Opinion: History doesn’t have to repeat itself with stigma and monkeypox
Ricky (not his real name), is a patient of mine: a young, gay man with a gentle soul and well-controlled HIV. He recently went to his local emergency department with a rash on his face, excruciating pain in his abdomen, and bright red blood that filled the toilet every time he had a bowel movement. Those triaging him thought the rash might be monkeypox, so they rushed him into an isolation room where he sat, alone, seeing under the door the shadows of feet going back and forth in the hallway. No one came for hours.
The doctor who finally entered the room was adorned in full personal protective gear — face shield, mask, gown, and gloves — and stood as far from the bed as possible, as if Ricky was somehow radioactive. The doctor briefly stepped in to swab the rash, prepared it to send to a lab for monkeypox testing, then left.
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