On the penultimate day of June, Arizona Governor Doug Ducey took the podium.
The state had factored an order to remain in the house earlier in the year to combat the coronavirus pandemic, and then returned to normal. Now Ducey, after cutting off the mask, dressed in the room, in a position to factor a new set of closures: no bars, no gyms, no meetings of more than 50 people.
The state, he said, would do “everything that is obligatory for the lives and livelihoods of arizonans.”
Your new order is full of controversy, even through 2020 standards. Ducey had given the impression a few days earlier, unmasked, with President Donald Trump, who organized a crusade rally for thousands of accumulated followers near a Phoenix church. In the end, Secret Service agents and the friend of the president’s son would test positive for the virus, as thousands of Arizonans would do every day, a path of illness and death that seemed to be on the rise.
Even as cases increased, Arizona’s images and videos bounced off social media and cable news that appeared in others in Salt River and in The bars of Scottsdale, unmasked and oblivious to the threat of the pandemic.
Ducey’s new order would not yet impose a state-to-state masking rule. Public health, he said, depended on the other people in Arizona.
However, he said, the movements of a few dictated a desire to “step on the brakes.”
“The inhabitants of Arizona have been generally great and responsible,” he said. “But we’ve discovered conditions in the categories where we want to take more competitive action and that’s what we’re going to do today.”
The next morning, on the last day of June, some gyms locked their doors, while others would remain open and one owner even dared to place the order, brabing the latest fitness measures. Other commercial homeowners would be willing to paint in demanding situations they never dreamed of until 2020.
That morning, even as state cities were intervening with their own mask authorization orders, a Scottsdale councilman who had provoked national contempt for shouting “I can’t breathe” while a protest against the masks announced that he would not put himself under stress to resign. .
That morning, a row of cars overflowed in the street in front of a gym near Yuma. It would be the lack of an endless series of crowded control sites that would identify more and more cases of viruses.
That morning, a doctor in a hospital ward secured his N-95 mask, examined patients turning face down to breathe. But she would be worried about a special patient who can’t be returned.
That morning, Tuesday, would be the first full day of the new limited closing order. This would result in a response from a senior federal fitness officer to the pandemic. That would get Arizona to prepare for a response from the vice president.
On the last day of June, Arizona criticized for not occupying an early post, criticized for the final too late, protesting not to reopen, ridiculed for reopening too early and then tangled up to close again.
That day, on a day when Arizona would record 2821 new cases and 23 deaths, it seemed like the only thing more complicated than predicting what the pandemic would do in Arizona was figuring out what arizonans – or would do – to prevent it.
On Tuesday morning, Phoenix intensive care nurse Brittany Schilling was already at the center of her shift as a nurse in charge. She oversees a unit of 22 patients. Most of them were between 20 and 45 that morning.
It is scheduled to start at 7:00, but it’s 6:30. Add extra shifts because the hospital lacks nurses. She works at a big hospital in Phoenix but doesn’t need to identify which one. They also lack beds, and more patients wait in the emergency room for an extensive care bed to open.
“We’ve been doing this for over 3 months,” he said. “I myself, and I can see on my staff, we are very tired. Emotionally, it weighs on us a lot. We’re exhausted.”
In the spring, medical staff were celebrated as heroes. Cities held impromptu parades for change of gear. In Phoenix and across the country, army bases jet flyovers to honor doctors and nurses. The country was at war with a deadly enemy and the staff were on the front line. On the last day of June, this army was exhausted and some wondered if the country had forgotten them.
…
Geoff Comp has been on his way to painting as a treating physician at Valleywise Health Medical Center. But he had a day off. Then, instead of going to the hospital, he went for a run and then took his wife to the doctor for an ultrasound. They saw the “faces and toes” of their twins for the first time. He wonders what kind of global they’ll inherit.
“I think today and most of the time I have a lot of sadness and a lot of frustration,” he said. He needs other people crammed into bars and floating in the river to see what he saw in the hospital. “If you can see the sadness, see the concern. It’s not a hyperbole, it’s the reality.”
Phoenix Fire Captain Mike Adelman and his team were disinfecting two trucks with a fireplace and an ambulance at Fire Station No. 18. It’s the busiest station in the state.
“A lot of the calls come from other people who are out of breath,” he said. Any team that goes to a level wears gloves, masks and goggles. But Adelman sees that some of the younger members still have considerations because they have young people at home. You know that tension doesn’t just affect your equipment. They’re all in town.
“They don’t know what their long-term will be like. And they’re under a lot of stress, monetary and emotional tension,” he said. “So we’re seeing a great buildup of anxiety. And that anxiety is generating tension. This strain causes physical ailments. And then they call us.”
…
Kari Curry runs a network of senior paintings in Litchfield Park. These days, he drives it from his garden. She begins her paintings with a daily convention with a dozen employees of La Loma Village. At the end of June, about two shipments of PPE obtained from the Federal Emergency Management Agency participated. Some other nursing homes reported receiving overdue masks, robes that didn’t fit, or gloves that were too small for adults.
So far, two of its workers have tested positive, and others fear getting the virus and taking it to work, infecting citizens. “We’re tired,” he said. “It’s been a long struggle. But we say to our workers, “This is not the time to slow down or take precautions.” In Maricopa County, more than 350 long-term care services have reported at least one case of COVID-19, and its citizens account for 52% of the total COVID-19 deaths in the county.
I had an update: The Loma won FEMA 40 boxes of gloves, 850 masks, about 900 blouses and nearly 70 facial screens. Smart news. The EPI of intelligent quality. Nothing had expired. She used it intelligently immediately.
…
At 8 a.m., Dr. Mandeep Rai put on a new dress and gloves. His mask and N-95 lenses are still on. He then entered a patient’s room at Arrowhead Hug Hospital in Glendale. She’s a patient she thinks about a lot. I was hoping today would be the day: I’d be sitting in a chair. Maybe I’ll use less oxygen.
But inside, the woman still on her back, a leaking oxygen mask.
Rai will often advise COVID-19 patients to lie face down, as this position allows more oxygen to enter their lungs.
This patient may simply not. She’s 31 weeks pregnant.
She is one of 20 COVID-19 patients Rai would see on Tuesday.
Rai runs through The Hospital Abrazo and Glendale. Specialist in infectious diseases for 20 years, I had never noticed anything like this pandemic.
“I’ve never felt so emotionally challenged by work,” Rai said. “It’s exhausting and heartbreaking.”
Rai’s been doing his homework long enough to stay calm. But this virus is giving it curves.
“We’re an employee,” he says. “He hit me hard.
Rai said she’s not as involved with her fitness as she is with her circle of relatives exposing the virus. She lives with her husband and 87-year-old in-law.
In the evening, the circle of relatives dinner in combination, but outdoors. This makes them safer.
He needs other people to wear masks. He needs them to stay away from others. She is seeing an increase in the number of other young people carrying the virus.
“Sometimes I need to shake the younger ones and say, “Guys, wake up, ” he said.
In her pregnant patient’s room, Rai tries to reassure her. She tells the woman to lie on her side, walk around the room or take a deep breath. The woman is so positive, she says.
“She will smile and say, “I’m fine, ” Rai.” The baby kicks a lot.”
Frank Levandowski woke up in his exhausted condo in Phoenix. The nurse practitioner works 12-hour shifts to perform coronavirus checks at Alliance Urgent Care in Phoenix. The day before, he saw 48 patients, more than part of whom were there for detection or symptoms of COVID-19. He himself did each and every check. “Why report other staff members?” He said.
In the war against an enemy virus, the control factor has turned war into a war for information. The number of other people who are actually in poor health or under threat has become an ever-changing target. In May, Arizona ranked 50th out of 50 states in line with capital verification. By June, things had improved, but not much. A row of approximately 1,000 more people waited up to thirteen hours in the heat at a checkpoint in Maryvale. Tests frustrate doctors and patients.
…
In early June, Robert Rezetko visited an emergency care center in Tucson that announced an immediate detection of COVID-19. Three weeks later, on the last day of June, I was still waiting for their results.
Rezetko’s circle of relatives began quarantine in mid-March. He worked from home and left in moderation, a stopover in a UPS store here, a bakery there, wearing a mask. He went to a busy grocery store where few were masked in early June. Soon after, she began to feel unwell, with a headache, sore throat and sore throat.
Rezetko moved into his little house, which he used as an office, away from his wife and children because he was not sure to have it and was looking to be as much as possible.
“If I didn’t have a COVID, and I waited all this time and I did everything when we just knew,” he said, “I’m still going to be frustrated and tied up with the formula and how it failed. “
…
At New Life Health Care in Chandler, a team of 4 women gathered around an enduring box of Bosa doughnuts, dressed in blouses, gloves, hairnets, masks and face protectors. The first patient of the day would be there at 7:45 am Elizabeth Andrews, executive director of the New Life Health Center, had planned to bring a roast that he had ready for the group, but forgot it when he walked out the door. that morning. Instead, they eat vegetables and rice that were already in the fridge.
The recent accumulation in dazzling cases for all women in practice. But it’s not a shock. Andrews said the rates of positive cases they were testing at the clinic in their small circle of relatives when it opened in April obviously indicated what was going to happen.
Now, Andrews has stated that he is in a position to devote the maximum of his practice to COVID-19 testing for at least another 18 months.
“We had a very early verbal exchange about what we’re going to do,” he said. “Basically, it’s” You’re going to run away from the chimney or run into the chimney? “And we decided to run to the chimney.”
…
On June 30, around 10 a.m., Ryan Zaragoza and his wife Theresa Clark waited in a long line of cars driving through the Regional Border Health Center on the small farm in the town of Somerton, south of Yuma.
Cars spilled over Main Street, some days covering a mile and part of the distance.
As of June 30, the Regional Border Health Center accounted for approximately 90% of the county’s 35,000 tests. An alarming number of them have tested positive.
With the immediate spread of the virus in Yuma County, Zaragoza and Clark wear their mask religiously and, to the frustration of their 4 children, want to wash their hands and disinfect themselves at home in Yuma.
COVID-1nine has already profoundly affected their families: Zaragoza’s father died on June 9. “We didn’t expect it. He’s healthy. He’s strong, he’s tough,” Clark said. “But it has nothing to do with it. It’s a fatal virus. And you don’t know who it might affect.”
Ryan’s father Paul Zaragoza turned 52 on June 1. About a week later, she was one of 94 people who died from the virus in the Yuma region.
County fitness officials had shown 6,225 cases of COVID-19 as of June 30, a six-fold build-up since last month. Yuma has one of the infection rates in Arizona and shows no symptoms of slowing down.
While they were waiting for his exam, Ryan said he had spoken to his father on his birthday. A week later, he was short of breath. At 2 a.m. on Tuesday, June 9, his father died in his sleep.
Amanda Aguirre, executive director and president of the gymnasium, sometimes attributes the building to what she called conflicting messages from the state and the White House.
“It gave us a sense of security that everything is fine, that we are returning to normal, when it is not.”
After receiving his swabs, Ryan stopped and the two swapped his popular blue baby medical mask for a military blue mask with the letters PZ, for Paul Zaragoza, woven aside, Ryan’s aunt had made them for his father’s funeral, where they all had to wear one.
“Ask where I come from, ask between the two cities, they know who Paul Z is,” Ryan said.
“Then I’m just spreading that consciousness, ” continued Ryan, with a finger on his mask. “And I hope I can save the lives of others.”
At 6:30 a.m., the bumpy road to Piestewa Peak was very busy. Shannon McCary walked alone at a brisk pace, meandering between the sun and the shade. McCary is retired and lives in Sun City. Going out, despite crowded prospects and parking lots, is your way of dealing with the virus. “I think other people have to live their lives,” he says. “What are we going to do, stand by and wait and wait?”
Her mask, which she wears to shop and spend time with her elderly mother, was hidden in the pocket of a blouse. “I’m not a user who needs to live in fear,” she says.
Arizona’s cultural war over the mask made national headlines on April 20, when an angry protester wearing an American flag confronted a stoic fitness employee named Lauren Leander during a protest at the Arizona State Capitol. But those to whom the resolution of wearing a mask deserves to be a matter of non-public duty and not a government mandate are consistent with Arizona’s long libertarian tendency. During the 1918-1919 flu epidemic, which killed 2750 others in Arizona, the state issued a statewide mask order. It lasted 4 days.
…
At lunchtime, in the haute couture corner and Julie duvet shop in historic Miami mining, owners Don and Julie Reiman couldn’t take a break. Do not cut curtains into squares to pass through a sewing device to make face masks. At $5 each, they sell as fast as he can.
“There is no rest for the elderly, ” said Don. He is and his wife is 77 years old.
On June 24, the Miami City Council passed a proclamation requiring masking in public places. However, Don, who is part of the city council, voted against, even if his company had benefited.
“I just don’t think it’s the government’s responsibility to have common sense,” Don said.
…
On Tuesday afternoon, Kim Wessinger dusted off the surfaces of Regency Mod, her apothecary in Scottsdale.
In May, when he opened his candle and fragrance shop, he feared that companies in the region could simply go through the crisis.
He is now concerned about the symbol of Scottsdale, and Arizona, in the eyes of the nation, especially with so many scenes of other unmasked people descending into the city’s downtown and bar district.
Early in the morning, Scottsdale City Councilman Guy Phillips held a press convention to say he would not resign after making headlines by continually shouting “I can’t breathe,” a demonstration that led against the requirements of the masks.
These words were uttered through George Floyd moments before his death at the hands of the Minneapolis Police Department on May 25.
Phillips apologized to Floyd’s circle of relatives after the rally. On Tuesday, he apologized again, but said he did not regret organizing a protest against government protection orders.
Phillips spoke a few blocks from where vandals ransacked outlets in Scottsdale Fashion Square at the start of protests against Floyd’s death and from where thousands of people marched peacefully a week later chanting “I can’t breathe.”
Wessinger said Phillips’ attention to Scottsdale is not what local businesses need.
“You can’t pass out and sell yourself as a voice to Scottsdale when it’s not my voice,” Wessinger said. “Don’t take him there.”
…
At the Boys and Girls Clubs of the Valley, young people were taken their temperatures as their parents left them for the day. Children use hand sanitizer once and twice when they enter or leave a room and wash their hands before and after meals. Staff clean hard surfaces and hard-affected spaces while young people rotate from room to room.
It’s the new normal of the organization,” said Cassidy Campana, the organization’s spokeswoman.
As the state implements new restrictions on rallies and cities on the Phoenix Subway and Maricopa County that require citizens to wear masks in public, the organization will adapt.
But getting young people to wear a mask is so simple.
“Children play indoor sports and break. We have young people with underlying fitness disorders that we know of.”
…
Tony Jackson’s caretaker arrived at his home in downtown Phoenix around 7 a.m. on Tuesday for the 43-year-old to get out of bed and shower.
She is helping Jackson, who has limited mobility in her arms and legs and uses an electric wheelchair, to get dressed and get in position for breakfast.
He wears a mask most of the time, but not while bathing or eating. Close contact may simply disclose to your caregiver the threat of contracting the new coronavirus: Jackson recently disclosed to a user who tested positive for COVID-19.
His caregiver has been running with Jackson since January, despite the risk. She has gone through her appearance for more than 3 or 4 days, taking extra turns to help you care for him after her other caregivers surrendered due to her possible exposure.
“He’s the only user who didn’t leave me behind,” he said.
One of Jackson’s caregivers had a mild fever the last time he reached the pictures and was tested for the virus on June 22.
Jackson expanded any symptoms but quarantined himself at home as a precautionary measure.
It’s only a matter of time before he exposes himself, he said.
While Ability360 staff, a nonprofit organization that advocates for the independence of other people with disabilities, took precautions to help curb the spread of the virus in the office, Jackson feared contracting the virus at home.
Many caregivers come and go every day to help them bathe, get dressed, and prepare meals. Everyone has other clients and families to take a look at.
“Jokingly, and not jokingly, I would tell other people that I’m looking ahead to detect this because it’s only a matter of time. Then it happened,” he said. “If I didn’t want help, I could avoid interacting with other people without problems, but that’s not possible.”
Over the next week, he has tried to discharge an antibody control and COVID-19 at various clinics, but without success. On Tuesday, despite everything, it was under control. It would take him more than a week to realize it was negative.
Uncertainty not only agonized, but also made it difficult to unload the daily care it needed.
“I tried to track down someone to help me get out of bed and at least help me use the bathroom,” he said. “It’s exhausting mentally and emotionally.”
He criticized state leaders for rushing to reopen businesses and take orders home, which he said put him and others at risk.
“I sense that I need business to stay open, I sense. But do you value all the disease we’re facing now?”
A day after the governor ordered the closure of the gymnasiums, members began entering the Arrowhead Pilates Club in Glendale. “We had 24 hours,” co-owner Chris Gage said. “We weren’t sure we were open and now we are.”
The limbs were 12 feet aside instead of 6 feet. They were not required to wear a mask during the 45-minute class, but some did.
Earlier in the day, after being warned on social media complaining that the facility was still open, a police officer showed up to ask questions and take notes. No precaution has been given.
“(The police) said that we were in the protocols and that social estrangement was in line with the rules and that they thought it well,” co-owner Lyndsey Bott said.
Arizona was one of the last states to close and one of the first to reopen the pandemic. On March 19, after the number of cases in Arizona more than doubled in two days, Ducey ordered the closure of bars, gyms and theaters and limited restaurants to takeout. By mid-April, Arizona had lost about 420,000 jobs. In late June, the prospect of a completion of just six weeks after the reopening has led commercial homeowners to wonder how or whether they would survive.
…
In Botas El Potrillo, a Western clothing store, a visitor brought his daughter to buy a pair of jeans for $53. It’s a rarity, said owner Noé Rodriguez.
He and his wife opened the store five years ago. Since the beginning of the pandemic, they have lost the most of their business. The only thing that helps keep them afloat are the plaid boots and rubber-soled shoes they sell to structural painters, landscapers and other people in the places to eat industries.
“It’s anything that stresses us,” he says. “But we looked to think about it a lot.”
…
Mark Smith was near the Honey Bear fish fry counter in east Phoenix. During pre-pandemic periods, the domain would have a row that meandered diners sitting on red vinyl stools and dining at the top tables.
Instead, it was empty, for Smith and a driving force for Postmates. Before COVID-19, the position of eating fried fish was not a position to dine and rush, but to stay and stay. Business ran out in mid-March. Smith said there were days when he was lucky enough to raise $500.
Then came the boost to black-owned companies as a result of the turmoil of police practice. “Honestly, it’s one of the busiest days I’ve ever noticed in my life,” he said.
…
In Scottsdale, Trevor Johnston was still making reservations at his Old Town Scottsdale wine bar when a visitor arrived and asked for a glass of wine.
Johnston and her friend opened Wine Girl in May, and says it remains open because she believes her status quo sells enough food to circumvent Ducey’s order.
“Obviously we have to be aware of the scenario that is happening and not pack other people here like some of those bars … which, I think, is largely the explanation for why we’re in the position we’re in.” Johnston said.
“Basically, we invested every penny we had in all of this, not knowing that the global was going to collapse,” he said. “There’s just no choice.”
…
Dressed in a red, white and blue tutu, a homemade apron and a matching mask, Carissa Gould was pleased to serve consumers at her hot dog stand, Mama’s Dogs, on Tuesday afternoon.
From the pandemic, it has had to go from recovery opportunities to street installation.
“I’m a single mom, I’ve been doing this for eight years and you’re learning to ride the wave,” Gould said. “Sometimes it’s really good, it’s bad.”
The credit is that you now have more time to spend with your children.
“It’s like we’re living in the middle of a pandemic, I’m super relaxed right now,” Gould said. “Probably the least stressful I’ve ever experienced in my life, which is crazy because there are so many unknowns.”
…
Salomae Schroeder woke up at 4:30 a.m. to begin Tuesday and at 5:30 a.m. left, heading to the award-winning community bakery that opened four years ago.
The bakery he called My Gal Sal and stored cash for nine years to open it. The bakery he dreamed of developing in South Africa and couldn’t vote or eat in a place to eat because of the color of his skin. The bakery hanging by a thread.
He observed Ducey’s report and will obey the new rules, just as the old ones obeyed.
“When I started COVID, I did everything I could to keep my workers and my network safe,” he said.
This included the end of his business for a month and a half, Ducey’s order allowed restaurants to remain open to go.
“When I made this sacrifice, I was hoping that our government at the time had introduced a home maintenance rule,” he said. “Yesterday’s announcement broke my heart. I feel like what I had done had been in vain.
When he reopened, he pulled the tables out of his small dining room because there was not enough room for social estrangement. He started picking things up on the sidewalk, installing plexiglass screens and printing disposable menus. Ritually disinfects the day and she and her 4 workers spend 60 boxes of rubber gloves a week.
“There’s no dining room, so we lost sales,” he said. “My employees, who depend on tips, tips do not exist. When other people pay by phone with credit cards, the tips disappear, however, my credit card rates increase because credit card companies rate you more when you receive an order over the phone. “
And because it offers allergen-free bakery products, you can’t use food delivery like GrubHub or Uber Eats to worry about cross-contamination because they use the same delivery bags from one place to eat to another.
“Because it’s summer, other people just don’t faint,” he says. “Parents have to stay at home with their children and cash is limited. I can’t just increase my costs and pass my expenses on to my clients. I’m not in a complicated zip code.”
Schroeder said he was angry when he saw Ducey’s report because the new regulations “are nonsense.”
“How are you going to go on TV and announce that gyms have to close in five hours? I can see your frustration, but we’re far from what we deserve to have done months later,” he said.
He wonders how his local South Africa, which he considers a third global country, can be so far ahead of Arizona in terms of fundamental measures for the virus, such as mandatory masks.
The first few days after Maricopa County instituted its mandatory mask policy, it tried to remind consumers that they filed one.
“People said, my God, those are my constitutional rights,” he said. “Then we put a sign outside indicating that a mask was needed to enter, and the first day I counted 60 cars that stopped and turned around. I had a resolution to make. Do I lose 60 consumers or just protect ourselves? »
He chose not to ask him to confront consumers about masks.
“People are already unstable, tense and under pressure (due to COVID-19),” he says. “If someone is very belligerent, if this guy has a gun, he can shoot me without problems now. I can’t let my workers be the executors, so we’re not saying anything.”
All the tension has passed bill. A few days ago, Schroeder’s husband, who is retired, discovered her crying on his computer.
“I probably wouldn’t be here this time next year if I did, ” he said. “It breaks my heart, I saved cash for nine years to open my bakery. This is my dream and I learned that I can also lose all this in the blink of an eye.
For the first time in weeks, Maria Jones has left Flagstaff’s apartment, which she shares with her mother, older brother and two other young sisters.
Still using an oxygen tank, she said she and her circle of relatives had recently moved to Flagstaff from Leupp, which is an hour’s drive east of the Navajo Nation, to be closer to Flagstaff Medical Center, where she, her mother and brother work. . Training
Shortly after his move, the five members of the family circle contracted COVID-19.
“As care providers, we knew what the odds were,” Jones said.
It was a headache for Jones and turned into severe pain and discomfort and a fever that reached 104 degrees. He coughed so hard that he might not be able to breathe and spent 17 days in the hospital.
“Being in the hospital, all I was looking for was to go home,” Jones said. “But when I get home, I’m afraid to fall asleep because I’m not sure I can breathe Array … contemplating everything that happened, it’s a little difficult, you know.
A doctor who works with COVID-19 patients said that when many are diagnosed, they react as if they had won a death sentence, but the fact is that no one can yet expect what a patient’s final results will be. Some will come out relatively unharmed, while others will end up with lifelong complications. And some, about 2% of known cases in Arizona, won’t at all.
…
On Tuesday, 29-year-old Cale Campbell woke up a little earlier than the same age around 11 a.m.
At 2 p.m., mendacity on the couch in the living room of his Paradise Valley home, where he spent two weeks sleeping upright to control his symptoms.
The milestone of the pandemic is that of health workers and hospitals, businesses and employees, fears and controversies. But, of course, the true story of the pandemic is people.
Campbell was on the 31st day of a war opposed to COVID-19. The affable guy with long red hair and matching beard feels lethargic, has headaches and aches and pains and discomforts.
“I’ve noticed better days,” FaceTime said. “I feel pretty bad. I guess it’s just the side effects. I just don’t feel good. I feel so much better than I did a few weeks ago, but I still don’t feel well, I’m not back to general yet.”
Fortunately, it’s summer and he’s a high school history teacher, so he has free time to rest. Campbell, dressed in a grey T-shirt and Diamondbacks hat, said he played video games more often, slept and took naps.
Before I had the disease, I trotted five miles a night. He’s a former school athlete who played football and threw javelin.
But he was so ill of health that, for weeks, he couldn’t even walk with his mix of lab, pitbull and marty. Now you can take Marty to the community for about 20 minutes.
“Even if you don’t end up as a death statistic, it’s just miserable,” Campbell said. “I’m in 30 days, 31 days, where I feel bad. And 14 days were the sickest of my life, in 29 years.
Campbell’s entire circle of relatives – mom, dad and 3 adult children – contracted the disease. They don’t know how. Campbell said he was serious about staying at home and rarely leaving the house.
Their circle of relatives accumulated for a Sunday evening dinner in May and all five fell ill. Two friends who came in contact with the family circle have also fallen ill. All are cured and some symptoms persist. His mother, who was suffering from an autoimmune disease, spent five days in the hospital. Campbell went to the hospital himself once, when the difficulty breathing had become terrifying.
He has become familiar with his white and blue pulse oximeter, which he placed on his finger to control his oxygen and pulse degrees. He also checked his blood pressure at home as he suffers from maximum blood pressure.
For many of his friends, he was the first user they knew to get sick. He made it genuine.
His doctors have taken his disease now.
“It’s a relief that I had it and I’ve already been through it because I was terrified of the virus and my family,” he said. “Although it stinks, there was a kind of relief, a weight took away my shoulders. Like I’m already losing the game.
…
About the same time that morning, in the shadow of a ramada in a Miami park, Christine Duarte leaned in front of a concrete picnic table filled with bags of food and took her phone.
They showed a hairline with glasses and a sweet smile.
“She smiled, ” said Duarte, and then corrected himself, “She smiled.”
His cousin Kim Chávez López Byrd had COVID-19 and was in a fan-intensive care unit at a Phoenix hospital for two weeks. He died on June 26.
The virus spread temporarily to his family. Her husband, Jessie, just got out of the hospital. His brother Roy Chavez, former mayor of Superior, remains in critical condition.
Byrd, 61, lived near the city of Superior and was a beloved freshman instructor in the Hayden Winkelman Unified School District. He had a way of succeeding even the most difficult students.
“He’s a precious soul, ” said Duarte. “The center of Kim is a gold center.”
He helped others.
She contracted the virus while training summer school online in a classroom with two other teachers. The teachers took precautions, dressed in masks, remained separate, their own computers, and disinfected their equipment. But all three got sick.
Byrd had three sons, John and Luke, and a daughter, Marisa, and a granddaughter.
They’re devastated,” Duarte said, as did the community. For Duarte and many others, Byrd is the first to know that he dies of COVID-19.
“He hit hard, ” said Duarte.
He blinked temporarily and stood up.
The first young men arrived to pick up the bags of blue insulating food that covered it.
Today, macaroni and cheese, celery, orange, pretzels, a granola bar, milk and juice.
Duarte is the city’s director and oversees economic progression and network services. With schools closed by the virus, the young men who planned to have breakfast and have lunch there were passing by.
When the loose meal program began in March, 35 young people enrolled. By the end of June, they were feeding 184.
A month ago, there were 39 cases of COVID-19 in Gila County, which includes Miami. At the end of June, there were 309 instances and six deaths.
Duarte’s scared. His 76-year-old mother has cancer and is being treated. As complicated as it is not to hug her, Duarte helps keep her distance. He probably wouldn’t take any chances.
That didn’t stop her and the six volunteers, joined by their daughters, Desiree, 29, and Erica, 31, from offering lunches. They wear masks and gloves and stay at a distance.
After distribution, there are 3 bags left and the volunteer Sandy Cano delivers them. “I’ll be there tomorrow, ” he told Duarte.
It will be the same for Duarte and the others, even if he takes a chance.
Duarte thinks of his cousin. That’s what she’d do.
At 9:30 a.m., Gregg Clymer entered the practice and got rid of his mask. He left his bag of clubs and his bucket of golf balls and collapsed a few dozen yards from the nearest user who was leaving.
“The saving grace of my intellectual aptitude when the golf courses opened. That’s why I moved here to play golf,” said Clymer, 71.
Clymer, at first, didn’t think COVID-19 was that serious. “I think it’ll be like the flu. I replaced my mind,” he said. “Until a few weeks ago, I never met anyone who tested positive. Now I know six.
Across the state, those who had genuine hope of preventing the virus were also its potential victims, or the genuine ones. Some were afraid. Some were serene. But no way of life has changed, in any way, through the pandemic.
At 10:30 a.m., Mark Openshaw, the head coach at Globe High School, on his way to his classroom on the third floor, where he teaches government and economics.
At this time of year, Openshaw plays football. His team was scheduled to begin education in June, however, an assistant coach tested positive for coronavirus last week. The coach recovered, but the district athletic director canceled the practice.
“I can’t take credit for being the sensible Yoda, but it’s the right decision,” Openhaw said.
It’s a question of player safety. Playing football is quite complicated without the challenge of trying to prevent the spread of the virus among athletes.
“Football doesn’t matter when lives are at stake,” Openhaw said.
…
Darlene Carchedi took off her lime green gloves and placed them on the bench next to her in the parking lot of Andre House, southeast of the Arizona Capitol.
He is looking for gloves to navigate in the rare and dirty living situations he has endured on the street for about six years. He had tied a white scarf around his neck, but he had never put it in his mouth and nose, despite homemade symptoms on the Andre House campus that reminded visitors that masks were needed on the premises.
After sleeping under tardies in the heat, he is afraid of the virus. “I’m afraid of anything,” he says with a smile. “For 54 years, God has taken care of me.”
But being homeless is already a isolation. The steps you should check to avoid coronavirus in places like Andre House have decreased contact with other people there.
“I’d like to get back to normal, ” he said. “I miss my circle of relatives here.”
…
Just after 1 p.m. In Sky Harbor International Terminal 4, Julia Wink was standing through the baggage carousel 7, waiting for her baggage from her flight from Los Angeles, with a military blue scarf tied around her face as a mask. It was the moment Wink had flown since the beginning of the pandemic.
“I’m a little nervous in the air. You might say there’s an atmosphere. Everyone is worried or maybe crazy or wanted to get off the plane as temporarily as possible,” he said.
Their stopover in Arizona will be brief, spending just one day with their sister before the two left together on July 2 in their hometown of Chicago to make a stopover with their parents and other siblings as they dealt with urgent family affairs.
“If I didn’t have to travel, I wouldn’t,” he says.
…
That afternoon, Cayden and Brittany Devito were sitting in their apartment, not knowing what was going to happen.
In March, after a year of twists and turns between hotels, the couple found work, stocked cash and moved into a two-bedroom apartment in Tucson with enough to allow Cayden’s two service dogs to run.
“Then COVID came and stopped everything,” Cayden said. The dining room where Cayden worked fired him. Brittany lost her job at the warehouse and then discovered one that paid about $500 less a month.
Then, in June, the landlord asked for the eviction. The couple tried to paint under Ducey’s eviction order, but could not get the money they needed in the first place.
“We don’t know what to do anymore,” Cayden said.
…
Catalina Soto, 60, sat on an outdoor wooden bench on a ranch in Chandler and spoke on a cell phone.
Soto’s eldest daughter, Aurora, 38, was calling from inside the Eloy detention center, where a coronavirus outbreak has been unleashed for weeks, making prisoners and prison officials sick. On June 14, a senior 32-year-old officer died as a result of imaginable headaches similar to COVID-19, and more than two hundred inmates have been sick lately.
Soto is involved with her daughter, who passed the federal immigration government in January 2019, even though she has lived in the United States since she was 12 and has five children, all U.S. citizens.
As the number of internal instances of the facility began to increase in late May, Soto began receiving frantic calls from Aurora describing the terrifying situations within the detention center.
Her daughter said the inmates didn’t get soap or hand sanitizers. They won a 2-ounce shampoo bottle for everything from hand washing to showering, which was meant to last all week.
The weekend before Ducey’s last announcement, three women in her daughter’s group had developed symptoms, adding fever, sore throat and headaches. On the day of the announcement, Aurora called to say she was quarantined because of her exposure to the 3 women.
But on Tuesday, Aurora had some good news. After eight days locked in his cell, he finished his quarantine. She felt fine, but had not yet been examined, she was told she would.
After climbing, Soto struggled to hold back the tears.
“I look not to let you know I’m sad,” Soto said. “But it’s impossible. I just hope it’s over soon.
…
Tuesday began as he did for Arizona State’s senior football coach, Herm Edwards. He arrived at Devil’s Stadium at 4:30 a.m. for his normal one-hour training, and at 7 a.m. he was at his desk, with a detailed schedule for the day in question.
Between meetings, Edwards met with potential recruits, many of whom would probably be visiting campus if it weren’t for the pandemic.
No one knows if there’s going to be a school football season, but the Sun Devils will have to prepare as if there is. The first wave of 27 players reported a conditioning task three weeks ago and more followed each week. Each player is evaluated when they return to campus and return each week. Coaches and staff are also evaluated weekly. Edwards says no one on the show tested positive for COVID-19. So far so good.
“Families have entrusted us to their children and we are doing everything we can to protect them and make sure they are not in danger,” he said the day before. “We need to play football, but at the end of the day, it’s a game. There’s a lot at stake here. We can’t not do things right.”
…
Just before noon, 3 young men dressed in ironed trousers, white shirts and ties sat on their hips on a small floral sofa at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Mesa.
Behind them, a portrait depicted Jesus Christ washing the feet of his disciples. The 3 accumulated to gather as a component of a smartphone to take component in a video chat.
Elder Reese Stoddard, 20, of Nampa, Idaho, flanked by Nathan Bohman, 20, and Daniel Sumsion, 19, anyone from Utah.
The woman at the other end of the call in Honduras, where Stoddard was on a two-year project in March when she hit the global coronavirus pandemic and was first quarantined for 14 days and then returned to the states.
Like many other missionaries, Stoddard moved to the United States to complete the remaining 8 months of his mission.
“Whether it’s here or where it was, the message we bring is the same,” he said.
“Lately we are living in a world of fact in the process of conversion, and it is difficult to find peace, but the message we bring and the percentage about Jesus Christ brings us peace and hope.”
…
At 10 a.m., Carly Blodgett sat on his bed in his family’s space in Tempe, in front of where his black puppy, hamster Zelda, named after novelist Zelda Fitzgerald, turned his cage around.
The corridor will be your classroom this spring when the state closed school buildings, submerging educators like Blodgett, an English instructor at McClintock High School, and academics in what it calls “crisis learning.”
Blodgett, 27, last saw academics in user at a retreat just before the start of spring break in March at a camp near the edge of Mogollon. The retreat was intended to be an opportunity for academics to communicate with educators about the struggles of depression and anxiety.
On the last night of retirement, Blodgett remembers sitting in a booth with other teachers, telling how delight made him need to teach with more love and more positivity.
But Blodgett didn’t have a chance to go back to class.
Instead, he talked to his students through Google Voice. Students called, he said, as they tried to deal with the uncertainty of an interrupted school year and the stress of not doing the activities they loved. Orchestra, theatre, choir, everything was gone.
“It’s a traumatic experience together,” he says. “Students contacted me via email simply in distress.”
Blodgett spent last week feeling a “whip” following announcements by state leaders about the reopening of schools. On June 24, Gov. Doug Ducey unveiled a plan to provide millions of dollars in grants to schools to meet the needs of the pandemic.
But the plan is conditional: schools would be required to keep the same number of days consistent with the week as last year in line with the categories of the same. Directors said they do not know the need for cash to keep budgets stable.
The plan would require districts such as Blodgett’s, Tempe Union, to perform in-person categories five days a week. For Blodgett and other educators, this would mean up to 30 academics in a classroom.
She’s not sure there’s a busy classroom this year.
“I love teaching, I love teaching, and it’s the hardest thing I’ve had to go through with teaching,” he says.
On June 29, Ducey ordered schools to extend the start date for categories in person at least until August 17.
“It gave me a little hope, ” said Blodgett. “We’ll have a little more time to orient ourselves and figure out what we’re going to do.
Their considerations are limited to crowded classrooms. She is relieved that the district is forcing academics to wear face masks, but fears that the prestige of the mask as a political symbol will lead some of the best school academics, in full progression of their political ideologies, to circumvent this requirement.
“I don’t need to fight for masks,” he says. “It’s a nightmare. I don’t like to think about it. I have to be to teach and keep students safe. And I find it hard to imagine now.
Even the vice president of the United States had the last day of June interrupted by the pandemic.
Vice President Mike Pence was originally scheduled to go to Arizona for a crossover event, but his scale in delayed after several Secret Service members were diagnosed with COVID-19 after Trump’s escalation in Arizona last week.
The next day, July 1, Ducey welcomed Pence and Dr. Deborah Birx, a key member of Trump’s COVID-19 force, for a brief, sober visit.
On the day of Pence’s arrival, Arizona reported an overall record of 4,878 new ones in one day, bringing the overall state to more than 84,000.
“Help is on the road and we won’t spare expense to provide the kind of reinforcements you’ll need across the state,” Pence said.
Pence said he was sending shipments of Remdesivir, a drug that has shown promise in the COVID-19 remedy in Arizona, and asked the acting secretary of Homeland Security to provide another 500 workers’ medical bodies to the state in response to Ducey’s request. to get more federal help. is helping to fight the virus.
At a remote social press convention at Lincoln Ragsdale Executive Terminal at Sky Harbor International Airport, Pence praised Ducey’s handling of the virus.
And Ducey sounded very different from the governor who, on May 12, had decreed that Arizona “clearly in the other aspect of this pandemic.”
“Our message is transparent about the scenario in Arizona,” he said at the briefing with Pence. “You’re safer at home. We need to stop the spread of this virus and the most vulnerable.”
“If we do that and do it more intensely over the next few weeks, we’ll be in another position,” he said.
Upon leaving the terminal after the briefing, the two wore masks.
Writing: John D’Anna
Reports: Lily Altavena, Karina Bland, Jessica Boehm, Joshua Bowling, Rafael Carranza, Lauren Castle, Emilly Davis, Jen Fifield, Uriel Garcia, Michelle Gardner, Daniel Gonzalez, Sasha Hupka, Stephanie Innes, Audrey Jensen, Rachel Leingang, Lorraine Longhi, Caitlin McGlade, Alana Minkler, Garrett Mitchell, Shaena Montanari, Richard Obert, Grace Oldham, Paulina Pineda, Maria Polletta, Ryan Randazzo, Richard Ruelas, Anne Ryman, Rebek
Graphics: Pat Shannahan, John Paul McDonnall
Photojournalism: Michael Chow, Cheryl Evans, Thomas Hawthorne, Sean Logan, Nick Oza, Catherine Rafferty, Rob Schumacher, Justin Toumberlin, David Wallace
Presentation: Wendy Killeen, Leah Trinidad, John Paul McDonnall