12 min read
What is the worst thing that you could ever imagine happening to you?
Would it be an illness, like the dreaded C word…or, an accident, like a car crash…or, a fall…where you broke something…like a critically-important bone in your body…or maybe (for women especially) it would be an attack, by a stranger…or possibly worse, by someone you know.
How would you get through it?
Who would be there to help you?
Your family? Your friends? Do you know who would have your back?
What about, a pandemic…before March 2020, had you EVER used the word pandemic in a sentence?
I certainly hadn’t.
And, I certainly hadn’t thought that a constant supply of hand sanitizer would be the new goto essential that would keep me safe from impending doom, not to mention the very real possibility of an early death caused by an invisible and microscopic predator.
Had you? Did you ever think that obsessive hand washing would become, a “thing”.
Again, I did not.
Prior to March 2020 my fears and paranoid anxieties tended to manifest more in the standard tangible risk factors related to “stranger danger“, “road safety” and “lifestyle habits”. I took very few chances in relation to these categories and, by doing so, my hope was that I was “in control” and a random unexpected incurable disease, debilitating car accident or physical/sexual assault would not be in my future. Ever…or, again.
Contagious global viral predators were NOT on my radar…today things are a little different.
We have just passed the one year mark since the first pandemic restrictions were implemented. It is not a positive anniversary, but unfortunately one that we all share.
Do you remember where you were when you realized that life as you knew it would never be the same again? Can you vividly recall the moment that the pandemic became 100% real for you?
I do.
It was March 6th, 2020 and I had just arrived at a local event celebrating International Women’s Day. The room was filled with welcoming natural light, white linens covered the tables and the minimal/modern/tasteful décor popped with gentle hints of pastel floral accents. The scene in its entirety was all seemingly very positive.
In my communications career I have probably attended hundreds of similar events and as usual the room was buzzing with chatter. Other than the pre-event email sent the day before (March 5th) stating that hugging and hand-shaking would be prohibited at today’s event (what?), the waiver that we had to sign upon our arrival, (double what??) and the very serious list of questions pertaining to our current health status/travel history (a million WHATS???)…everything seemed (dare I say)…pretty “normal”.
“WHAT is going on…,” I recall semi-rhetorically “asking” my colleague as we found our seats beside two other women that we had never met before, and settling in at our table. We both shrugged and politely small-talked on other matters but, in our minds, as we quietly scanned the odd new reality of this particular event, in hind-sight, we both could definitely sense that there was a shift in the works.
The previous day’s email had also specifically asked everyone to wash their hands upon arrival and then, further notified us that bottles of hand sanitizer would be placed at each table in the room (of 200+ guests)…for our convenience. (I guess in case we forgot to wash our hands…)
All I could think was, again….WHAAAAAAT…???
The colleague that I had the pleasure of sitting with that day was a business woman (Yvonne Hogenes) who was/is highly respected and well-connected in our local business community, and beyond. Her businesses include a high-end fashion boutique (Malary’s), a line of custom fitted bras (TAB Bras) and a line of “active biocrystal-infused shapewear” (FIRMA). And, beyond these roles, Yvonne also dedicates a lot of volunteer time to local causes… (Mercy Canada, Soroptomist International…among others) I have known of Yvonne’s work in the community for many years, although we finally connected in person just a few years ago and quickly found that we had a lot of synergy in what we wanted to accomplish in business…and in life.
The event went well enough, with lots of positive story-sharing…then at the end Yvonne and I non-hugged our goodbyes with plans for another coffee meeting the following week. To us, it was business as usual.
As I gathered my purse and belongings I picked up the bottle of hand sanitizer at my place setting and, when I noticed that there was only one, I offered it to Yvonne.
“No…no, you take it,” she insisted. “Your daughter might like it.”
It was small enough to fit in a purse, it had a purple metallic carabiner attached, it smelled of lavender AND (just to make it extra magical) it had purple metallic sparkles in it.
And she was right…
My daughter (age 10) LOVED it.
Looking back, it was our household’s first bottle of anti-viral hand cleaner in what would be a collection of many. And THAT is specifically where I feel that the unravelling of my old reality began…and the pandemic became REAL.
Sighhhhhh…
I often feel that I have an “it will all work out” optimism chip permanently implanted in my very busy brain. I don’t tend to outwardly worry, until it all begins to collapse (…and then, yikes…look out). However, in the days and weeks that followed March 6, to put it mildly, my optimism reset button became harder and harder to find.
Schools, businesses, livelihoods and any sort of normalcy in LIFE all went on lockdown. Our lives were no longer in our control and ALL we knew was that something air-borne and invisible that possibly originally came from a bat in China could kill us. Social media was blowing up and everyone kept saying WASH YOUR HANDS…while weirdly buying up all the toilet paper.
In our home of sensitive/creative types, it became extremely challenging to manage the onslaught of fear messaging and, collectively we had to make an extra effort to keep our mental health in a positive place. I could see the rational sanity of the people that I was closest to slipping…and I along with them. Our anxieties were very much feeding off of one another.
For me, because of my crime victim experience (circa 1992), in the last 29 years I have been exposed to my share of psychological doctor types. From an official diagnosis perspective I have been informed by these varied medical types that I have Major Depressive Disorder mixed with Long-Term PTSD…along with the occasional random debilitating dash of PTSD-Induced Fibromyalgia.
It’s pretty “fun”…
For the most part, I have “learned” to accept it as my “normal” in relation to the impact of trauma.
As the world moved into April 2020 and the uncertainties of the pandemic continued to rise, an all-too familiar feeling of darkness began to consume me. I felt helpless, and trapped. I wanted to sleep all day and escape everything…the irony was, the all-consuming worry wouldn’t let me sleep. My thoughts spiralled and my chest tightened into knots. I felt a killer looming, and I had no idea how to protect myself, and my family…specifically my daughter, and my mom. Old coping habits/ticks returned and I found myself back to obsessively checking (and re-checking) the locks on all the doors at night…and then, the next day, obsessively spraying the handles down with bleach.
It truly was nuts.
I was in my bad place although thankfully I still had the wherewithal to SEE myself and KNOW that I was teetering…and to me, that meant that I still had some level of control left. For my daughter’s sake I knew I had to hold it together.
The only positive was that the days were getting longer and in our area of the world (Vancouver, BC, Canada) the sun was shining. So, we went out…to play. Right outside our house. My daughter on her scooter, and me on my roller skates. It was April 6, 2020.
And then, I fell.
Hard…
I saw it coming in slow motion but, couldn’t stop it. It was arguably strategic in the landing…providing enough solid impact to snap my tibia (your body’s major weight bearing bone) quickly, forcefully and cleanly…leaving an odd indented backwards c shape on the inside of my right shin. Like a bite, with no blood.
I will never forget the image of my daughter pacing in confusion while I lay helplessly facedown in our driveway. Nor will I ever forget the sound (and feeling) of my bones crunching and buckling as I tried to stand.
This was not ok. At this present time in my life, (other than contracting Covid-19) THIS was the worst thing that I could ever have imagined happening to me.
From the Covid ambulance experience, to the distant sounds of SAWING (my leg?) during the operation, to the metal rod being inserted into MY LEG, to the two days of morphine/oxy-dependant hospital isolation, to…three months later, and the BEGINNING of learning how to walk all over again.
I was 48 years old and, my once strong, independent woman status was DONE.
Like the commonly-used “break a leg” sentiment, a broken leg may sound like a something that is more of an inconvenience than it is a problem…if it has never happened to you. And, possibly, some have an easier time with it than others.
Maybe.
But I will tell you from my perspective, it…and the entire experience, surrounding the broken leg (in the middle of the COVID PANDEMIC in particular) was truly living hell. The pain and the swelling were non-stop, the bruising and blood pooling pockets on the back of my knee/leg/ankle changed daily, the intense anger/sadness/exhaustion along with the pufferfish-style bloating side-effects from the pain-killers and lastly, the inability to “stand” for even five minutes (while being careful not to put ANY weight on the broken leg…for SIX WEEKS…) without setting off the whole chain reaction of pain, bruising and edema into an excruciating cycle all over again was…insane.
Every trauma that I ever experienced earlier in my life was triggered. And, in case I forgot to mention it…THE WORLD WAS IN LOCKDOWN. The combination of it all was brutal, and I was exhausted ALL THE TIME.
What I tried to do outwardly was smile, and see the positive. At least I could focus on my writing …and I didn’t have to race around taking my daughter to school, or her classes, or go grocery shopping or…experience anything…outside…right?
Right…
Pretty early on in this experience though, I learned the answer to my earlier question…WHO had my back? And THIS, I suppose would be my point in this rambling tale of woe… You never know what you can get through until you get to the other side. And, you will rarely get there alone.
My mom, bless her amazing, vegan-infused, cancer-surviving, meditative, massively artistically-gifted cotton socks, did not disappoint. In the slightest. She cooked, cleaned, carried and coped for months as I slowly progressed…without one complaint…even though I gave her many a reason to pack up and quit.
My daughter as well, tried. And it was (and IS) SO hard. Prior to this fall, I was her rock, but now she caught a glimpse of my human side…in particular, the fact that I have an expiration date. It, along with all of the unpredictable fun that comes with the Covid pandemic, is an ongoing struggle for her.
Responses to my social media updates included mostly “feel better soon!” and “OMG, that really sucks!!!” sentiments…and that was fine. This is our predominant way of expressing human empathy…by posting support snippets online.
Two responses however, stood out from the rest. To me, two responses went one step further on the empathetic human meter.
These were from #1, Stu (my favourite retired Detective) and his wife, Renee, and #2, from Yvonne.
It was Easter Monday (April 13, 2020) and I was propped up on 2 chairs on my front porch watching my daughter search for goodies in our yard.
My phone buzzed twice in the span of 10 minutes and the first time it was Stu, confirming a time to drop off crutches, a leg sleeve for bathing (I could have A BATH, HURRAH!!) and a knee scooter.
The second text, was from Yvonne.
“Hi Lenore,” it read, “I had a lot of leftovers from Easter Dinner and made a huge pot of split pea soup, I’d like to bring some over to you and your daughter.”
Weirdly, I totally teared up.
I mean, this was a work-friend…we were planning to “conquer the world” in other ways together…she wasn’t allowed to cross-over into the friend category. Was she?
Well, she did. And it, the soup, and especially…the gesture, was AMAZING.
THIS made me realize the importance of community, and WHO WILL BE THERE when your “stuff” hits the fan. These were seemingly simple gestures from people who just cared enough to take an extra step.
Both of these “I want to help you” offers I never asked for (and probably could have sourced on my own) but I didn’t have to. They were telling me that they, as part of my community, had my back.
And I will never forget it.
Fast forward to today, the week after Easter Weekend 2021, and a lot has changed…but, also, a lot hasn’t. I can walk, drive and DANCE (in my mind anyway 😉) …again, my mental health has greatly improved and my plans to make the world a better place (with the help of my community, of course) is back…on track.
The pandemic however is still very real…as is the unknown long-term impact. We are all doing what we can to adapt, and cope.
A few weeks ago I connected with Yvonne for a (safe and socially-distanced) coffee and, it was extremely encouraging to pretty much pick up where we left off…one year before. We both had our war stories to share and unfortunately her businesses have been negatively impacted by Covid-19. Like many of us pivoting has been key to her survival and Yvonne is fortunate in some ways that she was impacted by SARS first-hand when it hit in 2002.
“We were quarantined on a plane in China for just over 2 hours,” she said. “It was so similar to everything happening now…a total shock. But, because of that experience, I knew the call for masks would happen sooner than later. So we got busy.”
And the FIRMA masks were born.
“The mask sales saved my business,” Yvonne adds.
And equally, in our home, the FIRMA masks have (like hand sanitizer) become a mainstay in our pandemic must-haves…keeping us “safe” on many outings.
The point I am trying to make is that life is full of “stuff” that will hit the fan…and catch us off-guard. It always will be. And sometimes we need to try really hard to accept that some of us get more ”stuff” thrown at us than others…navigating through it is definitely not easy. And, to me, this pretty much sums up my understanding of the cycle of living with the impact of trauma.
As Helen Keller wisely once said ““Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.”
Life goes on and with it, trauma can accumulate. I don’t feel that there really is one answer or solution…but, I do strongly agree with Ms. Keller and feel that it is important not to be alone.
Help often comes from unexpected sources…so if I can leave you with anything, it would be to keep your eyes open to your community, for today, you just may meet that someone who gives you your own little sparkle to keep you going…even, if it is just in your hand sanitizer.
IT is life
IT changes…and that’s OK
IT is all OK
Credits, and Kudos!
Helen Keller
Yvonne Hogenes
FIRMA Energywear
Through stories and connections planITgirl’s goal is to help people who have been impacted by trauma to understand what trauma is, and how it may be impacting them…or someone they know.
The founder is a writer and speaker who strives to share her personal journey of living with trauma and PTSD in a forward-thinking, positive, professional and connective format.
If you feel (or care for someone who feels) lost, isolated, different, stuck and misunderstood, we hope the thoughts, stories and connections shared will resonate with you.