Six months into the pandemic - trying to make sense of where we are now (plus a healing story of the Asian tsunami).

We have recently passed the six month milestone since the WHO declared a global pandemic on March 11th 2020.  It is also six months since we entered our lockdown phase in the UK when all of our lives changed considerably.  Back then, I would have confidently predicted that things would be back to normal by now and that we would be slowly healing the emotional and economic impact of coronavirus.  I only planned to write my blog for ten weeks, to get through to the other side of the crisis.  But six months in, we are still planning around coronavirus, dealing with test shortages and facing more months of this familiar uncertainty.  

The phrase, this is a marathon not a sprint now seems less helpful because no marathon lasts this long.  This phrase also conjures up a sense of endurance and just getting through no matter how much your body or psyche hurt.  Six months on, I would rather take a more leisurely stroll through the pandemic, riding the ups and down with some kindness and understanding.  Hoping to make sense of the pandemic's emotional toll,  I've been studying the model of disaster planning by Zunin and Myers.  It describes the phases that communities and individuals pass through as they deal with a natural disaster (see graph below).  It wasn't designed necessarily for pandemics (longer lasting complex problems), but this is the nearest kind of explanation I could find.  And as I studied it, I could relate to a past memorable experience where I went through this process exactly as described...

December 26th 2004 started off as a normal day until South East Asia was hit by the most powerful tsunami that it has experienced, causing immense loss and devastation.  I had been living and working in Kuala Lumpur for 18 months before this disaster, and narrowly missed the tsunami by days.  I had been staying on a Malaysian island with my sister and her family who had come out to visit a few days prior.  The trip was as close to paradise as I've ever experienced, staying right by the beach in small low rise bungalows, eating next to the lapping of the ocean and snorkelling with incredible sea life.  

This island was hit by the tsunami and photos later showed the impact on the exact spot where we'd been relaxing and swimming (although not as seriously as many other islands and coastlines devastated).  We had only returned to KL on Christmas Eve because I had planned to avoid the expensive hotel prices over the festive period.  KL was incredibly fortunate to be spared much damage from the earthquake that triggered the tsunami.  The only sign in my solid apartment block was waking to the eeriest, strange and unfamiliar sound on Boxing Day, unaware that this was an earthquake about to cause unimaginable damage.

What followed was a period of shock, confusion and grief both personally and as a community (known as the "impact phase").  I had no idea what a tsunami was until I devoured news reports trying to make sense of what had just happened.  My mind was full of "what-ifs" such as what if we had stayed for those extra days, what if we'd been snorkelling at that moment, what if we hadn't got to shelter in time?  Slowly the magnitude of the devastation and loss became apparent.  It was the first time my life felt wobbled and shaken up as I processed the enormity of the situation.  As the days passed, messages from teachers and pupils slowly came through to the international school where I worked.  Miraculously, no one had died from the school but some had lost relatives. A few escaped the tsunami by seconds and survived with heroic tales of rescue.  

Slowly, stories were shared, hugs were given, money was raised for relief efforts and the school community began to recover.  Six months on this community, which was spared the worst, was on the path towards normality, without ever forgetting something so immense.  In the initial few weeks, I didn't think I could ever go to a beach or island nearby again, let alone stay by the water.  But by going through these emotional phases of healing, when the time came to travel again, I returned to my beloved islands and beaches.  At first I would literally stare at the gentle rhythm of "normal" waves, finding comfort and soothing once again in the ocean.  Somehow, I had reached the "reconstruction phase" where I could start to live with the knowledge that even in tropical paradise, life can be fragile and painful.  Yet, I slowly gained a sense of life continuing with a renewed sense of steadiness and healing.  What I have learned for sure, is that if we are fortunate to live through a disaster, a healing process will take place if we gently allow it.

Returning to the pandemic, the difference is that we are struggling to reach this "reconstruction phase" because coronavirus is still simmering away in the background six months on.  There hasn't been an end point, where we can breathe a sigh of relief and know that the pandemic is behind us.  The reconstruction phase includes the enormous practical tasks of rebuilding small businesses, the economy and for many finding different ways to make ends meet.  Emotionally, this phase suggests a time when we start to feel a sense of balance, hope and comfort in knowing the worst is over and we can start to plan ahead.  While we have been hearing advice from our chaotic government to try to resume some level of normal life, it can feel like we are trying to push ourselves into this end phase before we are actually there?

Zunin and Myers phases of a disaster

We could still be more in the previous stage, known as the "disillusionment phase" which can include feelings of stress and exhaustion and it can feel like the "forever phase".  Our levels of optimism will start to wear thin, being replaced with discouragement and fatigue.  Divisions in a community can become more obvious with some parts of the community less affected able to resume more normality.  As I read this description, it helped to make sense of the divisions we are seeing such as to wear face masks (or not), whether to take this situation seriously still (or not) and whether a vaccine is going to be safe?  While it is necessary to move through this stage and not remain stuck in it, living in a pandemic is not so straightforward.  As case numbers start to creep up around us, with concerns about a second wave, there is definitely a sense that this far from over.  And maybe this is exactly what the pandemic is now showing us clearly, that it is a much longer lasting more chronic form of a disaster that is not going to be simply "over by November" as our Prime Minister once suggested. 

Whatever stage we are in, sometimes I feel like I am wading through mud, each step that I am taking just takes more effort, planning and energy than normal.  Each step I try to take to venture out into the "new normal" is usually then balanced out by something else unable to go ahead.  Just as we open up schools, universities and some work places plus people returning from holiday (not all quarantining) inevitably comes the rise in case numbers and R-number.  As the government rushes to bring in more restrictions to certain parts of the UK and possibly more widespread limits, I am left wondering why on earth they didn't see this coming?  This is the delicate balance of living in a pandemic, these strides towards normality resuming are pushed sideways by the slow rise of coronavirus bringing us back to the frustrations of the disillusionment phase.

As I cycled along the coastal path this morning, I stopped to watch the waves roll in towards the coast.  I stood above a spectacular shingle strip about half a mile long jutting out to sea that is exposed at low tide.  I watched the tide gently come in around the shingle strip with swirling, uneven and choppy waves colliding.  And that made me think of now, six months on as we walk this delicate path in the pandemic, being surrounded by colliding pressures of whether to maintain low virus levels or re-start the economy.  We want to recover some sense of normality but continue to live with uncertainty as we do.  It is not surprising if we are feeling the emotional impact, whether it is exhaustion, frustration, uncertainty, annoyance at the handling of the pandemic and just plain tired of living alongside the impact for this long.  

No matter what, the reconstruction phase will come and it will stay.  Eventually.  But for now, we can only deal with what is present at this moment and maybe expect a little choppiness on our path ahead over the next few weeks? 

"You can't calm the storm... so stop trying.  What you can do is calm yourself, the storm will pass away."    Timber Hawkeye.