many older Blacks have been isolated.

In her capacity as a volunteer, Reed has been phoning Los Angeles seniors. “For some of them, I’m the first person they’ve talked to in two to three days. They talk about how they don’t have anyone. I never knew there were so many African American elders who never married and don’t have children,” she said.

Meanwhile, social networks that keep elders feeling connected to other people are weakening.

“What is especially difficult for elders is the disruption of extended support networks, such as neighbors or the people they see at church,” said Taylor, of the University of Michigan. “Those are the ‘Hey, how are you doing? How are your kids? Anything you need?’ interactions. That type of caring is very comforting and it’s now missing.”

In Brooklyn, New York, Barbara Apparicio, 77, has been having Bible discussions with a group of church friends on the phone each weekend. Apparicio is a breast cancer survivor who had a stroke in 2012 and walks with a cane. Her son and his family live in an upstairs apartment, but she does not see him much.

“The hardest part for me [during this pandemic] has been not being able to go out to do the things I like to do and see people I normally see,” she said.

In Atlanta, Celestine Bray Bottoms, 83, who lives on her own in an affordable senior housing community, is relying on her faith to pull her through what has been a very difficult time. Bottoms was hospitalized with chest pains this month — a problem that persists. She receives dialysis three times a week and has survived leukemia.

“I don’t like the way the world is going. Right now, it’s awful,” she said. “But every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is thank the Lord for another day. I have a strong faith and I feel blessed because I’m still alive. And I’m doing everything I can not to get this virus because I want to be here a while longer.”

KHN data editor Elizabeth Lucas contributed to this story.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

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Why Black Aging Matters, Too published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

[stephenmccull]

Why Black Aging Matters, Too

Old. Chronically ill. Black.

People who fit this description are more likely to die from COVID-19 than any other group in the country.

They are perishing quietly, out of sight, in homes and apartment buildings, senior housing complexes, nursing homes and hospitals, disproportionately poor, frail and ill, after enduring a lifetime of racism and its attendant adverse health effects.

Yet, older Black Americans have received little attention as protesters proclaim that Black Lives Matter and experts churn out studies about the coronavirus.

“People are talking about the race disparity in COVID deaths, they’re talking about the age disparity, but they’re not talking about how race and age disparities interact: They’re not talking about older Black adults,” said Robert Joseph Taylor, director of the Program for Research on Black Americans at the University of Michigan’s Institute for Social Research.

A KHN analysis of data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention underscores the extent of their vulnerability. It found that African Americans ages 65 to 74 died of COVID-19 five times as often as whites. In the 75-to-84 group, the death rate for Blacks was 3½ times greater. Among those 85 and older, Blacks died twice as often. In all three age groups, death rates for Hispanics were higher than for whites but lower than for Blacks.

(The gap between Blacks and whites narrows over time because advanced age, itself, becomes an increasingly important, shared risk. Altogether, 80% of COVID-19 deaths are among people 65 and older.)

The data comes from the week that ended Feb. 1 through Aug. 8. Although breakdowns by race and age were not consistently reported, it is the best information available.

Mistrustful of Outsiders

Social and economic disadvantage, reinforced by racism, plays a significant part in unequal outcomes. Throughout their lives, Blacks have poorer access to health care and receive services of lower quality than does the general population. Starting in middle age, the toll becomes evident: more chronic medical conditions, which worsen over time, and earlier deaths.

Several conditions — diabetes, chronic kidney disease, obesity, heart failure and pulmonary hypertension, among others — put older Blacks at heightened risk of becoming seriously ill and dying from COVID-19.

Yet many vulnerable Black seniors are deeply distrustful of government and health care institutions, complicating efforts to mitigate the pandemic’s impact.

The infamous Tuskegee syphilis study — in which African American participants in Alabama were not treated for their disease — remains a shocking, indelible example of racist medical experimentation. Just as important, the lifelong experience of racism in health care settings — symptoms discounted, needed treatments not given — leaves psychic scars.

In Seattle, Catholic Community Services sponsors the African American Elders Program, which serves nearly 400 frail homebound seniors each year.

“A lot of Black elders in this area migrated from the South a long time ago and were victims of a lot of racist practices growing up,” said Margaret Boddie, 77, who directs the program. “With the pandemic, they’re fearful of outsiders coming in and trying to tell them how to think and how to be. They think they’re being targeted. There’s a lot of paranoia.”

“They won’t open the door to people they don’t know, even to talk,” complicating efforts to send in social workers or nurses to provide assistance, Boddie said.

In Los Angeles, Karen Lincoln directs Advocates for African American Elders and is an associate professor of social work at the University of Southern California.

“Health literacy is a big issue in the older African American population because of how people were educated when they were young,” she said. “My maternal grandmother, she had a third-grade education. My grandfather, he made it to the fifth grade. For many people, understanding the information that’s put out, especially when it changes so often and people don’t really understand why, is a challenge.”

What this population needs, Lincoln suggested, is “help from people who they can relate to” — ideally, a cadre of African American community health workers.

With suspicion running high, older Blacks are keeping to themselves and avoiding health care providers.

“Testing? I know only of maybe two people who’ve been tested,” said Mardell Reed, 80, who lives in Pasadena, California, and volunteers with Lincoln’s program. “Taking a vaccine [for the coronavirus]? That is just not going to happen with most of the people I know. They don’t trust it and I don’t trust it.”

Reed has high blood pressure, anemia, arthritis and thyroid and kidney disease, all fairly well controlled. She rarely goes outside because of COVID-19. “I’m just afraid of being around people,” she admitted.

Other factors contribute to the heightened risk for older Blacks during the pandemic. They have fewer financial resources to draw upon and fewer community assets (such as grocery stores, pharmacies, transportation, community organizations that provide aging services) to rely on in times of adversity. And housing circumstances can contribute to the risk of infection.

In Chicago, Gilbert James, 78, lives in a 27-floor senior housing building, with 10 apartments on each floor. But only two of the building’s three elevators are operational at any time. Despite a “two-person-per-elevator policy,” people crowd onto the elevators, making it difficult to maintain social distance.

“The building doesn’t keep us updated on how they’re keeping things clean or whether people have gotten sick or died” of COVID-19, James said. Nationally, there are no efforts to track COVID-19 in low-income senior housing and little guidance about necessary infection control.

Large numbers of older Blacks also live in intergenerational households, where other adults, many of them essential workers, come and go for work, risking exposure to the coronavirus. As children return to school, they, too, are potential vectors of infection.

‘Striving Yet Never Arriving’

In recent years, the American Psychological Association has called attention to the impact of racism-related stress in older African Americans — yet another source of vulnerability.

This toxic stress, revived each time racism becomes manifest, has deleterious consequences to physical and mental health. Even racist acts committed against others can be a significant stressor.

“This older generation went through the civil rights movement. Desegregation. Their kids went through busing. They grew up with a knee on their neck, as it were,” said Keith Whitfield, provost at Wayne State University and an expert on aging in African Americans. “For them, it was an ongoing battle, striving yet never arriving. But there’s also a lot of resilience that we shouldn’t underestimate.”

This year, for some elders, violence against Blacks and COVID-19’s heavy toll on African American communities have been painful triggers. “The level of stress has definitely increased,” Lincoln said.

During ordinary times, families and churches are essential supports, providing practical assistance and emotional nurturing. But during the pandemic, many older Blacks have been isolated.

In her capacity as a volunteer, Reed has been phoning Los Angeles seniors. “For some of them, I’m the first person they’ve talked to in two to three days. They talk about how they don’t have anyone. I never knew there were so many African American elders who never married and don’t have children,” she said.

Meanwhile, social networks that keep elders feeling connected to other people are weakening.

“What is especially difficult for elders is the disruption of extended support networks, such as neighbors or the people they see at church,” said Taylor, of the University of Michigan. “Those are the ‘Hey, how are you doing? How are your kids? Anything you need?’ interactions. That type of caring is very comforting and it’s now missing.”

In Brooklyn, New York, Barbara Apparicio, 77, has been having Bible discussions with a group of church friends on the phone each weekend. Apparicio is a breast cancer survivor who had a stroke in 2012 and walks with a cane. Her son and his family live in an upstairs apartment, but she does not see him much.

“The hardest part for me [during this pandemic] has been not being able to go out to do the things I like to do and see people I normally see,” she said.

In Atlanta, Celestine Bray Bottoms, 83, who lives on her own in an affordable senior housing community, is relying on her faith to pull her through what has been a very difficult time. Bottoms was hospitalized with chest pains this month — a problem that persists. She receives dialysis three times a week and has survived leukemia.

“I don’t like the way the world is going. Right now, it’s awful,” she said. “But every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is thank the Lord for another day. I have a strong faith and I feel blessed because I’m still alive. And I’m doing everything I can not to get this virus because I want to be here a while longer.”

KHN data editor Elizabeth Lucas contributed to this story.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

Why Black Aging Matters, Too published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

[neoclassical-antiquity]

Tags aren't mine but I wanted to keep em cause they're so pretty

wilson saying “I need to do this. for you.” is fucking insane actually. in the same episode where house is deciding whether or not he should commit suicide as a result of wilson’s dying. They are each other’s lines between life and death. humans have a biological instinct to preserve their survival at all costs; house has an addiction that governs his life. but they were willing to forgo all of it for one another, because they couldn’t fathom it being any other way. IM SICK