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- I attended a top conference for infectious disease professionals to learn about the state of public health.
- Amid frustrations with funding and pay, new and seasoned attendees highlighted the importance of community.
- This article is part of "IDWeek," a series on one of the leading conferences for infectious-disease experts.
Following a day of back-to-back lectures, I settled into my metal folding chair among thousands of doctors and scientists. My eyes darted between the medical society promotions projected on massive screens suspended above and the empty, blue-lit stage before us.
I was ready for my formal welcoming to IDWeek, an annual conference for professionals in infectious disease medicine and research. Instead, I got a full-on Broadway show.
At five minutes past 6 p.m., the stage went dark, and the excited chittering that first overtook the ballroom fell silent. Suddenly, a spotlight made way for a tuxedo-clad Javier Muñoz, the actor best-known as Alexander Hamilton from Lin-Manuel Miranda's hit musical. He broke out into a Hamilton song — reciting, I'm not throwin' away my shot — and whoops and applause followed.
IDWeek's opening plenary, held on October 19 in Atlanta's Georgia World Congress Center, was not what I expected from a sea of public-health aficionados. But as I spent four days observing and mingling with these infectious disease experts and professionals-in-training, I came to understand that initial fanfare as the staccato of a largely melancholy tune.
At the global conference, I met workers passionate about public health during a time riddled with uncertainty over the field's future: A handful of former and furloughed workers from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention were in attendance, some giving talks as the government remained shut down. Seasoned and newly minted doctors spoke with deep conviction about their work, then commiserated over dried-up funding for it. Students weighed the field's poor pay against their hunger to make a difference in a world that's more interconnected than ever before.
No one I interviewed at IDWeek could say exactly what the future of public health will look like. Instead, they shared their challenges and strategies for navigating an uncertain future.
After arriving in Atlanta on a sunny Saturday, I made my way to the sprawling Georgia World Congress Center.
While checking in at the registration desk, I noticed that I was one of a handful of people, most of whom were GWCC employees, inside the conference venue. I guess most people reserve their Saturdays for fun, not retrieving a paper name tag.
I headed outside for some Georgia sunshine and saw jersey- and scarf-clad Atlanta United fans heading to a soccer game at the adjacent Mercedes-Benz Stadium.
That evening, I decided to have some fun myself. On my solo date, I had dinner at the bar and told the woman sitting alone next to me about my reason for visiting. When I asked her about the city's atmosphere amid the government shutdown, her voice went briefly somber. She shared that two of her friends worked for the CDC, where hundreds of staffers were laid off days earlier as part of the Trump administration's plan to shrink the federal government.
I wanted to ask her more, but she quickly moved on to asking about my nose ring and chatting with the couple to our right.
The next day, a former CDC executive took the stage to accept an award — and offer a heartfelt plea met with a standing ovation.
At the opening plenary, Dr. Demetre Daskalakis received the HIV Medical Association Transformative Leader Award.
In August, Daskalakis resigned from his position as the director of the National Center for Immunization and Respiratory Diseases at the CDC, writing that HHS leaders' views challenged his ability to do his job.
When receiving his award, he said that he believed an effective response to infectious diseases requires science, political will, and co-creation with affected communities.
Daskalakis went on: "All of those, right now, are under attack. This, however, is an important opportunity for leadership. Public health is being dismantled. The political will is not to build. The political will is to destroy. Science is being contaminated by ideology. Communities are being erased. We must all become transformative leaders together."
As the Associated Press' Mike Stobbe reported, some CDC workers said they were told not to attend the conference after being invited. In response, HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard said that the Trump administration believes federal scientists should share their research and expertise with peers and the public. She also said that conferences are vetted "to ensure compliance with ethics rules and the responsible use of taxpayer funds."
In August, HHS told medical organization leaders, many of whom were at IDWeek, that they could no longer contribute to vaccine recommendations, a procedure they have historically participated in.
Daskalakis concluded his speech by asking the audience to lead with "moral courage" through "the dark ages," and then got a standing ovation.
In an email to Business Insider, Hilliard said: "Secretary Kennedy has been clear: the CDC has been broken for a long time, and he is committed to restoring it as the world's most trusted guardian of public health through sustained reform. His focus is on returning the CDC to its core mission and ending the culture of insularity that has undermined public confidence."
At times, the conference felt like a reunion or homecoming celebration.
Over the next few days, no matter where I found myself — outside the conference center, in its sprawling lobby and cafés, or on the way to presentations — I saw colleagues wave each other down or gleefully squeal over the chance to reconnect.
Dr. Yohei Doi, an IDWeek chair representing the Infectious Disease Society of America, had told me that the annual conference is a prime networking opportunity for students interested in the field and career professionals. He added that attendees with the same institutional affiliations tend to hang out together, but it's also a chance for former coworkers to catch up.
I saw two researchers — who later told me they encountered each other as internet friends who bonded over their similar areas of research and home country, Sudan — revel in the joy of their first in-person meeting.
Pharmaceutical companies had a major presence on the floor — and even in the bathrooms.
Companies known for developing various drugs and disease treatments had elaborate stations set up, featuring a peach cobbler bar, a ritzy espresso maker, a playpen filled with puppies, and virtual-reality headsets.
These were just a stone's throw away from dozens of attendees' poster presentations outlining research they conducted in areas like pediatrics, sexual health, and COVID-19.
The conference teemed with attendees, and I noticed that pharmaceutical companies found ways to be front and center. In addition to eye-catching booths, they had banner ads, branded cardboard stools, and signs in bathroom stalls (which looked and smelled pristine, I must add).
Everyone seemed to be talking about the lack of government funding for research.
During presentations and my one-on-one talks with attendees, one question came up over and over: How can public health research continue with less government financial support?
Doctors, scientists, and pharmacists told me that they've become self-taught experts in financial management, figuring out how to secure private funding or maximize their available funds.
Jacinda C. Abdul-Mutakabbir, a doctor of pharmacy who runs a community-led vaccine initiative in California, said that she carries her laptop almost everywhere ("like Beyoncé," she said) so that she can show her funding presentation to anyone who will listen.
There were advice sessions on how to manage burnout and compensation.
Compared to doctors working in other specialties, infectious disease experts tend to have lower salaries and fewer money-making opportunities because their jobs don't typically involve performing surgeries or working in private practices, which are more lucrative areas of medicine.
Several sessions featured seasoned professionals' advice for balancing volunteer work and paid work, general time management, and leveraging relationships with healthcare executives.
Alexandria Burtness-Guard, a medical fellow who primarily works at a hospital in Iowa, said that she typically works 12-hour days, seeing anywhere between five and 12 patients and offering her expertise to other doctors. That time doesn't include the notes she takes home with her and occasional overnight calls, she told me.
Medical students mingled during mentorship events and while wandering around the venue.
On Tuesday, I stood outside a student-specific networking event where young attendees met leaders in the field.
I asked nearly 20 students about their qualms about infectious disease medicine, and they had two answers: one, it's tough to work in an area that's often highly politicized, and two, the pay is low compared to other specialties.
Most of them also spoke about how welcoming the specialty is compared to other areas of medicine, citing the availability of mentorship opportunities.
"One of the best aspects of ID is how friendly and open the staff is to helping," Burtness-Guard told me. "In other fields, sometimes not knowing everything or asking questions, you might get berated, but ID is different. Their office doors are always open, and you can just walk in and ask a question."
I also asked Abdul-Mutakabbir about mentorship opportunities in infectious disease work. She recited a list of mentors she admires, then shed a few tears while speaking about her own mentee. "I think that's the best part: You get to see this new generation and how brilliant they are. It's been such a rewarding experience."
There seemed to be a values-based pull toward the profession. For example, one student told me that they wanted to prioritize LGBTQ+ patient advocacy in their career, and that the infectious disease field seemed to highlight that more than other medical specialties.
Multiple presenters talked about using artificial intelligence in research and patient care.
Ahead of IDWeek, Doi told me that AI would be a major theme at the conference, and I later spotted at least three presentations on how to apply it to infectious disease work.
Dr. Alfredo Mena Lora said that he's been using AI to assist with recruiting fellows to the infectious disease medical program at the University of Illinois-Chicago. Lora, the program's director, said that resources like time and money are limited, so using generative AI tools to create recruitment video voiceovers and B-roll, social media posts, and website updates has been helpful. Lora went to show how he used the free AI tool Veed.io to make videos more quickly than before, when he ofted had to hire a videographer.
Another presenter, Dr. Cornelius A. James, talked about using AI in educational and patient-care settings. James, an assistant professor of internal medicine, pediatrics, and learning health sciences at the University of Michigan Medical School, said that generative AI can create interactive case studies to help students practice clinical skills.
He added that clinicians can use AI to automate note-taking while in the doctor's office, an application other IDWeek attendees often cited when I asked about their AI usage.
Unlike the start, IDWeek didn't end with a bang. It was more like an air of silent determination.
Unlike the jaw-dropping opening plenary, my last hours at IDWeek felt like a slow fade out.
The October air finally turned chilly, and I walked alongside doctors, scientists, pharmacists, and students past Centennial Park and into the GWCC one last time. Some stopped on the sidewalk outside the conference center to give farewell hugs to their long-distance colleagues.
Just inside the entrance, dozens of suitcases, organized in neat rows and packed into a corner, marked their impending departures.
A floor below, a bevy of attendees remained, listening to educational talks on topics like cancer care and strategies for combating antibiotic resistance.
