I’m here, but the door is locked…
Written by Yours Truly Elizabeth Mead, LCSW
This was my second week with a new therapist. Which sounds like the opening line of most L.A. stories. So, why does it even matter? As an Emergency Department Social Worker (if you know one, you have picked up on the Crazy AF vibe), I feel most “essential” in the time of acute crisis. I shine in the midst of supporting a loved one during a cardiac arrest, smelling out potential child abuse/neglect, or truly sitting and being present with a patient through an initial anxiety attack. Fortunately, that does not happen on most days. Which also means that I don’t feel very bright and shiny many of my workdays. Yet, over my 21 years as a Social Worker, 13 of those spent in the ED, I have had enough of those life changing moments to remain committed to my profession and the ED in particular.
When I went to “Social work school,” as graduate school in Social work is called, there was a heavy emphasis on advocacy and continuously giving back to our profession. One of my idols in the field is Jane Addams, who was pretty BA and monumental in developing the foundation for modern social work. She adamantly taught and modeled that our field is not relevant without the people that we serve. That means putting on my armor, getting in those trenches and reminding myself, sometimes hourly, why I choose to identify as a social worker.
I keep getting told by the media, my childrens’ school teachers, my peers, and my colleagues, that the entire world is going through a unique crisis due to CoronaVirus. I’m watching the stock market plummet and start to creak back up like an old wooden roller coaster. My kids are both being taught via an online format (which somehow has turned into 8 hours of Fortnite daily) and have not had physical contact with another friend their age in 2 weeks. My mom is giving me worried looks when I leave for my 12-hour ED shift. And the traffic is AMAZING!!!! My response to all of this is a simple shrug. I don’t know how else to react. I feel like I’m missing something big and will somehow follow Pennywise the Clown down into the gutter even though I’ve watched enough horror movies to know better.
But then, I arrive at work. My second family, my home away from home. Everyone is covered head to toe in PPE. Yet, I’ve been looking into all of those familiar eyes for years and years. I can tell by the crinkle of their eyes when they are smiling and the muffled sound behind their N95 masks when they are laughing. There is warmth in the elbow bump that has quickly replaced our instinct to hug each other. Our banter continues until we hear mention of Covid testing & everyone scurries back to work. The community has been incredibly giving and the recognition and care for the doctors, nurses and techs has been heartwarming. Restaurants are delivering food for the staff and thanking the ED for their continued care. I keep telling my kids that they can worry about CoronaVirus when I start to worry about contracting CoronaVirus. The doctors are all telling me to worry.
I did not realize how important leaving my home with purpose and physical connection has become until I did not get it. That brings us full circle back to therapy. Last week was my first session, I cried, I smiled, I thanked my new therapist for taking me on as a client, all the right therapy moves. I show up today for my second session, run up to the door and pull. Nothing. The door is locked. I begin to panic. Maybe I was so emotionally distraught last week that I put in the wrong day or time! My phone starts to ring. It’s my therapist. I say, “I’m here, but the door is locked.” She apologizes for thinking she told me about phone sessions starting this week due to the Governor’s Safer At Home order. I definitely got snippy..she definitely did not tell me. All of that being said, I get back into my car, take a deep breath, have a telephone therapy session and drive home. I find myself saying Uh Huh and Right over the phone. Repeatedly.
I take for granted the need to connect. I consider myself fully independent, my own island, a ship without a Captain. Well, right now, all I really need is a big, long hug. I need to sit across from my therapist so that she can read my body language, force me to be present in the room and hand me a box of tissue when my snot starts running. I need to feel like I can breathe at work outside of a surgical mask without the fear of contracting a fatal virus. I need to travel to Canada in June to watch one of my best friends get married to the love of her life. But, for now, I will stay safe at home, send love to all my friends and family from afar, hug my kids, kiss my husband, and come to work incredibly grateful during my assigned shifts because right now, I am “essential.”