Ebola and me: A Catholic response to dangerous disease
Just like you remember those most important days in your life—weddings, births, funerals—I remember the day I first heard of the name Ebola. It was in 1976 when my husband, then a graduate student in a microbiology lab on the East Coast, came home one night for dinner. He told me that he had just heard some scary news—an entire wing at the CDC had been shut down; the staff placed in quarantine with one person already dead. Everyone in the lab unit had been exposed to a set of cultures they knew nothing about. Its name: Ebola.