Those who have not (yet) had Covid are calling themselves Covid virgins. My wife, Merilyn, for example, despite being highly susceptible to respiratory illnesses, has never had Covid. Since the neighbourhood we live in in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, is called Guadalupe, I have taken to calling her the Covid Virgin of Guadalupe.
Which underscores the ambivalent attitude Western society has towards virginity. Merilyn is married and has given birth, and yet is referred to as a virgin. Sound familiar? (And I’m not referring to the immensely popular telenovela “Jane the Virgin,” which plays on the same trope.) Queen Elizabeth I was known as the Virgin Queen – the state of Virginia was named for her – even though few during her reign doubted that she had lovers. Virgins with a capital “V” are revered; lower-case virgins, after they reach a certain age, are looked upon with a mixture of pity and skepticism: virginity is supposed to be a temporary condition, a life-stage one goes through before settling down to the serious business of propagating the species.
The term “Covid virgin” seems to have been adapted from earlier epithets, such as “skydiving virgin,” meaning someone who has not yet jumped out of an airplane. But the difference is instructive. “Skydiving virgin” is used by people who have already skydived to refer to those poor sods who haven’t yet experienced that thrill of a lifetime. Whereas, although most people who have had Covid (about 82 percent of North Americans, according to recent guesstimates) believe that the other 18 percent are going to get Covid or have already had it without knowing it, no one actually encourages Covid virgins to join the herd.
The more interesting question about people who haven’t caught Covid is: Why haven’t they? While the usual answers range from sheer luck to a sad, lonely life, the reality is that some people, despite having been exposed to the coronavirus repeatedly, have not contracted the disease. Scientists studying those people cannot figure out why that is.
There are some intriguing theories. One suggests that people with Type O blood are less prone to infection than people with Type A. (The same study showed that certain genes inherited from our Neanderthal ancestors may provide protection from Covid.) Other researchers think a gene in some people’s genetic makeup drives the production of more white blood cells than in those of us without that gene – white blood cells are the immune system’s security forces that patrol the body looking for invasive pathogens, like viruses; the more white blood cells you have, the stronger your immune system (up to a point).
A third possibility is that some of us have a mutation in our interferon pathways. Viruses work by changing the human cell’s instructions so that a large number of invaded cells all call for help from the immune system at once, and the system is clogged by a deluge of cytokines. If one or more of the 20 genes that make up the interferon pathway are mutated, then the virus’s plan won’t work, because the cytokine storm sent by the immune system doesn’t get through.
The Bellvitge Biomedical Research Institute, which conducts advanced cancer and neuroscience research in Barcelona, Spain, has recruited 200 Covid virgins in order to analyze their DNA to see if something about their genetic coding makes them more resistant to infection. “There must be genetic components that do not allow the virus to enter,” a researcher at the Institute told El País last July. So far, however, they don’t seem to have found any.
One of the many anomalies presented by the pandemic is that Covid virgins are generally found among the older population, a demographic that is normally the most easily infected. And some Covid virgins have comorbidities that should make them even more vulnerable. Merilyn, for example, has severe asthma and is highly susceptible to respiratory infections. Before the pandemic, she came down with pneumonia two or three times a year. She also has a form of vasculitis for which she takes massive doses of a corticosteroid that suppresses her immune system. And yet she has not had Covid. We slept together right up to the day I tested positive, at which point I quarantined in our bedroom while she slept in the guest room and left meals on a tray outside my door for ten days.
Because she knows she’s highly vulnerable, she has exercised more caution than most people (me, for example), and that may be a clue. Many of the Covid virgins we know are, like Merilyn, prime candidates for infection. As a result, they wear masks more often than not. They avoid restaurants, theatres, and dinner parties like the plague. One person we know has coined the term “Covidy” to describe a room where she might contract the disease She’ll look into a restaurant and, if it’s full of people not wearing masks, she’ll say, “Nope, too Covidy,” and not go in.
So it may be that this extra ounce of caution has kept some people Covid-free. It’s anecdotal evidence, which is to science what circumstantial evidence is in a court of law; it isn’t proof, but it suggests a line of inquiry. And it would be fitting to the weirdness of Covid if the very thing that should have made a person an early victim to infection is exactly what has protected them from getting the disease at all.
Hi Neighbour; we're on Margarito Ledesma. Leaving in 10 days, though. Stay safe.
Hi Sheree. Covidian is a good one. I have "Coronnial" and "Coronababy" in the book (one entry, because they mean the same thing) but I wonder if "Covidian" might be a more general adjective meaning "having to do with Covid," as in: Her refusal to go into the restaurant was a Covidian response. We will definitely let you know if we are going to be travelling east. It would be great to see you and your donkeys and birds. And give my best to Doe.