A full month before the World Health Organization declared monkeypox a global health emergency, my gay friends in my group texts had already figured out how to get vaccine appointments, what to do if we were exposed, and where to find the best research on risk and vaccine efficacy. These were the same group chats that once contained gossip, lunch orders, and gentle ribbing between friends, but now, we'd also often devote minutes and blocks of text to a virus that we were struggling to find any information about.
It was June, and at the time, monkeypox had been spreading in Europe and was primarily affecting men who have sex with men. New York City Pride — and the numerous parties and celebrations that come with it — was about to start, but according to New York City health officials, the number of cases in New York was very low. The caveat: Those were the same city health officials who underestimated Covid-19.
Without advance notice, the city's health department had made 1,000 doses of Jynneos, the monkeypox vaccine, available the Thursday of Pride. The surprise release — like a sneaker drop — didn't feel like a reassurance. It felt more like a late attempt to get out in front of a major problem.
A friend sent me a link to an appointment-making website operated by MedRite, and I booked an appointment for 1 pm the next day. I also sent the link to several more friends.
The city ran out of appointments later that day.
According to health officials, the CDC, and others, monkeypox is a "mild" disease, usually not fatal, that largely consists of sores that can spread all over the body. That it starts as a fever, that the sores will creep all over your body and make it hard to sleep, that it feels like someone exploded a lightbulb in your bottom, that the pain is scorching and unbearable, and that TPOXX, a drug that can help battle the virus, is frustratingly impossible to procure — this knowledge comes from accounts from queer men who have or had the disease. Some of those men have posted their experiences on social media because of the lack of information about the severity of the disease.
Last week, the US declared the monkeypox outbreak — now nationwide — a federal public health emergency, a move which should help unlock access to emergency funding and other resources to stem the epidemic. But vaccine availability remains a problem everywhere.
The federal government has been criticized because it didn't act with urgency against monkeypox after a July New York Times report surfaced that, despite a vaccine supply and information coming in from Europe in June, the US took a wait-and-see approach. Protests have erupted. New York City, California, Illinois, and other cities and states have declared states of emergency to receive and deploy resources to battle the epidemic. Appointments are few and far between, many without any second doses planned, though Jynneos is a two-dose vaccine, and overall, the handful of cases in May and June have, as of August 11, increased to 10,392 reported cases in the US, and 2,132 in the state of New York.
Without my gay phone tree, I don't think I would've been able to get a dose of Jynneos. On the one hand, having this network is great and informative in the midst of an outbreak.
At the same time, that I'm largely depending on my network of friends to let me know the latest about an epidemic has shown the gaps in the American health care system and how thin public health resources are spread.
"What I see is a community of people who have been left without access to the care that they need, advocating for themselves and for others and going to extraordinary lengths to try to minimize viral risks," says Joseph Osmundson, a queer health advocate and clinical assistant professor of biology at New York University. "All the while, their suffering is not being taken seriously."
