Surviving a Pandemic

By the time this issue reaches you, you will have been bombarded by millions of words about the COVID-19 pandemic—in the popular press, blogs, and scientific publications. Therefore, I approached writing this editorial with humility: what could my words add to the continuing conversation that swirls around us in print and online? I have not been on the front lines of direct caregiving during this pandemic, only observing the struggles of my colleagues, students, and neighbors. Yet I have still felt overwhelmed with the enormity of this event across the globe. The word “quarantine” brought back my earliest memory of this word, from about age 5. One of my playmates, who lived up the hill on another street, was placed in quarantine because she had scarlet fever. A red-lettered sign on her door was an ominous indication that something was dreadfully wrong in that house. In my lifetime since, I have never experienced quarantine in my neighborhood. Until now…We have no signs on our doors, but we have been staying home for weeks as requested, to reduce the spread of the corona virus. Millions of other people are doing the same.

Nothing has brought the scope of the virus impact into my consciousness like the photographs of the vast public spaces of Paris, Munich, Seoul, London, Rome, Tehran, Milan, New Delhi, New York (and many others), published in a special section of The New York Times (March 20, 2020). All of the grand plazas, promenades, and commercial districts of these great cities were devoid of people. The Tokyo airport, busiest airport in the world, was deserted except for one person who appeared to be a security guard. Cars, trucks, and buses were absent from an expressway cloverleaf in Bogota. The newspaper section was titled “The Great Empty.” The one photograph that included people was made in Sao Paulo, in a high-rise apartment building, wherein dozens of the residents were at their windows “banging pots and pans to protest the government,” according to the caption.

Where were the rest of the world’s people and what were they doing? Thousands of victims of COVID-19 infection were critically ill and dying in hospitals; some victims, like my neighbor down the street, were fighting their grim battle with the virus at home; our nurse colleagues in ICUs, clinics, and health departments, were still carrying out their exhausting daily responsibilities despite fears for themselves and their families; and a host of community volunteers were making sure that the homebound and the homeless had food and hygiene supplies. I decided that this editorial should feature their voices, not mine.

Here are the gripping words of people trying to describe what the pandemic is like:

“It’s as if I’m standing on the shore watching a tsunami come in”—Erika Sawyer, nurse midwife (as told to Malia Wollan, The New York Times Magazine, April 5, 2020, p. 37)

“It’s an indescribable condition of stress. Unbearable.” —Carlo Palermo, Italian physician (cited in The Knoxville News Sentinel, April 5, 2020)

“It’s like a faucet that has been turned off, and there’s nothing”—Bob Kesling, sportswriter (cited in The Knoxville News Sentinel, April 5, 2020)

“It’s unimaginable that this is where we are at right now” —Brendan Williams, president of the New Hampshire Health Care Association (cited in The Knoxville News Sentinel, April 5, 2020)

“It’s Armageddon”—cashier at my grocery store

Despite this existential threat that has been compared to war, let us also listen to the courageous voices of our fellow humans who are finding ways to survive and cope:

“Before I fled Syria for the United States in 2011, I felt daily—sometimes crushing—anxiety. Many families stayed indoors to avoid violent uprisings and police brutality…Refugees like me can offer a unique perspective…as the coronavirus pandemic upends life…Whenever I feel anxious, I remind myself of the many blessings in my life: food, electricity, and running water.” (Yassin Terou, owner of Yassin’s Falafel House) (Terou, 2020, p. 9A).

“I’m not supposed to be near him [husband with COVID-19] because he’s sick, but he couldn’t take care of himself…we haven’t kissed since he got sick. I sneak up behind him and give him hugs from behind. We hand-sanitize and hold hands.” (Caitlin, whose husband was thought to have contracted COVID-19 at an international trade show) (Oaklander, 2020, p. 36).

“My team scours about 2/3 of the city [Chicago]. We identify people who are living outside…If we feel that somebody is homeless and experiencing mental illness, we visit again…I would be lying to say that I’m not worried about exposure to COVID-19. But when I’m in the field, the first thing I’m thinking about is helping our people cope…We hold hope.” (Bikki Grigalunas, homeless-outreach worker, as told to Matthew Desmond, The New York Times Magazine, April 5, 2020, p. 33)

Thus, I close on a note of hope. We psychiatric-mental health nurses who have already seen people survive and heal from egregious abuse and life-shattering trauma always hold hope, and help our clients to hold hope too. I invite you to share your stories about helping your clients during the pandemic, and look forward to your manuscripts.

Hope is like a road in the country; there was never a road, but when many people walk on it, the road comes into existence. – Lin Yutang