I grew up in Dallas, TX and I spent every summer at gymnastics camp at the JCC. We would take weekly field trips on Fridays to different places and I distinctly remember how I simply couldn’t wait until we we would go to Six Flags Over Texas. The Texas Giant, Flashback & Shock Wave were my 3 favorite roller coasters. I’ve always loved thrills, speed, twisting, turning and flipping upside down. What a rush! After all, I was a competitive gymnast. Twisting and flipping was my jam!
But lately, I’ve come to HATE roller coasters. The COVID coaster especially. That shit is just NOT fun. Even this competitive gymnast at heart is not enjoying the ride. Not one bit. The emotional ups and downs of what’s going on right now is simply exhausting. Especially for an empath like me. I read articles about people who’ve died from COVID and I cry. I think about their families and friends planning a funeral and grieving in isolation and my heart simply can’t take it. I read about healthcare workers getting COVID who are now in the ICU and then I make myself sick worrying about when one of MY coworkers, or ME, will end up in the ICU as well.
“Come on Sondra, you’re over reacting.” Am I? At 12 years old I had a spontaneous pneumothorax (collapsed lung) after a bad cold that turned into Bronchitis. I was then given a whole slew of antibiotics that I quickly found out I was allergic to when I was suddenly covered in hives from head to toe. I spent a month out of school going to CPT (cardiopulmonary therapy) everyday at the hospital. I had a woman who was like 9 months pregnant beating on the sides of my chest with cupped hands to help break up all the mucus in my lungs so that after treatment I could sit by the toilet and cough it up. Lovely. It certainly helped but I swear she just wanted that damn baby out of her body and she took every pregnant frustration out on my weak little 12 year old body. At least, this is how my brain remembers it. My mother bought a nebulizer machine so I could do my breathing treatments at home. Until I was probably in my 20s, she kept that machine because she thought if she gave it away somehow I might need it again. It became a superstition. Keep the machine and Sondra will be okay.
But that was a long time ago now. However, I know what it feels like to not be able to breathe. To try to inhale and feel like the air is stuck in your mouth or throat. It’s scary. And perhaps that’s precisely why I’m so good at working with anxious patients in the hospital. Perhaps that is why I unofficially became known as the ‘breathing coach’ in my department. I make my patients look me in the eye, I acknowledge their fear and then we breathe together. I watch their heart rate slow down and their oxygen saturation increase as we do. It’s not some hippy dippy BS. I use biofeedback to help them learn to control their breath which helps them minimize their pain and muscle guarding. It’s kind of magical if you ask me. The breath is magic. Breathing is truly magical.
But to think about not being ABLE to breathe terrifies me. Perhaps I still have some residual PTSD like feelings from my days at the hospital getting beat on by that pregnant respiratory therapist. Or maybe I just realize that breathing is one of the most basic life giving functions. Without breath, are we even alive? Is it our heart beat that gives us life? Our breath? Our brain function?
Most of the patients at my hospital are tourists since we are in the middle of several world class ski resorts including Breckenridge, Copper Mountain and Keystone. We see patients from all over the country and honestly all over the world. Many times when I go to get them up after surgery for therapy (for a broken leg or arm or both) they try to take off their oxygen and say “I don’t need it – I’m fine.” Then I usually ask them where they are from. “Oh Texas/Florida/New York…Sorry you have to keep your oxygen on.” “Why?” they ask me. “Well because you’re not used to this altitude and you just had major surgery. And honestly because BREATHING COMES BEFORE EVERYTHING.”
Those are the exact words I say. Regularly. Wow. And now here we are in the middle of a worldwide respiratory virus pandemic that affects people’s breathing. It’s humbling right now to sit at home when I’m a healthcare worker in an cute care hospital. I feel so helpless and guilty that I’m not in my scrubs seeing patients. And yet, I know that I’m doing my part. I’m staying healthy by being at home. But I’ll be honest – it doesn’t feel good for me. Because so much of my identity is tied to my ability to help others. My name, Sondra, literally means “helper or defender of mankind.” Big title to live up to, right? But somehow this is who I am. Or who I have become. And it hurts me to my core to be sitting at home watching the OC on Hulu instead of being on the frontlines with my work family.
But I’m coming to acceptance now. I accept that THIS IS how I am helping. I’m staying healthy so that if my co-worker gets sick (God willing she does not!) I am ready to let her tag out and get up from the bench to play. I am accepting that my health is more important than making $. (And yes, perhaps my privilege is showing here but it’s honest and I own it.) I am accepting that this IS our current reality and I can’t change it. I am accepting that there are a lot of ups and downs on this ride and it IS okay to enjoy the ups – even if secretly I’d like to get off this ride RIGHT NOW. I think most of us feel that way. I am accepting that I can’t plan. None of us can. I have no idea when I will get to go back to work. And as an hourly employee with only so much PTO and sick time – that’s scary. I’m right there with you. I’m not a waiter or a bartender who’s out of work. I’m an occupational therapist and I too am sitting at home with a lot of fear as to how we will continue to pay our bills if this social distancing and isolating goes on for several months. I get it, y’all. I’m living it too.
But then I come back to my breath. When I feel myself approaching the peak of the coaster and I’m scared as hell, I notice I’m holding my breath. And I feel this knot in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. And I simply EXHALE. Fully and completely. And I trust the next breath to come. And then the next one. And the next one.
And perhaps this is not so much about whether I like or don’t like the roller coaster ride but more about my belief in the fact that I can endure the ride. All parts of it. And I can breathe through the scary or uncomfortable parts of the ride. And I can smile or squeal with joy during the fun parts. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I just have to remember that the ride won’t last forever and eventually I will get off this ride and back on solid ground. And my God, I will cherish that day! I will kiss the earth below my feet and I will give thanks for normalcy like never before.
And I will hug everyone!
My Rocky Mountain Heart 