What's Saving Your Life Right Now?
I’m a regular listener of Jen Hatmaker’s “For the Love” podcast. At the end of episodes, Jen often asks her guest, “What is saving your life right now?” That would have been easy for me to answer a few days ago.
What was “saving my life” was being able to help out at the COVID-19 drive-through testing station at American Airlines Center (AAC). Everyone handles crisis situations differently. One of the things I’ve discovered about myself is that I’m a helper. When things seem out of my control, I just need to feel like I’m doing something helpful and meaningful. That feeling was probably cultivated during my time with the staff of the Injury Prevention Service of the Oklahoma State Department of Health.
On April 19, 1995 at 9:02 a.m., a bomb was detonated at the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. I was at work on the 6th floor of the State Health Department, approximately 2 miles away from the bombing site. As soon as we understood what had happened, I grabbed a few of my colleagues and within minutes we were at the Red Cross a few blocks from our office ready to volunteer. Because I spent the day answering phones and consoling individuals that had family and friends in the building, I had very little access to information beyond the four walls of the room where I was sitting. I finally left at 5 p.m. that day to pick up my then 6 year-old daughter at her babysitter’s house. It was only then that I turned on the radio and realized the extent of the devastation.
Days later, my friend and then boss, Sue Mallonee organized our department to do a study of the impact of the bombing. For months, our efforts were focused on conducting the study to learn how to prevent and mitigate deaths and injuries if a similar event occurred in the future. The efforts of my colleagues led to recommendations that were put into place at the Pentagon when 9-11 occurred. Our team also conducted similar studies following catastrophic tornadoes in Oklahoma.
On September 11, 2001, I was in a meeting at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. After the airlines shut down, several of us in the meeting couldn’t get home. Instead of sitting in our hotel rooms watching raw footage of the carnage in New York City, Washington, DC and Pennsylvania for days, we gathered around a conference table in the offices of the UNC Injury Prevention Research Center and began to work on workforce development plans for injury and violence prevention professionals, which was the original purpose of our meeting in Chapel Hill.
Following the flooding in New Orleans caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005, several of my colleagues and I traveled to a site in eastern Oklahoma where evacuees were being sent to conduct a Rapid Needs Assessment and provide individuals with needed supplies.
I think helping is in my DNA, but it has certainly been cultivated by my career in injury prevention and public health, which are clearly “helping” professions.
On March 19, I learned that Parkland Hospital was helping coordinate two drive-through testing sites for COVID-19; one of those sites was the parking lot of the AAC, across the street from my apartment. So, it should come as no surprise that the minute I learned that Parkland needed staff to help at the sites, I sent a message to the person coordinating the testing site and said, “I’m in.”
For five days, I walked across the street and helped with organizing the entry station, orienting the paramedics on how to screen individuals coming to the site for testing, while helping them put on their Personal Protective Equipment (PPE), collecting data on the number of people/cars coming to the site and reporting it back to Parkland and Dallas Fire-Rescue leaders on an hourly basis, as well as directing the flow of traffic. I was able to do all of this while still following all of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s (CDC) recommendations for staying at least 6 feet away from the vehicles and other individuals. Those five days were long, but they were rewarding. My contribution was small, but it did more for my emotional health than sitting at home wringing my hands over the state of my current reality.
Then, I was told that I couldn’t help at the testing site anymore.
What’s a helper to do, when a helper can’t help?
I understand that there is a lot of uncertainty and fear around COVID-19. I also understand that it is imperative that we protect our physical health, and that we have a responsibility to stay safe and not potentially expose others around us. I understand the importance of self-care. I’m also well aware of what doesn’t help me; I’ve had 62 years to learn that. Self-care isn’t staying in my apartment binge-watching Netflix. I’m not judging those who do that, but it’s just not for me. Telling me to “just pray about it,” also doesn’t help. I pray every day and have for most of my life. But spending all day in prayer is not in my repertoire. Again, I’m not judging people who spend hours in prayer. But, the words “just pray about it” often feel empty to me. They didn’t provide comfort when my father was dying, and they don’t now. What does provide comfort to me is being able to physically help, and I can’t do that now.
Although I know that COVID-19 can be serious, I don’t have anxiety about becoming ill myself because I know that I’m following all of the CDC recommendations. However, I also know that it is just as important to for me and others to pay as much attention to our mental health as we do to our physical health.
When I learned that I wouldn’t be able to help at the AAC testing site, my mood quickly spiraled down. I knew that I needed to do something, so I started searching for credible recommendations on how to stay sane without physically being able to help. The first place I turned to was a source I’ve relied on for 30+ years – CDC.
Here’s what I learned:
Take breaks from watching, reading, or listening to news stories, including social media. This isn’t hard for me – I’ve limited the amount of television I’ve watched since 2016, and I gave up Facebook and Twitter for Lent this year. The only time I watch television these days is when Dr. Anthony Fauci is speaking – an individual I’ve respected since I began my career in public health.
Take care of your body. I’m really trying to do this – I take long walks while still practicing social distancing.
Make time to unwind. This isn’t as easy for me, but I did take a road trip to view one of my favorite sites – bluebonnets blooming in Texas. And, the meditations that my daughter and friends are sending me are helping, too.
Connect with others. Talk with people you trust about your concerns and how you are feeling. As always, I’m leaning on a small group of trusted friends by having virtual Zoom calls.
These are all good recommendations, but I’ve added one more thing to my list. As I drove through small towns in Texas on my bluebonnet road trip, I saw local businesses closed, while the parking lots at Walmart and Lowe’s stores were filled to capacity. Not only are people ignoring expert public health advice, once again, I was reminded of the power of money and privilege. I understand that people are in need of supplies during this time, but allowing different rules for big corporations will not “flatten the curve” and will decimate the small business economy, if not the entire economy.
I don’t have the answers. The best thing I can do is get out of the way and not let my opinions interfere with the public health experts who do have the answers. I just wish others would do the same.
Stay safe and well, my friends.
They say that these are not the best of times
For we are always what our situations hand us
It's either sadness or euphoria
Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity
A reason coexists with our insanity
Though we choose between reality and madness
It's either sadness or euphoria
Billy Joel
Summer, Highland Falls