COVID CORNER

COVID CORNER

Defiance

I’m sure most have seen the pictures of Americans defying the virus. They have decided to toss away their masks, jump into crowded pools with their umbrella drinks, yell at essential workers who ask politely to follow the guidelines during this pandemic. Cringe-worthy.

It’s an odd time in the course of this virus. Everyone is tired of losing money, of being cooped up at home, of being dictated to by the microscopic droplets. They are teeny little things, and we Americans do not do well with the tiny telling us what to do. Just saying.

At work, on the COVID wing, I stood in front of the patient’s closed door: airborne, droplet precautions notice in big red letters. I asked  the nurse for the PAPR because the hospital issued N95 doesn’t seal like it should around my face. 

Secretly I carry the N95 in my pocket anyway. Nurse said no PAPR because there are no virus particulates floating in the air. Oh. She turned away to focus on the computer screen. 

I took the N95 out of my pocket, put it on, covered it up with my regular mask, put on my plastic gown, flimsy face shield, etc... Nurse saw that I had on the regular mask and gave me the thumbs up.

I entered the room, and the ill patient was coughing. Lots of coughing.

And so, I kept entering the room. Got a job to do. I guess you can say, I too challenged the authority of this microscopic spiky dictator. 

COVID CORNER

Tension of Opposites.

Selfishness. Selflessness. Living through these chaotic times, I’m finding these two concepts are changing me. I know that when, and if we get to the other side of this, many of us will be changed, but how exactly? It’s a curious thing.

Since I work in a hospital, the stress that already exists in the environment has been ratcheted up for the long term. How to find a place of normalcy when the job that was once without life or death risks, becomes a job with dire consequences.

I have seen how the chaos and stress has brought out a selfishness in people that can be mindboggling. A superior justifies shoving an underling into a situation where the virus is prevalent, but the safety measures are not. I did not sign up for that danger when I entered the healthcare system. That kind of thing is the military. When someone sits in their home eating Cocoa Puffs for lunch and says that “This is what you signed up for,” I am blown away. How thoughtless, how wrong. Yes, I signed up to care for sick people, but I didn’t sign up for a pandemic that has been complete chaos. And don’t even get me started on the mask wearing in public situation. You refuse? My God.

And then there are those that have helped. They check in to give me encouragement to get through the chaos. They make sure I have received masks. They have given to food banks to help feed those that have lost their incomes, they do little things such as deliver some flowers for the healthcare workers, or cookies, or just a sign of encouragement. They give a heartfelt thank you card, or bang the pots and pans in the evening shift change. They have given up in-person time with parents, children, and grandchildren to keep everyone safe. It’s the reason we are human: we want everyone to continue living.

I know of which I want to be, and I know that both exist in all of us to a degree. And for me it will be how these two behaviors weave into me to create someone different.

In the Time of COVID19

I sit on my 3^rd floor balcony in the spring sunshine where there’s a light breeze and the sound of birds talking. It all seems so normal, yet…

The acute care hospital where I work as an Echocardiographer has a wing dedicated to COVID19 patients. Some stay there throughout their hospitalization; some get transferred to the ICU; some get transferred back to the wing; some pass away.

This is a normal for healthcare workers now.

So I am just one of the plethora of healthcare workers who are experiencing this pandemic. I am, like you, without a way to fix, or control anything. The emotions, the feelings are incredible, aren’t they?

Let’s start with the unfortunate timing of re-opening the “economy.” As our hospital’s positives have climbed, we can manage so far. Only a handful of employees have contracted the virus. But, without testing strategies, without the proper PPE, without any plan, I feel doomed. The virus hasn’t yet defeated greed and chaos, but give it time…

And here is a snippet of what my days have become:

PPE:

I have been wearing the same hospital issued masked for two weeks now. I pointed this out to our “PPE Czar.” The term Czar originated as a Russian word for emperor, or ruler. Russia’s working class under the Czars was a place with shameful sanitary conditions-as in disease ridden filth; horrendous working hours-every day for at least 12 hours; and unrelenting risks for injury and death in the workplace. What a regrettable, yet appropriate title.

These past two weeks with my mask, I have been screening patients who come through the tent, some positives, I stand close to them while I take their temperature, and hand them a mask before sending them through. I then wear that mask while going from one patient to another in hospital rooms throughout my days. I wore it when I was inches away from a patient who decided to sneeze right into my face-“Oops.” Not sorry, just “Oops.”

The “PPE Czar” gave me a thumbs up. She was so thrilled, “keep using it…”

Flip sides to a story

November 12, 2016 

Around the same time I was beginning my new career as an echo tech, the ACA was also beginning.

In a land far, far away on another planet that resembled Earth, this happened:

I remember scanning people who obviously had issues with their hearts that had been left untreated. Why? They could not afford health insurance because of pre-existing conditions, as well as not being able to afford the premiums after turning 50-years of age. One person had tears in her eyes. This person was so cooperative during the exam.

Fellow echo techs understand what I mean: willingly turned into a left decubitus position, didn’t ask when I would be finished 30 seconds into the at least 30-minute exam, didn’t complain that I had to press the transducer into their chest, didn’t complain that the exam bed was too small, the pillows not fluffy enough. This person was so relieved that a treatment plan would be in place by the end of the day.

After this patient, I scanned a patient who was angry. Angry that she had to wait her turn. You see, she said, she was always able to get her appointments whenever she wanted. But now that “those” people had insurance, she had to wait. She said she couldn’t wait for this Obama Care to be repealed. This person had spent her life in the security of her husband’s career. Not her own, but living off of someone else’s hard-earned paycheck. Oh gasp. Can of worms.

Nevertheless, I said to myself—self: you can never, ever be a Republican. 

A Voice Found and Ready to Speak

I have spent the years since my MFA graduation restructuring my life, gaining strength of mind, finding joy, laughter, love, and meaningful work. I needed to be practical, and make sure I was on my way to building a retirement. It takes time to calm the distractions enough to focus on writing. I have missed my writer self immensely.

And so I begin…

A while ago, I discovered something. It was a discovery that hit me right in the middle of the stomach. Two emotions overwhelmed me: regret, and embarrassment. And with the force of those two emotions, a door to a new world blew opened. What was this discovery? What kind of power did this discovery have that gave me a complete paradigm shift in my life?

Let me try to explain it before I name it. Think of an object. Think of this object as beloved. This object is virtuous, fantastic, and fabulous. While holding this object, look at it from all sides. See its beauty, its goodness. Then, suddenly something changes. Now look at the object again. While you look at it, I will explain the result of this change:  This object does awful things, this object causes great heartache, this object is to blame for all that goes wrong, this object is bad, stingy, horrific, and dreadful. Geesh. This object must be maligned, and destroyed!

How does this object go from virtuous to wicked? Where did such perceptions of that object come from in the first place? As a child, the adults in my life influenced my perceptions. The most dominant person in my childhood, as with many, was my mother. She controlled my environment. She convinced me that her perceptions were right, and valid. She wanted me to believe that these objects that were once one hundred percent good were now one hundred percent bad. The poor woman had some major psychological issues that she had no idea she possessed.

This is how I grew up. My childhood was defined by the needs of someone who manifested the mental structure of a borderline personality disorder. The pattern was like this: A person would enter into our lives. This person would be all wonderful, all loving, all kinds of fun, until something would change. And that change was when my mother would declare that this person was now all bad. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the numbers of people who did awful things, caused great heartache, and were to blame for all that went wrong. The many good people who became so bad that they had to abruptly disappear from our lives forever baffled me.

It turns out that I do not have Borderline Personality Disorder; thus, there was always a part of me that had extreme difficulties with this “splitting behavior.” In that environment, I was not the norm. I was abnormal. I thought there was something wrong with me. Most of the time, the leaving of the all-good to all-bad person was dramatic. And I was always full of questions that were never answered. Thus, I had two things to do in my life’s journey. One was to find the answers, and the other was what to do with the answers once I had them.

What would cause my mother to declare that someone who was all good was now all bad? How could that happen so many times? Why did she have a circle around her who would fiercely defend, and believe her? I have insight because I was once in that circle. As a child, what choice did I have? Who could I turn to for different perspectives? If I caught a glimmer of a different perspective, I had to be brought back under her influence. As a result, under her influence, the perception of my reality was constantly being re-spun. She could keep me by her side that way. I would never leave her. That was her intention. As part of the characteristics of this disorder, abandonment was her all-consuming fear.

It wasn’t until I finally got myself in a somewhat stable adult relationship that I was able to hear the words other people said to me. Some of these strange words were: “That isn’t normal.” “Nothing is ever black or white.” “Tell me what you think about this-use your thoughts, your words based on your experience with this person.” Oh. I was schooled by people who genuinely cared for themselves, and for me, who could think outside of their own damaged selves, and valued consistent, and healthy relationships. The door blew open, my soul opened up, and wow, it was one deprived place.

I was on my way to a complete paradigm shift. I had to restructure my whole life, restructure my entire perceptions, and beliefs. I had to learn that nothing in life was black or white. This journey was and is a process. And, for me, the beginning of this shift was dramatic, and seemingly something I couldn’t survive. But, survive I did. And that is my story. The one I can return to writing now that I have had some distance from the beginning of this journey. And now that I have found a way to sustain myself through my own financial independence, and my own healthy relationships, I can use my voice. And I will use it without fear of my mother’s retaliation. Well, there is some fear there, as will become evident and validated…

Just another theory among others

August 13, 2014

As we know, the world has lost a fellow depressive. Robin Williams, the funny man, ended it without an ounce of humor for us. He was done, and he meant it. Many don’t understand-I mean he was scheduled to start filming the sequel to Mrs. Doubtfire.

The movie came out in 1993. I remember it as being a fun gender bending trope, along the lines of Tootsie. It was fun, silly, with the appropriate happy ending, and a dialogue starter on social constructs. 

 

As someone who understands a lot about depression, I know what it’s like to be in a depressive state, “the down,” as I call it. I can maybe hypothesize that this movie sequel would not be enough of a trampoline to get back into the healthy thinking stratosphere.

Actually, I don’t know a thing about Robin Williams' depression. He was brilliant, and he could be manic in his brilliance. He was adored, he could fill auditoriums. He was amazing. I can’t relate to any of that celebrity royalty stuff. I can only relate to a feeling of that pit of sadness with a perception that the only thing to look forward to is some silly thing that will require tons of energy and time.

And so it seems he did something depressives shouldn’t do: over extend, get too tired, forget that your brain chemistry requires intellectual stimulation, your heart requires connection, and your body requires rest. If these things are thrown out of whack, there isn’t much a depressive can do, except wait it out. Wait until those things become in sync again. I have developed many strategies over a lifetime of how to get my out of sync self on that trampoline and jump back into that healthy thinking stratosphere. Unfortunately, he just didn’t have the will to wait it out once again. And he stopped the clock. Serious business this flipping sad stuff.

That’s my two cent theory anyway. 

Space

I’m not in Omaha anymore. When I drove out of town last May, I drove, and drove determined to put as many miles as possible between that place and myself in one day. 800 miles later, blurry-eyed, thrilled, I stopped in Rock Springs, Wyoming for the night.

Being back out west is a dream. I love the west. It’s a lot more densely populated than the spaces that stretch from Rock Springs, WY to Omaha, NE. But out west is where I belong. I can breathe. It seems the spaces in the Midwest are vast. But in my experience, the space to be fully human was small, and cramped. I did cross paths with some wonderful people. And they were the kind of people that give the Midwest its good name. But there were those experiences that were beyond the absurd. And it is only now that I’m feeling that my experience of Midwest oppression is becoming more and more distant. In a year or two, it will all be nothing but dust.

So, I still do carry some anger. Who wouldn’t after completely changing your life, and then having to put up with some really stupid, unnecessary situations? But, I am beginning to talk as if I can now. Freedom is sweet. And I am turning that anger into a determination to be the human being I choose to be. I don’t want to be an angry, bitter person. My life even before Omaha could have turned me that way. But, no. Screw that. I want to be that soft, compassionate, but stronger than anyone thinks kind of person. Of course, it’s not always so easy to be that way out west either. But I don’t care. I will, “to thine ownself be true.”

So after some re-entry adjustments, I have a job as a cardiovascular sonographer, my stuff is out of storage, and either donated to the Goodwill, or with me, and I have a cat. Somehow I have inherited a cat along the way.