HERE AT SOJOURNERS, we’re all about hope: Finding signs of hope, praying for the gift of hope, living a life that embodies hope. Heck, I’ve even designed bumper stickers with that word, some of which are still on cars, expressing hope—albeit a weathered and faded hope—from the parking spaces where they’ve been for weeks.
But sometimes our hopes crumble in disappointment. As scientists work feverishly to develop drugs to counter the coronavirus, many alternative treatments trigger our sense of optimism and raise our hopes, only to be dashed when they prove ineffective, unproven, or laughably ridiculous to most sentient beings except Sean Hannity.
The promise of hydroxychloroquine, for example, was touted by Fox News for a month before it was finally debunked as ineffective and, in some cases, fatal. But now that the president claims to be using it, I’m glad I worked on the pronunciation: Hydroxychloroquine, hydroxychloroquine, hydroxychloroquine. (See? I’ve been practicing.)
A similar, more pronounceable chemical compound—chloroquine phosphate—also showed promise. Mainly used for cleaning aquariums, its medical efficacy was suggested by its ability to clear glass of slimy buildup that appears much more tenacious than any virus. (Despite being exposed to the chemical for years, those little deep-sea divers show no ill effect.)
Unfortunately, epidemiologists’ quick denunciation of this chemical unfairly slandered pet store products as a class and essentially ruled out—prematurely, in my view—other possible cures that might be found in that venue. Just because gerbil vitamins and flea shampoo haven’t been used in human trials doesn’t mean they can’t be efficacious. (And call me crazy, but I don’t know why Dr. Fauci isn’t looking into Marshall’s Ferret Hairball Treatment. What virus could survive that?)
The president himself raised some commonsense solutions to combatting the virus. And if the manufacturers of Lysol hadn’t publicly discouraged the practice, injecting disinfectants directly into the body might have shown potential. Yes, it goes against the instructions on the label, but who reads that? And if the makers of Clorox bleach didn’t want it used for medicinal purposes, why is the cap the perfect dosage size?
Sunlight and ultraviolet light were other curatives proposed by the president, whose naturally golden skin suggests an intimate familiarity with both. Presumably heeding his advice, thousands of Trump supporters are prepared to expose themselves for lengthy periods to the sun or tanning salons. (Is that why they call them red states?)
I’M ALSO INTERESTED in what chemical compound enables Mike Pence to stand motionless at the president’s side for two hours at a time. (I can’t even hold a plank for 60 seconds and I’m horizontal, almost laying down.) And how the vice president speaks at length without taking a breath is another question for which a drug may be the answer. He does this mainly during interviews with journalists, thus preventing the follow-up questions that might infect the comfort zone of an uninformed public. It’s mesmerizing to watch and difficult to explain. But perhaps he’s testing another product from pet stores, say, amitriptyline—used in dogs to treat anxiety, it can also contribute to a thick, shiny coat.
Because, let’s be honest, the vice president’s hair has never looked better.
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