From epicenter of COVID, brother of Mizzou football coach preaches ‘love thy neighbor’
Back in the day, the brothers were competitive, prone to “highly contested debates” and downright combative at times. For that matter ...
“I still think I can take him today if he steps out of line too much,” Jeremy Drinkwitz said, laughing.
Only because he’s got about 75 pounds on him, said Eliah Drinkwitz, who at 38 is two years younger.
“But if I could take that thing three rounds,” he added, “I think I’ve got him.”
Playful trash-talk notwithstanding, the one-time sibling rivalry became a deep alliance by the time they were in college together at Arkansas Tech. And they trust and appreciate each other and value each other’s opinions, which is a lot of why the kid brother/University of Missouri football coach has become an ardent proponent of COVID-19 vaccinations.
“I’m incredibly grateful that he is using his voice to (provide) … a different sound than what people have heard,” said Jeremy Drinkwitz, president of Mercy Hospital Joplin. “This thing is highly political, and unfortunately, both sides, wherever you fall in that, ignore the other. And the sources of truth are hard to recognize for some people.
“So for him to use his voice to advocate for the truth may give people an opportunity to step back and think about it differently. And so I think that’s incredibly valuable.”
At a time of year when most college football coaches are thinking exclusively about such elements of the game as red-zone packages, Eli Drinkwitz also has been focused on the pandemic red zone and what he recently called a “firefight” for lives in southwest Missouri that has become part of an alarming broader spike.
And what he calls his “awesome platform” extends here to us giving his brother, “a leader and an influencer,” a chance to provide a different view than what people have heard, too.
Not coincidentally, it’s a perspective he offers with much the same zeal and energy his brother brings to his job at MU.
And if you haven’t been vaccinated yet, but have an open mind, he has a compelling case to make.
From the epicenter of the battle on Monday at Joplin Mercy, Jeremy Drinkwitz thought of the 478% increase in hospitalized COVID patients (from ages 14 to 81) over 60 days and how at this rate they are on trajectory to simply run out of resources … to say nothing of the very real trauma being suffered by his overtaxed healthcare colleagues.
He thought of the 22 people currently on ventilators because of COVID, people who would die without this invasive life support, and the fact that 94% to 98% of those admitted for COVID are unvaccinated … and how full of regret they often are when they are being treated.
And he thought of the 185 patients who have died from the virus, more and counting (alas, four more patients died by week’s end) than the 163 who perished in the catastrophe of the Joplin tornado 10 years ago.
Most of all, though, he thought about the only path forward: love.
“Love requires you to move towards action; there’s no such thing as love and no action, right?” said Drinkwitz, who has three sisters and a brother in law who work in various forms of health care. “So what I’m trying to do is ask people to step back from ‘what I want and what I think and what I believe’ and (consider that) ‘because I love people I’m going to do some sort of action.’”
Hence, his frequent use of #lovethyneighbor attached to his related posts on Twitter. The mentality, he believes, should be a beacon.
“As a faith-based organization, as a person of faith, it’s fundamental: We are called to love your neighbor as yourself. And no greater love has anyone than to lay down your life for your friend,” he said. “And so that is kind of the motivation that we’re (stressing). …
“What I’m asking people to do is go back to what they believe, their faith and fundamentals. … It’s very disappointing that we have let our political beliefs become stronger than our faith fundamentals.”
Instead, with a vaccination rate in the mid-20s, about one in eight residents of Newton County have been infected.
So instead of lending comfort and aid to themselves and everyone else, the unvaccinated are enabling variants and treading on the freedom of others.
“We have left a lot of space for that virus to mutate and also become significantly more contagious …,” he said. “It’s frustrating, when you have people who tell you no continuously, who aren’t very receptive. But we can’t give up because we’re fighting for people’s lives.
“And that moment of truth for them may be a moment that can save their lives in the future. So that’s why we’re after it.”
Staying after it also has meant being vigilant and responsive towards the ever-mutating strains of misinformation and disinformation that have helped the pandemic thrive. Such resistance stands in notable contrast to the deep and wide acceptance of the polio vaccine in the 1950s.
“It’s difficult to understand how far we’ve come in this as far as who we believe versus who we don’t believe,” he said. “And that is another big frustration: the lack of belief in physicians and healthcare providers right now and what they’re saying in trying to guide them.
“We in this country have always listened to our healthcare providers. Why, in this biggest moment of a pandemic, have we decided to not listen to them? And why have we decided to disregard their advice? ...
“You’re always going to find the quacks out there, the people who are talking against it. But the facts are true. Greater than 96% of physicians recommend the vaccine …
“So why would you start believing the one versus the 96? We don’t have an agenda. We are doing it because we are trying to help people potentially save their lives. That’s the only reason we’re doing this.”
Certainly, it’s not to inject you with a microchip; your iPhone already has that pretty much covered, Drinkwitz joked.
And it’s hardly an “experiment,” as some of the deniers like to call it, with more than four billion doses administered worldwide.
“So we’re way past an experiment at this point, right?” he said.
He’s also heard the propaganda that COVID won’t kill younger people.
“This doesn’t discriminate,” he said. “We unfortunately have lost a couple mothers in their 30s, and now their kids aren’t going to have a mom. And how devastating and how tragic is that? Because it’s preventable.”
Another issue that baffles him is that some of the hesitancy is over potential long-term side effects, an “irrational fear” of the vaccine that is juxtaposed with an absence of “realistic fear” of the virus — a point addressed by the CDC:
“Serious side effects that could cause a long-term health problem are extremely unlikely following any vaccination, including COVID-19 vaccination. Vaccine monitoring has historically shown that side effects generally happen within six weeks of receiving a vaccine dose.
“For this reason, the FDA required each of the authorized COVID-19 vaccines to be studied for at least two months (eight weeks) after the final dose. Millions of people have received COVID-19 vaccines, and no long-term side effects have been detected.”
Meanwhile, it’s the long-term impact of the virus we should be concerned about, Drinkwitz said, noting cognitive and breathing issues they’ve observed in so-called long-haulers.
To say nothing of the immediate ramifications.
“If you get it, you may not recover,” he said. “Death is forever.”
So they’re doing their best to address it every way they can, including instituting a policy last month requiring all employees across their four campuses to be vaccinated by Sept. 30 with an allowance for some religious and medical exemptions.
The idea is to demonstrate the integrity of leading by example while also amplifying the statement that they are doing everything they can to keep their patients safe.
Because you can try in vain to wish away the pandemic.
Or you can remind yourself that if you’re not part of the solution you’re part of the problem.
“I don’t see how we’re going to get rid of this,” he said, “unless we start to act.”
By loving your neighbor.