In a fractured and uncertain world, the skill sets that make us marketable to potential friends, employers and neighbors have shifted.
Sure, competence, professionalism and experience can and do come in handy in the context of numerous environments. These days, though, getting along with others and navigating through the cacophony of frustration beamed into our living rooms and phones on an hourly basis seems to have elevated what otherwise might seem like trivial skill sets in another time.
I have come up with a list of skills or, perhaps more appropriately, qualities that might be helpful in the modern world.
I don’t overuse the word “literally.” To emphasize a point, people often literally throw the word “literally” into phrases, as in “I literally hate tofu.” I’m not sure you can figuratively hate tofu, but I don’t overuse that word.
I keep a straight face: even when confronted with outrageous claims in which others hold fast to ideas, to heroes or to patterns I find questionable or even objectionable, I don’t wince, roll my eyes or shout them down until I’m in the safe space of my home with my wife.
I know how to write a handwritten note. Electronic communication has become so ubiquitous that sharing a personal touch that comes from writing something by hand has scarcity value.
I have trained my dog to do exactly what he wants. Sure, other people have trained their dogs to sit, roll over, fetch the newspaper and come to them when they call, but my dog does exactly what he wants. That means when he wags at me, he’s genuinely excited to see me and he’s not just wagging because he’s expecting some immediate reward or punishment.
I can find almost anything in a supermarket. Having spent an embarrassing amount of time searching the supermarket for foods that satisfy four diets and that take the place of in-person dining and social interactions, I can find most items sooner than supermarket employees.
Through a hard-target search of every bed sheet, blanket and pillowcase, I can find the remote control. While that may seem trivial, it shows a willingness to go the extra mile to avoid having to take a few extra steps to change the channel.
I speak teenager. Yes, they are wonderful people who not only have a shorthand way of speaking, but also have a tendency to multitask while they are talking, looking at their phones or speaking through a mouthful of food. I can interpret much of what they say even when they appear to be offering disconnected sounds in a guttural and frustrated language.
I can finish an entire chapter in a non James Patterson book without checking email or texts. That means I can concentrate for longer periods of time. Patterson is excluded because the chapters in his violent novels are often shorter than this column.
I can make myself laugh. Every week, I enter the New Yorker cartoon contest. The captions I write never win, but they make me laugh.
I have a wealth of untapped ideas. I look at all the masks around me and think, “Hmm, I could come up with so many new mask products.” For example, how about mood masks, which change color depending on the person’s mood? Or, perhaps, masks with the outline of states, presidents of the United States, or images of abolitionists, important women in history or slogans? Masks could become the equivalent of educational posters hung on the walls of classrooms or, if you prefer, facial bumper stickers, giving someone starting at our covered mouths a chance to read or see something new.
Preserving the oceans of the world will take more than putting labels on sensitive areas or agreeing on an overall figure for how much area needs protection.
It will require consistent definitions, guidelines and enforcement across regions and a willingness to commit to common goals.
A group of 42 scientists including Ellen Pikitch, Endowed Professor of Ocean Conservation Sciences at the School of Marine and Atmospheric Sciences at Stony Brook University, recently published a new framework developed over more than 10 years in the journal Science to understand, plan, establish, evaluate and monitor ocean protection in Marine Protected Areas (MPAs).
“We’ve had MPAs for a long time,” said Pikitch. Some of them are not actively managed, with activities that aren’t allowed, such as fishing or mining, going on in them. “They may not be strongly set up in the first place to protect biodiversity. What this paper does is that it introduces a terminology with a lot of detail on when an MPA qualifies to be at a certain level of establishment and protection.”
These scientists, who work at 38 institutions around the world, created an approach that uses seven factors to derive four designations: fully protected, highly protected, lightly protected, and minimally protected.
If a site includes any mining at all, it is no longer considered a marine protected area.
Fully protected regions have minimal levels of anchoring, infrastructure, aquaculture and non-extractive activities. A minimally protected area, on the other hand, has high levels of anchoring, infrastructure, aquaculture and fishing, with moderate levels of non-extractive activities and dredging and dumping.
Using their own research and evidence from scientific literature, the researchers involved in this broad-based analysis wanted to ensure that MPAs “have quality protection,” Pikitch explained. “The quality is as important, if not moreso, than the quantity.”
The researchers are pleased with the timing of the release of this paper, which comes out just over a month before the United Nations’ Convention on Biological Diversity, which will meet virtually in October. Over 50 countries, including the United States, have already agreed to protect 30 percent of the ocean by 2030.
Pikitch called this a “critical time to get this information in front of decision makers.” The meeting will occur in two parts, with the second one set for an in-person gathering in China in April.
The point of the paper is to “help clarify what is an MPA, how do we distinguish different types and their outcomes,” Pikitch added.
The people who attend the CBD meeting range from high level government officials all the way up to the president of small countries.
About a decade ago, an earlier convention targeted protecting 10 percent of the oceans by 2020. The world fell short of that goal, with the current protection reaching about 7.7 percent, according to Pikitch.
Indeed, amid discussions during the development of this new outcome-based approach to MPAs, some researchers wondered about the logic of creating a target of 30 percent within the next nine years even as the world fell short of the earlier goal.
Some people at the meetings wondered “should we be pushing these things when a lot of them are failing?” Pikitch recalled of a lively debate during a meeting in Borneo. “Part of the answer is in this paper. These [earlier efforts] are failing because they are not doing the things that need to be done to be effective. It definitely helped us inform what we should be thinking about.”
Enabling conditions for marine protected areas go well beyond setting up an area that prevents fishing. The MPA guidelines in the paper have four components, including stages of establishment, levels of protection, enabling conditions and outcomes.
The benefits of ensuring the quality of protecting marine life extends beyond sustaining biodiversity or making sure an area has larger or more plentiful marine life.
“More often than not, it’s the case that MPAs do double duty” by protecting an environment and providing a sustainable resource for people around the area, Pikitch said. Locally, she points to an effort in Shinnecock Bay that provided the same benefits of these ocean protection regions.
In the western part of the bay, Pikitch said the program planted over 3.5 million hard clams into two areas. In the last decade, those regions have had an increase in the hard clam population of over 1,000 percent, which has provided numerous other benefits.
“It demonstrates the positive impact of having a no-take area,” Pikitch said.
At the same time, the bay hasn’t had any brown tides for four straight years. These brown tides and algal blooms can otherwise pose a danger to human health.
By filtering the water, the clams also make it easier for eel grass to grow, which was struggling to survive in cloudier waters that reduce their access to light. With four times as much eel grass as a decade ago, younger fish have a place to hide, grow and eat, increasing their abundance.
Being aware of the imperiled oceans and the threats humans and others face from a changing planet has sometimes been a struggle for Pikitch.
The marine researcher recalled a time when four hurricanes were churning at the same time in the Atlantic.
“I went to bed and I have to admit, I was really depressed,” Pikitch said.
When she woke up the next morning, she had to teach a class. She regrouped and decided on a strategic message.
“This is reality,” she told her class. “We have to accept this is the world we made. Everything we do that can make a positive difference, we do.”
Pikitch is encouraged by the work done to develop a new MPA framework.
These protected areas “provide a sustainable pathway to ensure a healthy ocean and to provide a home for future biodiversity,” she said.
Joe, the gentleman at the supermarket register, asked me the routine questions.
“Did you find everything okay?”
“Do you have a rewards number?”
I nodded and typed in my cell phone number.
At the end of the order, I carefully watched the total, waiting for the moment he asked me whether I wanted to donate a dollar or round up my total.
Instead, it looked like the cost declined, even after applying all the discounts. In order to be sure, I had to remove my glasses, which allow me to see at a distance, but not to read.
Yes, the total decreased by 5%. Just as I was about to thank him, I went slack jawed behind my mask. Staring closely at the total in the register, I realized he had given me the senior discount.
I pondered what to do. I could tell him I’m not a senior. Then again, maybe anyone over 35 was a senior. Okay, fine, 40. Alright, 50.
Anyway, I thanked him for ringing me up, told him to stay safe and headed to the car, where I promptly checked the age for a senior discount at my supermarket. Yup, just as I suspected. He gave me the discount well before I was eligible.
As I loaded the groceries in the car, I wondered whether this was a freakout mid-life crisis moment. Maybe this was the universe’s way, through Joe, of reminding me that I’m not a kid anymore.
Then again, I thought, steadying myself behind the wheel, maybe Joe had just typed that senior discount button by mistake. Maybe he felt generous or, perhaps, he was giving everyone a senior discount, just to stick it to his bosses.
I have an image of myself that doesn’t align with what other people see, or even what I notice in the mirror. Somewhere along the lines, my brain imagined that the younger, fresher, more energetic version of me continued to type on my computer, yell at the TV when the Yankees lost, and maneuver through my life.
My body, and the unwelcome hair that seems to wave from my ears, has offered reminders about the passage of time. Recently, my son, who is still waiting for his freshman year to start in earnest after New Orleans recovers from Hurricane Ida, asked me if I wanted to have a catch.
Excited for some father-son bonding that doesn’t involve electronics, I readily agreed. Besides, it’s been a few years since he asked. I am no longer his coach and he has numerous athletic friends and former teammates who can launch balls across a field.
The first few throws felt comfortable, as my fingers reached for the familiar seams and tossed the ball back at his chest.
“Okay, move back,” he instructed.
A few throws later, he asked me to move back again.
“Wait, what?” my arm begged, to a brain that tried to hit the mute button on muscles, tendons, bones and rotator cuffs begging me to stop engaging in such unaccustomed activity.
Pretty soon, he was throwing lasers from the next county and I was trying to figure out if I could strap the ball to a nearby bird to return it to him.
Instead, I ran 20 steps, rotated my hips and snapped my shoulders in an effort to minimize the strain on my arm.
“Good idea,” he yelled. “You should soft toss it back to me.”
Soft toss? That was one of my hardest throws!
Two days later, we repeated the same routine. The second time, my arm instantly hurt. I might imagine that I’m 25 or even 35, just as I might imagine I can fly.
I can enjoy some consolation: the senior discount saved me enough money to buy an ice pack for my throbbing shoulder.
Chemist John Moses on the campus of Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. Photo from CSHL
By Daniel Dunaief
If you build it, he will come.
That’s an iconic line from the movie “Field of Dreams,” starring Kevin Costner, in which a mythical voice calls to the Iowa farmer, encouraging him to plow through his corn to build a baseball field so the ghosts of past baseball players can entertain a modern audience.
It seems only fitting that this year, in which Major League Baseball hosted its first professional game in Iowa near the set of the popular movie, chemists have built something they hope brings together numerous other chemicals to produce products with various applications, from drug discovery to materials science.
About 120 years ago, researchers in France discovered a highly reactive gas called thionyl tetrafluoride, whose chemical symbol is SOF4.
The gas has numerous potential applications because researchers can control its reactions and derivatives. Scientists can swap each sulfur-fluorine bond with a bond between sulfur and something with desirable properties or applications.
While the gas serves as a potential building block, it is scarce and is not commercially available.
Thionyl tetrafluoride is “very reactive,” said chemist and Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Professor John Moses. “It’s not something the Average Joe wants. It’s dangerous chemistry.” It was largely overlooked until the 1960’s, when chemists at DuPont reinvestigated it.
Once Suhua Li, the lead author of a recent paper in Nature Chemistry and a former post doctoral researcher in Nobel-prize winner K. Barry Sharpless’s lab at Scripps Research Institute in La Jolla, California, generated more of this gas, the team could work together to determine the types of connections that might be possible.
While the research was a group effort in terms of planning and ideas, Li, who did the vast majority of the synthesis of the gas, is “the hero,” Moses said. “The gas itself, and reagents used to make the gas, are potentially very dangerous, and it takes courage and confidence to attempt such chemistry. ([Li] even had a bit of a mishap, to say the least, but still went ahead and tried again.”
Moses also appreciates how “ideas are just ideas until somebody takes the initiative to put them into practice.”
Moses, Sharpless, and Scripps Research Institute Associate Professor Peng Wu developed the polymer chemistry, while Hans Zuilhof of Wageningen University in the Netherlands helped elucidate the helical structure of the polymers.
The team used a technique Sharpless calls “click chemistry” to explore the substances they could create with this gas.
Thionyl tetrafluoride acts like a lego building block that can be connected with other building blocks in several dimensions.
Click reactions create defined products with absolute reliability, Moses explained. Scientists get what they expect, which is not always true in chemistry.
“In some reactions, you take A and B and you don’t always get C,” Moses said. “You get C as a major product, but you also get D, E and F.”
In click chemistry, however, the combination of A and B is guaranteed to produce C.
Some click reactions run better in water, or at least when water is present. Water is non-toxic, inflammable, inexpensive and a good heat sink.
Click philosophy is about using reliable reactions for the purpose of function discovery.
With thionyl tetrafluoride, Li and the other researchers made about 30 polymers, each of which had original structures using different fragments.
The group managed to attach antibiotics to a thionyl tetrafluoride-derived polymer and demonstrated that it retains antibacterial function.
As long as the module has a handle to exchange with the sulfur-fluorine bond, the gas has a broad range of potential applications.
With thionyl tetrafluoride as his inspiration, Moses coined the term multidimensional click chemistry, which identifies the gas a multi dimensional hub.
The chemists used a regular party balloon to transfer the gas, which is connected to a syringe and a needle. They inserted the needle through a rubber septum into a sealed flask. The reaction with reagents in the flask is straightforward to perform once the gas is available, Moses said.
Born and raised in Wrexham, North Wales, a town aglow after actors Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney last year bought a 156-year-old local soccer team, Moses had no interest in science when he was young, although he was curious about life in general.
He left school to work in a factory that made life rafts and buoyancy jackets when he was 16.
The factory had a distinct odor of toluene and glue.
“It was dreadful,” he recalls. “I was lucky to escape that life.”
He eventually landed an apprenticeship at a company called App-Chem, that allowed him to study physics and chemistry in college one day per week.
The pain in my abdomen climbed from a relatively mild one, which pediatrician’s offices usually represent with a slightly puzzled but still pleasant stick figure face, all the way to a 10, with a crying stick figure in extreme duress, in under five minutes.
Doubled over, I shuffled to my wife’s working station in our house and sat, uncomfortably, in a chair next to her.
She started to talk and then looked carefully at my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as I twisted in my seat.
“I have serious pain in my abdomen and back,” I said.
We knew what that likely meant. We’d been through this before, although last time was much more terrifying because we had no idea what was going on. Also, six years ago, the mysterious symptoms, including searing back pain, uncontrollable nausea and vomiting and extreme discomfort, appeared and disappeared. I might have had some reaction to bad food, we thought, or I might have inadvertently consumed my food kryptonite, dairy.
“It’s probably kidney stones,” my wife said, as she stood on my back to try to relieve some of the developing pain.
I twisted on the floor, hoping I wouldn’t have to go to an emergency room that was likely overwhelmed with the latest Delta variant wave of COVID-19.
I did the I’m-okay-and-can-tough-it-out-at-home-but-wait-maybe-I’m-not dance for about 10 minutes before I gave in and shuffled towards the car.
As soon as I got in the garage, I made a quick u-turn and headed to the closest bathroom, where I knelt next to the toilet and vomited.
“It’s another kidney stone,” I sighed in between heaves.
With a bucket in the backseat on the way to the hospital, I contorted my body into different positions, hoping to find one that would offer some relief. The last kidney stone episode taught me that wasn’t likely, as I did everything but stand on my head in the basement all those years ago to ease the unrelenting pain.
Fortunately, the emergency room only had two people waiting on a Friday morning. My wife spoke through a plexiglass shield with the receptionist, sharing my details while I disappeared beneath the counter into a crouched position.
The receptionist directed my wife outside until I had a room. I waited on the floor, with the same bucket at my side, for a nurse to call me.
During the 20 minute wait, the pain eased up just enough to allow me to breathe more normally and to sit on the floor. A chair was still not an option. The two other people in the waiting room were too engrossed in their phones to notice me.
Once I was in an examining room, I called my wife, whose sympathetic eyes and encouraging words eased some of my discomfort. She answered questions from the nurse as I stood on the floor and leaned the top of my body over the hospital bed as if I were praying.
The nurse promised to return with morphine. In the few minutes he was gone, I felt closer to a four on the pain scale.
I considered not taking the narcotic. The roller coaster ride along the pain pathway makes managing kidney stones, and so many other types of discomfort, difficult. Each moment of comfort is like a sliver of sunlight between heavy rain clouds.
The doctor confirmed our kidney stone diagnosis. He thought I’d pass the stone that night or the next day. I didn’t have any such luck, as I fought through symptoms for 10 days.
Finally, the obstruction exited. I was so elated that I jumped up and down in the garage with my baffled son, who was returning from an errand.
As others who have had kidney stones can attest, the experience is extraordinarily uncomfortable and painful. I feel fortunate for all the support from my wife, children, brothers, mother and friends. I can only imagine what people hundreds of years ago must have thought when these stones made their painful journey.
Tropical Storm Ida’s heavy rains may create a breeding ground for the mosquitoes that carry West Nile Virus, health officials warn.
“Following the recent heavy rainfall, we are concerned that standing water and summer temperatures will allow mosquitoes to proliferate,” Gregson Pigott, Suffolk County health commissioner, said in a statement. “While there is no cause for alarm, we ask residents to cooperate with us in our efforts to reduce exposure to West Nile virus and other mosquito-borne diseases.”
As of last week, 92 mosquito samples and four birds had tested positive for West Nile virus. From Aug. 25 to Aug. 26, 21 samples tested positive for the virus.
At least one mosquito from samples collected in Cold Spring Harbor, Huntington Station, Northport, Stony Brook, Port Jefferson Station and Rocky Point tested positive for the virus, according to the Suffolk County Health Department.
Most people infected with West Nile Virus, which was first detected in Suffolk County in 1999, have mild or no symptoms. Some, however, can develop high fever, headaches, neck stiffness, disorientation, coma, tremors, convulsions, muscle weakness, vision loss, numbness and paralysis, according to the health department.
Over the last 20 years, the number of mosquito samples testing positive for West Nile ranged from a low of eight in 2004 to a high of 295 in 2010, a year that also saw 25 human cases with three deaths.
Pigott urges residents to wear shoes and socks, long pants and long-sleeved shirts when mosquitoes are active. He also suggested using mosquito repellent, while reading and following directions carefully.
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends repellents containing DEET, oil of lemon eucalyptus, picaridin and IR3535, which can be used on skin and clothing. For children, lower concentrations of DEET are preferable, according to the CDC.
Insect repellents with permethrin should only be used on clothing and not directly on the skin.
Effective screens on windows and doors can keep mosquitoes out of homes and living areas.
Emptying containers that hold water, such as vases, pet water bowls, flowerpot saucers, birdbaths, trash cans and rain barrels can reduce available water sources for mosquitoes to lay their eggs. Scrubbing containers like pet water bowls can remove insect eggs that might otherwise survive.
Adrian Popp, chair of Infection Control at Huntington Hospital, explained that most disease doctors are on the lookout for West Nile infections. He tests everybody with an unexplained fever or other symptoms.
In a typical year, Huntington Hospital sees a few cases of West Nile. So far, Popp said, the hospital hasn’t reported any such illnesses.
“It is hard to say if it will be more prevalent this year since we had only a few cases in New York State so far and it is already the end” of the summer season, Popp wrote in an email.
While Popp said anyone is vulnerable to West Nile Virus if he or she is bitten by a mosquito, most cases are asymptomatic. Fewer than one percent of those who contract West Nile Virus develop more severe symptoms.
For those people who have more severe symptoms, doctors don’t have many tools at their disposal.
“There is no etiologic therapy,” Popp explained in an email. “Therapy is supportive, symptomatic care.”
The county urged residents concerned about West Nile Virus to download a copy of an informational brochure called “Get the Buzz on Mosquito Protection” on www.suffolkcountyny.gov.
Photographer Bolivar Arellano captured the destruction in Lower Manhattan after the 9/11 attacks. Photo by Bolivar Arellano
With our 4-month-old daughter in a stroller, we followed the same path so many others did in the days after 9/11. We ventured to the nearest fire station, on East 85th Street in Manhattan, where several members of the rescue squad had died racing to the burning World Trade Center towers.
Daniel Dunaief
We passed the familiar posters with the faces of people missing after that day, taped to almost every telephone pole, fence and door by relatives desperate for a miracle.
People had covered a car on the same block as the fire station with so many flowers that it was difficult to see the car’s original color.
Slowing our pace, we reached the station where larger-than-life pictures of the faces of firefighters served as a memorial.
Firefighters at the station greeted their guests with grace and dignity, talking about their fallen comrades, accepting the food neighbors had purchased or cooked, and taking other tokens of appreciation and expressions of shared grief. The car covered in flowers belonged to one of the rescue workers killed that day.
Some of the visitors lost the battle to control their runaway emotions, struggling to offer comfort through their tears. The firefighters comforted them, thanking them for coming and offering something to the effect of “I appreciate your visit” and “I know what you mean.”
When it was our turn to speak, we offered some version of our thanks, handing a gift to the people who would continue to risk their lives to protect people in the neighborhood.
The weeks that followed the attacks were a blur, with images of the then-heroic Mayor Rudy Giuliani (R) demonstrating defiance and resilience on TV interspersed with hard-to-breathe moments when parts of the towers passed us on the roads as the city cleaned up the site.
Among the 2,606 people who died at the WTC — then or later from injuries — I thought about the ones I knew well.
A financial services reporter for several years, I regularly called analysts at the boutique investment bank Keefe, Bruyette & Woods. I frequently chatted with three of them in particular: Marni Pont O’Doherty, Tom Theurkauf Jr. and David Berry.
While he was often in a hurry, Tom never ended a conversation without his familiar, “Good to talk.” Two decades later, I can still hear his energetic and respectful signoff.
David shared quotes and insights without changing his pitch, tolerating ridiculous questions and challenging what I thought I knew.
A self-described “banking nerd,” Marni loved her job. I called her with all kinds of rumors about bank mergers and she never discounted any possibility. She would tell me why something might make sense. Often she would conclude by saying she wasn’t making the decisions and that bank executives had done stranger things.
They were three of the 67 people who lost their lives at KBW.
In the weeks after the attacks, an eerie graciousness fell over a city where verbal confrontation is a way of life. As we walked or drove through the city, we didn’t hear any car horns. A light would turn green and every car would wait for the people, who might be mourning a loss, to go.
Everyone, however, didn’t come together then, just as people across the political aisle today rarely come together.
Indeed, with attacks and hostility toward Middle Easterners rising in the weeks after the attack, numerous taxi and limo drivers attached bumper stickers to their cars, indicating that they were proud Americans or that they were, say, Sikh Americans.
The flyers eventually came down or blew off poles and crosswalk signs, the trucks stopped hauling beams and other pieces of the towers, and drivers honked again.
In the 20 years since, I have tried to balance between appreciating the privilege of knowing Marni, Tom, David and others and the agony of realizing all that they, and their families, lost. They weren’t my best friends or my family, but they were — and continue to be — missed and remembered. And, thank you, Tom. It was “good to talk.”
Daniel Dunaief writes a weekly science feature called the Power of Three and a weekly column called None of the Above for TBR News Media.
As the new school year begins, students will have to wear masks once again. File photo from Smithtown Central School District
What a difference a month, or two, makes.
The percent of positive tests in Suffolk County on Aug. 29 stood at 5.1% with a 4.7% positive seven-day average, according to data from the Suffolk County Department of Health.
That is considerably higher than just a month earlier, with a 3.2% positive testing rate on July 29 and a 2.7% rate on a seven-day average. The increase in infections for the county looks even more dramatic when compared with June 29, when positive tests were 0.2% and the seven day average was 0.4%.
“With the highly transmissible delta variant of SARS-CoV-2 [the virus that causes Covid-19] circulating, we are urging everyone who is eligible to get the COVID-19 vaccine as soon as possible,” Gregson Pigott, commissioner of the Suffolk County Department of Health Services, wrote in an email. “We also advise residents to wear masks when indoors in public.”
With students returning to school during the increase in positive tests, including those who are under 12 and ineligible to receive the vaccination, Pigott explained that he was concerned about the positive tests in the county.
Nationally, the spread of the Delta variant is so prevalent that the Director for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Rochelle Walensky at a White House briefing urged people who are unvaccinated not to travel during the Labor Day weekend.
While area hospitals aren’t seeing the same alarming surge towards capacity that they did last year, local health care facilities have had an uptick in patients who need medical attention.
“The increased community transmission is concerning as it is correlating with hospital rates also slowly rising,” Bettina Fries, chief of the Division of Infectious Diseases at Stony Brook Medicine, wrote in an email.
Meanwhile, most of the patients hospitalized at Huntington Hospital are younger, from children who are transferred to people in their 20s to 50s, explained Adrian Popp, chair of Infection Control at Huntington Hospital/ Northwell Health, in an email.
As schools in the area prepare to return to in-person learning, Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University has been coordinating with officials to prepare for a safe return to in-person learning.
“Stony Brook faculty are working with a diverse group of school districts in planning for the upcoming school year,” Sharon Nachman, chief of the Division of Pediatric Infectious Diseases at Stony Brook Children’s Hospital, explained in an email.
In recent weeks, Stony Brook Children’s Hospital has had few pediatric hospitalizations for COVID-19, with more pediatric positive cases in the outpatient setting.
Area hospitals including Stony Brook and Huntington Hospital continue to have strict guidelines in place for health care workers including social distancing, hand washing and the proper use of personal protective equipment.
Amid increasing discussion of the potential use of boosters, Stony Brook awaits “formal guidance and will continue to follow all DOH directives on vaccine administration,” Fries wrote.
Ida and Covid
Outside of Long Island, Hurricane Ida has the potential to increase the spread of the virus, as larger groups of people crowd into smaller spaces.
The hurricane “may become a super spreader event since vaccination rates in the South are low and people may crowd into shelters or at home indoors,” Popp explained. “I am concerned not only about the hospital capacity in Louisiana, but also of the impact the hurricane can have on hospital functioning.”
Popp cited a loss of power, lack of supplies, and the difficulty for ambulances trying to reach patients in flooded areas.
Last Friday around 10:30 am, our son, who just arrived at his freshman dorm 12 days earlier, asked how quickly I could get him on a flight back home.
I dropped what I was doing and searched for flights out of New Orleans. We knew he was in the path of Hurricane Ida and had been hoping, as Long Island had done the week before with Hurricane Henri, that he and the city would somehow avoid the worst of the storm.
His college had provided regular updates, indicating that the forecasts called for the storm to hit 90 miles to their west. That would mean they’d get heavy rain and some wind, but that the storm, strong as it might become, might not cause the same kind of devastation as Hurricane Katrina had exactly 16 years earlier.
By Friday, two days before its arrival, my son, many of his friends, and his friends’ parents were scrambling to get away from the Crescent City amid reports that the storm was turning more to the east.
Fortunately, we were able to book a mid-day flight the next day. An hour later, he texted me and said he might want to stay on campus during the storm, the way a few of his other friends were doing. I ignored the message.
Two hours later, he asked if he still had the plane reservation and said he was happy he’d be leaving.
Later that Friday, another classmate tried unsuccessfully to book a flight, as the scramble to leave the city increased.
My wife and I became increasingly concerned about his ride to the airport, which, on a normal day, would take about 30 minutes. We kept pushing the time back for him to leave, especially when we saw images of crowded roadways.
He scheduled an Uber for 9:30. On Saturday morning at 6 a.m. his time, he texted and asked if he should go with a friend who was leaving at 9 and had room in his car. Clearly, he wasn’t sleeping too much, either.
I urged him to take the earlier car, which would give him more time in case traffic was crawling. He got to the airport well before his flight and waited for close to two hours to get through a packed security line.
When his plane was finally in the air, my wife and I breathed a sigh of relief. We both jumped out of the car at the airport to hug him and welcome him home, even though we had given him good luck hugs only two weeks earlier at the start of college.
After sharing his relief at being far from the storm, he told us how hungry he was. The New Orleans airport had run low on food amid the sudden surge of people fleeing the city. After he greeted our pets, who were thrilled to see him, he fell into a salad, sharing stream-of-consciousness stories.
The next day, he received numerous short videos from friends who stayed during the storm. While we’d experienced hurricanes before, the images of a transformer sparking and then exploding, videos of rooms filling with water from shattered windows, and images of water cascading through ceilings near light fixtures were still shocking.
He will be home for at least six weeks, as the city and the school work to repair and rebuild infrastructure. During that time, he will return to the familiar world of online learning, where he and new friends from around the country and world will work to advance their education amid yet another disruption from a routine already derailed by COVID-19.
We know how fortunate he was to get out of harm’s way and how challenging the rebuilding process will be for those who live in New Orleans. When he returns to campus, whenever that may be, we know he will not only study for his classes, but that he and his classmates will also contribute to efforts to help the community and city recover from the storm.
Three families and their foundations jump-started a research mission on Long Island that offers a chance for change. Their stories reflect a desire to remember their family members and a need to offer hope and help to others.
Christina Renna
Christina Renna with sister Rae Marie Renna
Phil Renna waited while his 16-year old daughter Christina spoke with her doctor. He and his wife Rene had decided to allow their daughter, who was battling a form of connective tissue cancer called rhabdomyosarcoma (RMS), to be involved in decisions about her treatment.
When Christina came out of the room, Phil, director of operations in the communications department at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, asked if he should also speak with the doctor. Christina said it wasn’t necessary. On the way home, she told him it had to be a “really good Christmas.”
He knew what that meant, although she also asked him not to tell anyone how close she was to the end of her life.
Renna and parents throughout the country have had to cope with the agony of rhabdomyosarcoma, which mostly affects children. People battling this cancer have turned to medicine for help, only to find that the treatment options are limited.
That, Renna and others say, was as unacceptable to them when their children were battling cancer as it is now, when the next generation is struggling with this illness.
RMS doesn’t receive the same level of funding nationally as cancers that affect more people, such as breast, lung and prostate cancer, but the agony and suffering are just as significant.
Amid their battles with the disease, families have turned to their support groups, including friends, extended family, and community members to raise funds for basic research, hoping grass roots efforts allow future generations to have longer, healthier lives.
Supported by these funds and a willingness to fill a research gap, Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory CEO Bruce Stillman has backed efforts to gather information and to support research that may also help people with other forms of cancer.
Renna, who lives in Lindenhurst, struggled with his role as father and protector when Christina developed rhabdomyosarcoma.
“I’m supposed to protect my kids,” Renna said. “I should be able to tell them, ‘It’s going to be okay.’”
Renna went to Stillman to ask whether Christina, who was a patient at Memorial Sloan Kettering, might get better care somewhere else.
After conducting some research, Stillman told his colleague about the lack of basic research and other treatment options.
“That was a crushing moment for me,” Renna said.
During treatment, Christina had to be at Memorial Sloan Kettering at 7 a.m., which meant he and Christina’s mother Rene got in the car at 5 a.m. with their daughter.
Renna dropped them off, drove back to work, where he’d put in a full day, drive back to the hospital and return home at 10:30 p.m.
“That was every night, five days a week,” Renna recalled. While those were tough days, Renna said he and his wife did what they needed to do for their daughter.
Five years after his daughter died at the age of 16, Renna drove home from work one day to find his shirt was wet. It took him a while to realize the moisture came from the tears, as he cried his way back to his house. At one point, he thought he had post-traumatic stress disorder.
Renna continues to raise money to support research into this disease, while also helping people create and develop their own foundations, often after enduring similar pain.
“Every single foundation that has come and given money to the lab, I have personally met with,” he said. “I helped our advancement team onboard them.”
As someone who has lost a child and understands what a parent can be feeling, Renna is committed to helping others cope with their grief.
“For me, it is about helping the lab, but also about helping families honor the memory of their child in a meaningful way and what better way than to help another family and perhaps find a cure,” he wrote in an email.
Renna believes investments in research will pay off, helping to answer basic questions that will lead to better treatments down the road.
So far, the foundation has given $387,300 to Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory for research. They also gave $50,000 to Make-a-Wish in Suffolk, and $25,000 to local scholarships. The foundation supported Memorial Sloan Kettering with an iPad program. Ultimately, Renna believes in the ongoing return from research investments.
“Everybody wants to find and fund the silver bullet,” he said. “Everybody wants to give money to fund a clinical trial. Basic research is where the discoveries are made.”
Renna urged people creating foundations to have a strong board that included business people and that might also have a scientific or medical advisory element. He also suggested funding foundations a year ahead of time. That helped his foundation in 2020, when finding donors became more challenging during the pandemic.
Being at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory and helping others get through darker days that are all too familiar to him gives Renna comfort. “I know, in some way, every single day, I’m making an impact,” he said. “How measurable it is, I don’t know. There are days when I’m pretty proud.”
As far as he feels they have come, Renna said it’s not the time to look back, but to press ahead.
T.J. Arcati
A former summer intern in Bruce Stillman’s lab when he attended Notre Dame, T.J. Arcati was married and had two children when he succumbed to sarcoma.
“We know what we went through,” said his father, Tom Arcati, an oral and maxillofacial surgeon in Huntington. “He left a son and a daughter without a dad.”
Tom and his wife Nancy, who raised T.J. in Lloyd Harbor and live in Huntington, were with their son for his treatments and therapies.
Tom and Nancy Arcati are determined to extend people’s lives by more than a year or two and are actively engaged with other families who are coping in the midst of the cancer storm. “I’m talking to people now that unfortunately are going through what we did seven years ago,” Tom Arcati said.
While the Arcatis support other families, their empathy “brings you back to a place you never really leave,” Nancy Arcati said. These interactions “keeps T.J.’s life on people’s minds and in their hearts.”
Tom Arcati tries to be a source of solace to people who are trying to gather information.
In the aftermath of TJ’s death at the age of 34, Arcati reached out to Stillman to see if the lab could work towards better treatments.
One Saturday, Arcati and his son Matthew went to Stillman’s house, where they sat in his living room, with Stillman drinking tea and Arcati having coffee.“What do you think?” Arcati recalled asking. “Are you going to do sarcoma research?” Stillman looked back at his guest and mentioned that he was thinking about it. Stillman called Arcati a few days later.
“When he called me, he said, ‘We’re a cancer institute. We should be doing sarcomas.’ That’s how I remember this whole thing going down. It was pretty heart warming.”
The first step for CSHL was to host a Banbury conference. The site of international meetings on a range of scientific topics since 1978, the Banbury center brings together experts in various fields. The meetings provide a forum for scientific advances and result in various publications. By holding a Banbury Center meeting, CSHL helped advance research into sarcomas.
The Arcatis have remained active in the Friends of T.J. Foundation, which TJ and several college friends founded in 2009 after T.J. was diagnosed with sarcoma. They have stayed in close contact with CSHL Professor Chris Vakoc and his PhD student Martyna Sroka, who regularly keeps him informed of her progress. Sroka has spoken at some of the outings for the Friends of TJ Foundation. This year, Stillman will speak at the September 13th fundraiser at the Huntington Country Club.
“It’s really imperative that people who are supporting us know what their dollars are being spent on,” Arcati said.
The Friends of TJ Foundation has raised about $50,000 each year, bringing their total fundraising to about $400,000.
Arcati hopes something positive can come out of the losses the families who are funding Vakoc’s research suffered.
“If we can save one kid’s life somewhere by doing what we’re doing, then this whole process is worth it,” Arcati said.
Michelle Paternoster
Michelle Paternoster of Lindenhurst developed sarcoma in her sinuses. Her husband Paul Paternoster helped her through 38 surgeries, over 90 radiation treatments and several rounds of chemotherapy.
Michelle and Paul Paternoster
The couple tried immune therapy in the Bahamas in the fall of 2008 and went to New York in 2011 for treatment.
“We drove [to the city] for 90 days” excluding weekends, Paternoster recalled. The treatments seemed to have a positive effect during the trial, but shortly afterward, the cancer continued growing.
After Michelle died in 2013 at the age of 34, Paternoster was determined to help others, initially asking supporters to contribute to the fundraising effort from the Arcatis.
Donations to the Friends of T.J. Foundation reached $30,000, which helped underwrite the Banbury conference at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. Michelle and T.J. had seen each other in the radiation suite in the halls of Memorial Sloan Kettering.
Paternoster then started the Michelle Paternoster Foundation for Sarcoma Research. The President of Selectrode Industries Inc., which manufactures welding products and has two factories in Pittsburgh, Paternoster wanted to help people at a clinical level.
Through Michelle’s Clubhouse, he partnered with the Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, paying for hotels of pediatric cancer patients when the Ronald McDonald house is full. The clubhouse also provides gift cards to help pay for gas, tolls and copays on prescriptions.
“Knowing how difficult it is to go through this, I can’t imagine what it’s like to not have that capability” to pay for basic needs during treatment, Paternoster said. “That is why it is so important for our board to do something at the clinical level to support families in this battle.”
Paternoster said the relatively small but growing size of the group dedicated to helping each other makes each person’s contribution that much more important.
“Normally, when you’re doing any kind of charity work, you feel like you’re a tiny part of this project, especially when it comes to [diseases like] breast cancer and things that impact millions of people,” Paternoster said. When he attended the Banbury conference that launched the research effort at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, he said “you felt you could make a difference. You’re sitting in a room with 25, 30 people max. That was the entire effort to eradicate this disease.”
Paternoster, who lives in Cold Spring Harbor, called the collaboration that came out of the meeting “astounding.”
The Michelle Paternoster Foundation has raised $500,000, with about $350,000 of that supporting the work at Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory.
Ultimately, like the other families who raise funds, stay informed and offer help to strangers battling an all-too-familiar disease, Paternoster feels that the opportunity to make a meaningful contribution inspires him.
“That’s our dream,” he said, “to find a cure, so other people don’t have to feel what we felt.”
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