“Fomite”: name checks out for an epidemiologist. But then seriously, my partner is a paramedic in a large North American city. He has been, to put in bluntly,

“Fomite”: name checks out for an epidemiologist. But then seriously, my partner is a paramedic in a large North American city. He has been, to put in bluntly, lucky, because this non-American city implemented a reasonable sick plan, and he serves a chunk of the city that has not been hard-hit. (Which is to say: no warehouses, no food processing.) But just the constant hyper-vigilant PPE dance wears and wears you down. Nothing is “simple” now; the simplest slip-and-fall becomes a scene out of the Andromeda Strain, because you don’t want to get infected, and you certainly don’t want to pass something on when you are harboring the virus but not presenting obvious symptoms. (Too bad said city also had one hell of a testing bottleneck, and you couldn’t just test test test to make sure the front-line staff is virus-free.)