As a healthcare professional, a pandemic or major healthcare event is always floating around somewhere in the back of my mind. A faint imagination of "what if..." or "hypothetically..." while watching Contagion or Outbreak and entertaining the possibility of it actually happening for 5 seconds before dismissing it altogether. In a matter of days, the "hypothetical" has become a reality. Our disorienting, unsettling, full-of-unknowns reality.
Businesses are closing indefinitely. "Social distancing" is trending on all social media platforms despite the fact that (it seems) a lot of people have no idea what it actually means. With unexplained reason, grocery stores and supermarkets are selling out of toilet paper faster than stockers can fill the shelves. Lysol and hand sanitizer are nowhere to be found. Concerts, sporting events, church services, and virtually all gatherings of 10+ have been cancelled. My kids are home from school for at least a month and likely until August. My personal life looks completely different than it did a short week ago. It has basically come to a screeching halt, but all of the changes are manageable. We're doing ok.
My professional life is a different story. It will not be grinding to a stop anytime soon. That part of my world is still spinning, and I'm not so sure it isn't about to spin completely out of control. We are in unchartered waters. Standard PPE is becoming scarce. Masks, appropriate respirators, and basic cleaning supplies are on backorder from suppliers across the country. We are standing on the frontline of this fight, and we're about to be doing it while completely exposed. I've heard praises all week from every direction hailing us as "heroes" and declaring newfound love and respect for everyone in the medical field (and all other service industries, really). To say the least, it's humbling, but if we're getting brutally honest, I don't deserve it. I am not the brave, heroic nurse that the public has put on a pedestal.
I feel ashamed for not being brave. I feel afraid. And like I should quit, but we all know I won't. I feel like a coward for letting the thought of abandoning my career even cross my mind. I feel like a horrible wife, mother, and friend for putting the people I love most in a position where they are not truly safe if they share my airspace. I feel selfish for choosing a career that is now putting the people I value most in danger. I feel so anxious that sometimes it's hard to take a breath. I feel frustrated that people are not taking this entire situation seriously, and I feel angry when I think about how cavalier and selfish many have been when it comes to helping prevent the spread of disease.
I need people to understand the importance of practicing true "social distancing." Please only leave your house if it is an emergency (and not the "I've had this bump on my arm for 2 months, but I want it checked now, so I called an ambulance" kind of emergency. An ACTUAL emergency - the kind where life or limb is being threatened). Grocery shop no more than once every 2 weeks if at all possible. Skip the gym, movies, dental cleaning, whatever else. COVID 19 is going to spread no matter what we do, but if we can slow it down, we will be able to save more of those who will become critically ill.
This week, I've brought out all the stress and anxiety relievers I've ever used before. I'm exercising, having a drink by the fire, watching mindless TV, dancing it out, and on and on. Most importantly, I've spent a lot more time than usual in prayer. Why does it take a valley to get me back where I should have been the whole time? And when will I ever learn that all the stress reliever techniques in the world will never work as well as my Jesus? Why did I make prayer a last resort instead of my automatic Plan A? Earlier this week, it crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, the spinning isn't out of control, after all. Maybe the gravity of it is simply pulling me back to where I should have been all along.
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