It’s Day 100 since Victoria went into Lockdown for the second time around. Since then, it’s been revered as one of the world’s longest and strictest lockdowns. I sit here slumped over my laptop after another enduring day, etching my thoughts onto a screen in an attempt to elicit some sort of therapeutic catharsis. But I know that it won’t. After this, I will just go to sleep and the nightmare ensues. Except it’s not in my dreams, it’s in my reality.
The alarm slowly ascending to a loud roar as I roll over and squint at the time. I counted 8 hours of sleep, yet why do I feel so exhausted? I give in, I snooze. I fall into a micro-sleep and before I know it, the second alarm blares. This time I drag myself out of bed before I’m late for work. As I leave my apartment, I perform the mandatory check – “phone, keys, wallet….shit, the mask.”
I board my tram and as I do, I make sure not to touch anything. I sit 1.5m away from everybody. What used to be a busy tram packed shoulder to shoulder with people, is now an eerie vessel used to transport only a handful of essential workers. My stop approaches and I wait nervously for someone to press the button so that I don’t have to touch anything. But no one does, so I reluctantly and ungracefully bump the stop button with my elbow.
I never had to think about this before.
As I get to work, I scan the QR code at the front of the hospital and sign in online for contact tracing purposes. I then proceed to have my temperature screened. I change my mask, pop on a face shield and just like that, I become another body undifferentiated from the others. My appearance, my body, my connection all stripped away as my eyes become the only thing you can see.
As I officially start the day and bump into everyone, the ritualistic “how are you?” is thrown around.
We are no longer ‘good’. We don’t even have the energy to entertain the empty platitudes anymore with a ‘yeah good thanks, and you?’.
I look around and see my tired colleagues. We are burnt out. We are tired. We are not good. I look at my patient list and can already tell I am not going home on time today. I take a minute to gather myself so I don't visibly break down in front of everybody. “Ok, let’s do this”. I jump onto the computer but not before wiping down the keyboard and mouse with an antibacterial wipe.
I never had to think about this before.
I steadily chip away at the ever growing list of things to do, but can’t help but notice a pattern with my admissions.
- Psychosocial stressors in the context of isolation
- Relapse of psychosis on the background of isolation
- Decrease in mental state
- Suicidal ideation with intent and plan
I go to talk to my patients but they have a hard time hearing me between the muffles of my mask and the echo chamber that is my face shield. I try to establish a relationship with them but it’s hard. I ask a nurse for help, but I can’t remember their names because I don’t even know what they look like. I have been working with these people for months now, yet have never seen their entire face.
We have never been so disconnected before.
I wash my hands for the twentieth time today. I can feel the cracks between my dry skin.
A slight headache creeps in and then I remember that I haven’t consumed any water in several hours. These pesky masks and face shields make it hard.
Oh shit, it’s been 4 hours, time to change the mask.
Let’s go for lunch. I wipe down my workstation again. But wait, I remember I can’t sit in the tea room anymore because only six can go in there to adhere to social distancing guidelines. I guess I have to sit outside. I meet my colleagues. We all sit 1.5 metres apart. I take my face shield and mask off for the first time today and I can breathe again. It’s windy out here, but there’s no where else we can go, so I clutch onto my mask and face shield so they don’t blow away. Lunch becomes quite stressful and not restorative at all. I’m about to take my first bite of food and catch up with my colleagues, but before I know it, my pager goes off. I guess I won’t take my full lunch break (again) today.
As I walk to the ward, I opportunistically try to catch up with a few things on my phone. First thing’s first, I go to Twitter. Check the Victorian DHHS profile. Check the numbers, like I do everyday now.
“Oh shit, they’ve gone higher”
Phone goes back in the pocket and I’m back on my feet with the sinking knowledge that we may not get out of this anytime soon.
The unrelenting work day is finally over, but I check the clock and realise I’ve stayed back an hour overtime.
I’ve received a couple messages from interstate friends.
“I didn’t realise things are still closed in Victoria.”
“Everything is back to normal here.”
Gratitude is misplaced and resentment sneaks in. Toxic positivity that minimises my struggle is not welcome. But then again, how could they know? How could anyone possibly know what it is like to live through this brutal lockdown. Telling me to “hang on a little longer” is redundant as I have well and truly descended into a deep cataclysm of what can only be appropriately described as hell. But I take a deep breath and reply with an amicable, ‘thanks’.
I check the news, searching for any glimmer of hope that will be our answer to freedom. Instead to find smear campaigns against Victorians and their perceived rule-breaking attitudes. Being told that this is what we deserve. Using the behaviours of a few to categorically discriminate against an entire state of 5 million people. There is enough discrimination in this country. We do not need to add to that list by creating a term like, ‘pandemic discrimination’. A city once so rich in culture, food, art, music, and fashion, now reduced to nothing but a desolate wasteland of empty streets.
I walk back into my apartment. Free myself of the mask and reveal the bruises on my nose. Take off my scrubs, shower immediately and then sink myself into the couch. I want to debrief and see my friends, but I’m not allowed to. I actually haven’t seen them in months. The things that are responsible for recharging my battery are no longer legal. And so, I run on an empty battery for months on end. Instead, I’ll just sit here with my own ruminations until my exhaustion overwhelms my body into a forceful slumber.
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