Excerpt from the Diary of an NIH Staff Member
September 26, 2025

I should’ve known from how my day started that it was going to be one of those “grit your teeth, keep your head down, and hope you survive without going postal” kind of days.

As usual, I began with a stop at Starbucks in our building for a Venti coffee of the day and a large orange juice. Say what you will about coffee’s health benefits—or vitamin C’s—but for me, nothing beats that combined rush of caffeine and citrus to kick-start the morning. Elaine, my favorite barista, hands me my order and says, “That’ll be $10.56.”

“Pardon me, Elaine, but wasn’t it just $6.50 yesterday?” I ask.

“Yeah, sorry. Starbucks had to raise prices on coffee and OJ. Something to do with those Brazil tariffs. Apparently, we get a lot from Brazil. Who knew?”

I’m thinking, I guess it’s office coffee for me for a while, but I half-smile and say, “Oh, that Don.” Elaine glances around, smirks, and replies, “Oh, that Don.”

Back in my office, I’m deep in numbers, trying to estimate how many people will get sick and die this flu season thanks to the new vaccine restrictions Secretary Kennedy and his board have imposed. A knock on my door interrupts me. Barbara from accounting steps in.

“Got a minute?” she asks.

“Sure, come in. What’s up?”

She sits, smooths her modest skirt, makes deliberate eye contact, and says earnestly, “Daniel, can I share with you my deep and personal relationship with Jesus Christ?”

Even a few months ago, the idea of a coworker evangelizing at the office would’ve been unthinkable. But ever since our fearless leader’s Office of Personnel Management issued the “Protecting Religious Expression in the Federal Workplace” memo, it’s become all too common.

As Barbara drones on about how she’s not pressuring me (sure…), and wondering whether I’m curious about why so many are drawn to His message, I’m tallying how many “conversion knocks” I’ve had since the memo dropped. Last week alone, I heard from Mormons, Seventh-day Adventists, Baptists—and on Thursday, while walking past the Laura Loomer Conference Room, a group of Chabad-Lubavitch Jews asked if I was Jewish. When I said yes, they pulled me into their makeshift “Mitzvah Tank” and started wrapping Tefillin before I could escape.

For those of us with little or no religious affiliation, these last weeks have been torture. I’ve always believed that the framers of the Constitution wisely kept religion and government apart because mixing the two marginalizes, divides, and creates animosity—none of which belong in an office, let alone a government one.

When Barbara finally pauses for breath, I politely tell her I appreciate her stopping by and will think about what she’s said—but I need to get back to work. As I usher her out, I mutter involuntarily, “Oh, that Don.” Barbara, not quite out of earshot, says, “Excuse me?” “Nothing,” I reply. “Thanks for stopping by.”

I’ve barely sat down when my phone rings—it’s my boss. I hesitate. Generously speaking, we don’t communicate well. I’ve got a biology degree from Harvard, an MD, and a Master of Public Health from Duke. He’s a political appointee with an undergrad from Liberty University in Christian rhetoric who rose to fame selling “Bible-based” health supplements. We rarely see eye-to-eye. But he’s still my boss, so I answer.

“All department heads,” he says, “need to be in the Alfred E. Neuman Auditorium at 3 p.m. for a major announcement from Secretary Kennedy.” I cringe. This can’t be good. Still, like a dutiful civil servant, I promise to attend.

When the Secretary takes the stage, he’s met with thunderous applause from his appointees and tepid claps from those of us who do the actual work. He announces the creation of a new committee, “HOLY” (Healing Outcomes & Long-Term Yields), to study the effectiveness of faith-based healing and recommend which practices should be covered by insurance and Medicare. Wild applause erupts from political hires; stunned silence from us lifers.

He introduces Joel Osteen as chair. Osteen strides onstage, oozing unction, and declares he’s confident “Jesus will show us the way to heal America.” To prove it, he brings out Pastor Fangels—a committee member—who demonstrates the healing power of the Lord using live rattlesnakes.

When the meeting finally ends, I skip the office and head straight to my car. In the parking lot, my friend and med school classmate, Izzy Sharp, is climbing into his green Prius. We exchange looks, shake our heads. “Oh, that Don,” I say. Izzy laughs the kind of laugh people do to avoid crying.

Driving home, I automatically tune my satellite radio to NPR (Channel 122), hoping All Things Considered will soothe the scream building inside me. It doesn’t. I’d forgotten that the President canceled NPR funding by executive order. Silence fills the car.

At home, my Bohemian Shepherd, Czechers, greets me with his helicopter tail, big brown eyes, and a grin splitting his face, tongue flopping raspberry pink. “Oh, that Don,” I tell him. He barks in agreement.

Friday used to be burger night, comfort food to end the week. But with Brazilian beef tariffs at 76%, ground beef costs have exploded. Comfort’s too pricey. Instead, I make pasta with cherry tomato sauce—cheap and simple—while watching the news. Bad strategy.

The headline: Ghislaine Maxwell has been moved to a special lockup at Trump National Golf Course outside D.C. in preparation for her immunized testimony before the House Oversight Committee. Sources say Trump has already signed the pardon.

Today’s jobs report shows the economy lost 25,000 jobs, unemployment rose above 5% for the first time since 2015, and the President fired the Commissioner of Labor Statistics—declaring he’ll handle the numbers himself.

I switch off the TV when Pam Bondi announces she’s seeking indictments against Barack and Michelle Obama for being responsible.

Dinners ruined.

It’s been a bad day, a bad year, and the future’s no bed of roses. I wonder if Doctors Without Borders is hiring.