Category: Anxiety

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I put off explaining death to my autistic son.

Covid-19 convinced me I couldn’t wait any longer.

By Whitney Ellenby

Whitney Ellenby is the author of “Autism Uncensored: Pulling Back the Curtain,” founder of the charitable venture Autism Ambassadors and a former Justice Department disability rights attorney.

Even before I uttered a word, my son knew something was off.

My flustered movements alerted him to a shift in equilibrium in the house. The statewide coronavirus shutdown had just been announced, and as I struggled to wrap my head around the profound adjustments I needed to make, the fear of a grave illness was rivaled by an entirely different threat: How would I explain the crisis to my profoundly autistic 19-year-old son?

Zack’s language and comprehension are truncated; he has no conspicuous understanding of global adversity, personal sacrifice or collective safety.

The stakes of being truthful were greater than you might imagine. I’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that Zack fully participates in his community, even forcing him to remain at indoor venues he feared such as movie theaters, restaurants and airplanes. My “inclusion by fire” methods feel vindicated by the fact that Zack regularly navigates the world with competence and zeal.

But there is one dire exception — his absolute intolerance of unexpected closures. Zack has no interest in the reason: All venues should be open according to his schedule. Delivering news of a sudden closure — of a splash park shut due to lightning, a movie sold out — is perilous. In seconds, Zack lashes out in frustration. Sometimes I absorb the blows and hold my ground to enforce upon him the reality that disappointment is a part of life; more often I scramble for alternatives to distract him.

And now I couldn’t. For a young man whose life quite literally revolves around predictable schedules and recreation, virtually everything he depended upon had been eviscerated overnight.

In March, I sat Zack down and explained: “Zack, I need you to listen to me, something very scary is happening. You know how awful it feels to be sick? Well, a sickness is spreading across the whole world, and our job is to help keep people safe. So for now, school is — closed. Movies are closed. Indoor pools are ….”

I braced for impact, but instead Zack studiously began echoing the refrain of “closed.” I was astonished. In the weeks that followed, Zack’s ability to adapt to his constricted life far exceeded my expectations and reinforced my decision to tell him the truth.

Except I had not told him the whole truth. Zack had no notion that, as he rode his bike carefree against the wind, people were dying. Zack had no concept of death. Because I hadn’t summoned the courage to explain it to him.

I’ve always considered my most important job to be arming Zack with the knowledge and experience to function as competently as possible in the world, especially after my husband and I are gone. But I have not prepared him for the fact that we will be gone. As I listened to stories of beloved mothers and fathers dying, I was gripped with heartbreak and fear — would I further postpone and hope neither of us got sick?

That felt immoral. It was time.

“Zack, I need to tell you something serious,” I began. “Many people are getting sick, and some of the people who go into the hospital to get help will not get better. They will die from this sickness.” Zack is a literal thinker who deals in absolutes and concrete visuals, not abstractions. So in response to his quizzical stare, I turned on the TV to still frames I had taped of body bags being moved into a truck.

“Zack, these bodies are ….”

“Sleeping?” he asserted, tentatively.

“Broken?” he then offered, borrowing a concept he applies to objects that I’ve reassured him would soon “be fixed.” Dreading his response, I answered, “No, they are not asleep or broken, they are dead. They will not wake up. They were too sick to be fixed. They are ….”

“Closed,” he whispered gravely.

A huge exhale escaped me. “Yes, Zack, they are closed,” I said, explaining through tears that this happens to every person at some point, that their life comes to an end. And how, even when people die, as hard as it is, the rest of us have to keep living without them.

Zack became still. His countenance darkened as he processed my words — and then suddenly he lashed out. But the target was the TV, with its cruel, wintry images of death, as Zack smashed his fists into the screen and even his own head. The universe was once again disordered and the outcome unacceptable to him. I interrupted the exertion not to comfort Zack but to redirect his blows toward a wall sturdy enough to absorb them. He was incredibly infuriated, which felt entirely appropriate. More essentially, with each strike I was certain the excruciating lesson was being slowly, agonizingly absorbed.

So far, Zack has not openly made the intellectual leap that this state of permanence, which is “closing” the lives of so many right now, will one day end mine and my husband’s. That he will one day lose us, but must persist. Now is not the time to make that linkage, but it will come. Engraved into his consciousness of how the world operates is a new notion that while some closures are temporary and fixable, others are unchangeable. For now, that is enough.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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In the Coronavirus Crisis, I Can’t Visit My Sick Mother

—So I Wear Her Perfume Instead

By Matt Ortile

I woke up terrified last Friday. Or was it last Thursday? Maybe yesterday. Today?

Each day bleeds into the next when in social isolation to hinder the spread of the novel coronavirus. This pandemic brings with it an acrid kind of despair, infiltrating every hour of our lives, every call we make and text we send. It’s this nauseating smog in my home, where I’ve had the privilege of working remotely, shut away from the world.

One morning, the miasma began to suffocate me. Reports said that nearly 4.4 million people were newly jobless in the U.S., some of my friends among them. Dreadful images of overcrowded hospitals appeared all over the news, while the number of those who tested positive for the virus only continued to rise. It was hitting me that people are dying because a president too concerned about his re-election chances did not acknowledge or prepare for the oncoming global health crisis.

I couldn’t breathe. I opened my windows and watched my quiet Brooklyn street. I went to my dresser. Deeply stressed, I did what I’d always done: I put on some perfume.

It’s my mother’s old favorite, a scent called “Thé Vert,” French for green tea. I bought the bottle during my first summer in New York. Overwhelmed by my magazine internship and yearning for a whiff of home, I went to a L’Occitane near Lincoln Center and sprayed the fragrance on my wrist. It’s a clean scent, floral yet piercing—Camellia sinensis with talons. My pulse steadied. My mind went from cloudy to clear. A single spritz was a vivifying hit.

A salesperson came over, eager to assure me Thé Vert was unisex. I didn’t care either way. I marched to the register with 750 milliliters of the stuff and emptied my wallet onto the counter. That evening, I ate dinner street-side (a five-dollar lamb and rice plate), as the oily halal cart aromas mingled with my new perfume.

It’s been a good investment. That was eight years ago and I still have that same bottle to this day. Some of my fragrances have turned bad over time, but Thé Vert, I think, hasn’t changed much. The green tea is still there, though now it smells peppery when it tickles my nose. Ultimately, its effect is the same: Wearing it, I inhale botanical grit, my mother’s eternal fortitude. And then, whatever anxiety I can release, I get to exhale.

L’Occitane launched Thé Vert in 1999. Bitter orange is the primary top note; the middle notes are green tea and jasmine; nutmeg, cedar, and thyme make up the base. Some reviews on the perfume site Fragrantica associate it with “a happy summer day” or “a picnic at the park.” But when I smell it, I conjure other images entirely.

To me, Thé Vert is five o’clock in the smoggy Manila morning. It’s my mother in her blazer and pencil skirt, applying a full face of makeup in the two-hour traffic jam, dropping me off at school en route to work. Thé Vert is me sobbing into my mother’s collarbone, hurt and confused by men in my family who told me to “man up.” It’s her consoling embrace, her reminders that this storm will pass once we beach upon more welcoming shores.

Thé Vert is my mother in her bedroom in Las Vegas, crying on the phone to my stepfather in the Philippines, separated from her beloved. It’s me hugging her, reminding her that we have each other as we restart our lives in this strange new country. It’s us finding solace in beautiful, simple things—in shared meals, in French perfumes, in our mutual trust and friendship.

As time wore on, my mother wore her perfume less and less, until she finally stopped. L’Occitane discontinued Thé Vert in 2013, a year after I first bought it. They replaced it with the remixed Thé Vert & Bigarade. On Fragrantica, a reviewer called the new formula “bitter and sickly,” and preferred the original Thé Vert because it was “penetrating” and “sharp.”

My mother was similar, someone who cut her own path—for herself in the Philippines; for us both in the United States. That’s the woman I try to channel whenever I put on Thé Vert. I imagine walking through a cloud of atomized courage, borrowing my mother’s conviction, her grace. The bloom of it on my skin tells me that, against all odds, all will be well.

“I’m wearing your perfume today,” I told my mother recently. (This Sunday? Last Tuesday morning?)

Daytime in Brooklyn meant nighttime in Manila, where she and my stepfather now live together. Their self-isolation began around the same time as mine. I could hear the television in their townhouse. They were watching a press briefing live on CNN.

She doesn’t wear fragrances anymore, she said, “so it’s your perfume now, anak.”

I said that it still reminds me of her. It comforts me, makes bearable the fact that I can’t be by her side in the middle of what, on the worst days, feels like the end of the world. I wish I could see you, I told her. She smiled; I could sense it over the phone.

“It’s safer that you’re not here,” she said. “But I miss you too.”

I was supposed to visit my family this spring. But between my work schedule and preparing for the publication of my book this summer, I never got around to buying a plane ticket. This procrastination did me a favor, sort of. When New York governor Andrew Cuomo declared a state of emergency on March 7, my mother told me—jokingly, I think—that God had willed my indolence.

Just as well, we agreed. Flying from the U.S. to the Philippines would have meant going through multiple international gateways, potentially contracting the coronavirus along the way, and possibly passing it on to my mother and stepfather. They’re getting on a bit—she’s in her 60s; he’s in his 70s—and the Center for Disease Control states that older adults are at higher risk for severe illnesses from COVID-19. Also, my mother is immunocompromised. This is because she has cancer.

Again, I should say. My mother was initially diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015. Treatment put her into remission by the summer of 2016; by the fall, we were visiting Rome and Paris together for the first time. Then in 2019, last summer, she phoned me with the news.

Through tears, she said, “It’s back.”

The words my brain managed to pick up were stage IV, metastasized, the bones. She would have called sooner, she explained, but she didn’t want to interrupt my work. I was at an arts residency in New Hampshire for the month, finishing my manuscript. So, under sudden pressure and running out of time, I completed the first draft of my book the next day, unsure how to celebrate, unsure if I should.

The rest of my time at the residency, I wore Thé Vert. I wore it when I went to Manila to see my mother that fall—and again over the winter holidays, when it still felt safe to fly overseas. This year, I wore it at my pre-launch book party, when we could still gather in large groups. I wore it on a big date, when it still felt safe to date—to hug hello, to sip each other’s cocktails, to kiss.

I wore Thé Vert when I woke up terrified. Have worn it throughout the pandemic thus far. Even now, as I write this essay, I wear my mother’s perfume.

I’m not sure when I’ll get to see her again. She’s doing fine, all things considered. Regarding her cancer, I can say that there’s no ticking clock—not for now at least. But there’s also no assured end to the coronavirus crisis. According to experts, it could take anywhere from two months to a year and a half before we can reclaim even a few routines of the pre-COVID-19 world.

At the rate I’m going, I’ll run out of Thé Vert by then. I’ve been putting it on every morning in self-isolation. It keeps me calm, for the most part—as have the facts that I live alone; that I can do my job online; that I take a soapy shower after every trip to the grocery and liquor store; that I have books and video games and group chats to keep me entertained.

But that miasma, it lingers. Thé Vert cuts through it on most days, but when friends ask how I’m doing, I mention my ambient unease. My longing for a world we previously took for granted, a world to which we might never return. This fear, one I’ve felt since last summer, of looming death. The Harvard Business Review named my anxiety when it published an article about the coronavirus that said, right in the headline, “That discomfort you’re feeling is grief.”

More specifically, anticipatory grief—the kind we experience when facing an unknowable future. In the case of the coronavirus, there’s an invisible enemy still mysterious to us, shattering our sense of readiness or safety. Everything is going to change, we think, but how? That’s exactly what I’ve been feeling since my mother said, “It’s back.” Her death is around the corner. We don’t know how long we have on this road, or when we’ll make that turn.

To grapple with anticipatory grief, the HBR article says, we must first acknowledge it—the terrifying days to come. Before making meaning out of loss, before mourning too fast, we must first manage the current grief with counteractive thinking. We must focus on the present. Like so: At this moment, I’m fine. I have food and a home, a job and a warm bed. I am not sick.

But my mother is sick. Already I feel the future pangs of loss; time-traveling micro doses of unbelievable hurt. We are already so far apart physically. Yet there will be a day, who knows how soon, when that gulf widens further, when she will no longer be just a 17-hour flight away. I will not be able to reach her by phone. My memories will fade and I will run out of Thé Vert—the ways I summon my mother.

I wore Thé Vert on a date so that this boy I liked could meet her, in a way. I wore it at my pre-launch book party in order to feel her presence too. I wore it in New Hampshire to celebrate with her a milestone in my writing career. All while we still can. These days, I’ve realized, I don’t wear the perfume to borrow her bravery, to emulate her. I wear it to feel her near me, to alleviate the present distance between us, the future loss I dread.

Like many others living in self-isolation, my mother and I find consolation in the little things: phone calls, video chats, the time we do have on earth. I’m getting antsy though. I told her I’ve been looking at tickets to Manila for my birthday in September, to celebrate with her and my stepfather once the pandemic is over.

“One day at a time, anak,” my mother said. “Take care of yourself first. That’s how we’ll make it through.”

She’s right. Though time differences remain and continents still drift, at least the world keeps turning. If we play our cards right as individuals and as communities in this time of certain uncertainty, there’s a future to hope for, to work towards.

I look forward to the day when I see her again in the flesh, when we embrace and hold each other. She will get a whiff of Thé Vert, still sharp and insistent after all these years, and rest easy. She’ll know that, wherever I go—or, one day, she goes—I will carry her with me always, even long after our perfume has faded into the night.

But for now, I must relish the present. At this moment, she’s fine. She has food and a home, my stepfather and a warm bed. My mother is alive.

It’s like another spritz, another vivifying hit.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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What to do if the coronavirus pandemic is triggering your past trauma

By Kristin Magaldi

Right now, many people are feeling the mental ramifications of the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic. While there isn’t yet a comprehensive study on if there’s been an increase in mental health issues within the overall population, early research has found that some people not previously diagnosed with mental health disorders are now displaying signs. For instance, a March study out of China found that health care workers treating coronavirus were more likely to develop symptoms associated with anxiety, depression, and insomnia, and past studies have noted how loneliness and isolation—common experiences for many of us right now—can cause depression.

And for those already suffering from mental health disorders, the pandemic can exacerbate those conditions. People who have experienced varying degrees of trauma (illness-related and otherwise) in the past are especially susceptible to an increase in symptoms. Dr. Matt Grzesiak, internationally recognized psychologist and creator of the Mixed Mental Arts model, tells HelloGiggles that several aspects of the pandemic might be triggering for trauma survivors and potentially cause flashbacks.

“Round-the-clock mainstream news and social media coverage is bombarding us with horrific images of tragedy, suffering, and loss the instant they occur anywhere in the world,” notes Dr. Grzesiak. “Repeated exposure can have negative effects that overwhelm your nervous system and create further traumatic stress.” And that stress, he explains, might manifest as disbelief, fear, sadness, grief, helplessness, guilt, and/or anger.

Normally, outside of a health crisis, trauma survivors may be triggered by experiences or fears that remind them of their trauma, but the pandemic has amped that potential up to a new level. “The COVID-19 crisis has halted our lives, created economic insecurity on a micro and macro level, and completely uprooted many people’s understanding of what their life is,” says licensed clinical social worker and psychotherapist Haley Neidich. “For people with existing mental health issues, especially a history of trauma, this can derail their recovery and cause a major decompensation in their functioning.” As a result, survivors may experience an increase in nightmares or panic attacks, or an inability to go about their days and maintain their relationships.

As Neidich notes, there are quite a few elements at play during the pandemic that can elicit a flashback or halt a survivor’s recovery. With the unemployment rate so high and many people hurting financially right now, for instance, the loss of money or a job can trigger people who dealt with severe instability during childhood. “Growing up with only the minimum to survive [can] activate post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), by creating extreme anxiety or fear of going back to those times when we were struggling financially or personally,” explains Talkspace therapist Cynthia V. Catchings.

Another potential trigger can be grief, especially considering that coronavirus deaths stand at almost 70,000 people in the U.S., as of May 5th. Trauma therapist Diana Anzaldua tells HelloGiggles that someone with past trauma might feel grief over the many aspects of normalcy they are losing, including “loss of routine, loss of job, loss of school, loss of friends/ physical contact, in addition to the death losses of friends and family.” People may also experience anticipatory grief as death tolls continue to rise and the possibility of loved ones getting sick remains high. “So much loss at the same time, without a way to process these emotions or cope safely, can lead to mental breakdowns and depressive states,” Anzaldua explains.

Grieving someone who died of coronavirus can also be particularly hard for trauma survivors, says Neidich. “Making sense of any losses of loved ones can be challenging at this time when there is so much in flux,” she explains, but “it is nearly impossible to make sense of things, process grief, or heal from a traumatic event when the trauma of losing someone to COVID-19 is ongoing.”

Trauma survivors need to feel safe in order to process grief, Neidich adds, but that’s incredibly difficult in our current environment. For one thing, with events of more than 10 people banned, survivors mourning losses aren’t able to get adequate closure via funerals or other ceremonies. This can further impede recovery or bring up similar past experiences where they couldn’t find closure.

Isolation and loneliness due to social distancing mandates can also negatively affect trauma survivors trying to grieve. “Many of us lean on our emotional support system to feel safe and loved,” says Nicole Arzt, licensed marriage and family therapist and board member of Family Enthusiast. “While we have technology to keep us connected, it’s not the same as seeing our friends and family.”

Without usual coping mechanisms like hiking, doing yoga, or going to a favorite coffee shop, trauma survivors may feel deprived of the tools they need to handle upsetting experiencing. Add in the complete unpredictability of the future, and no wonder many people are feeling overwhelmed and anxious.

“The fear of the unknown and the uncertainty about the future are the most triggering concerns I am hearing from my clients who have trauma histories,” Neidich says. “This is especially true for folks who are experiencing financial insecurity, food insecurity, or imminent concerns about their health or safety.”

Fortunately, if you are feeling triggered by the pandemic, there are a few things you can do to help work through the stress and anxiety. Dr. Grzesiak advises paying close attention to your thought patterns at the onset of panic. “Start a journal and write down what you are feeling and when your anxiety is the most noticeable,” he suggests. This can help you identify how new circumstances are eliciting familiar feelings from your past trauma.

From there, designate a self-soothing tool you can do at home that you know will work for you, like exercising or listening to music, Dr. Grzesiak says. Apps like Calm and The Tapping Solution offer meditations aimed to soothe you through tapping specific pressure points, if you find that kind of practice helpful. And no matter what, “reach out to your closest friends or family members for support,” Dr. Grzesiak adds. “You do not need to talk about your trauma necessarily, but spending time with them and sharing your feelings is beneficial to your mental health.” This is an especially good idea if isolation has been triggering for you.

If you are currently undergoing treatment for a past trauma, exploring remote therapy options with your counselor is another step to take. But if you haven’t started mental health treatment for your trauma, Niedich suggests checking out online counseling outlets like BetterHelp or Talkspace. “Additionally, some insurance carriers are covering tele-health, so using a site like Psychology Today where you can find a community therapist who takes your insurance and is available for online counseling is another great option,” she says. If the trauma you’ve experienced is severe, finding a trauma center or EMDR practitioner—someone who specializes in treating trauma—could be a good avenue, adds Anzaldua.

Whether it’s loss, grief, uncertainty, or isolation that are triggering memories of trauma for you, there are ways to take care of yourself. Pay attention to your thoughts and feelings, practice self-care, and know that resources outside of yourself are always available.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Her greatest fear was dying alone

— two days after she caught coronavirus, she did

Britt Patrick, right, said her mother Jennifer Patrick was a joyful person who loved spending time with friends and family. Jennifer Patrick died of COVID-19 in a Calgary nursing home on April 19.

Nursing professor says everyone should have the chance to say a deathbed goodbye

By Sarah Rieger

Jennifer Patrick was terrified of dying alone.

The 65-year-old was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis nearly two years ago. She relied on progressively higher and higher concentrations of oxygen and a few months ago was moved to a Calgary nursing home.

Since the diagnosis, Britt Patrick said her mom just kept repeating her fear — “I don’t want to die alone.”

But two days after she contracted COVID-19 that’s exactly what happened.

On April 19, the 65-year-old from Airdrie, Alta., was having a panic attack, gasping for air. She hadn’t seen a friend or family member in days.

It was her husband’s birthday. They’d spent the last 41 years together but hadn’t seen each other since the Calgary home, Extendicare Hillcrest, was locked down to visitors. Her daughter and grandchildren were two provinces away.

Her nurse, who was sitting by her bedside, left the room to get morphine to ease her panicked gasps for air. When the nurse returned, Jennifer Patrick was gone.

“It was very, very surreal,” Britt Patrick said.

“I feel like maybe my dad should have been allowed in with proper protection just to say goodbye.”

No chance to say goodbye

Patrick said her mom’s COVID-19 diagnosis didn’t come as a shock. The Winnipeg resident knew Calgary was experiencing high numbers of COVID-19 cases, and said she had an ominous feeling, knowing her mom already had a serious respiratory illness.

But the speed of her mom’s death, without a chance to say goodbye, left her reeling.

She doesn’t even remember what they talked about during their last phone call — the oxygen deprivation had increasingly made talking on the phone difficult for her mom.

“That’s frustrating and that’s hard,” she said.

“I know I ended up missing a phone call with her. I had been trying to get a hold of her for quite a while and I finally got a phone call back. I was just getting out the door and I didn’t have time to answer it and I wish I’d taken that two minutes to take that conversation.”

She also doesn’t know what to tell her three children.

“They’re struggling with it, they’re asking, ‘When can we go out there? Are we going to the funeral?’ They’re asking very obvious questions for children that I can’t answer and that’s frustrating, to not be able to let them know when we can visit Grampy, when we can do these things,” she said.

Dying alone all too common during pandemic

While Patrick may feel alone in her grief, tens of thousands of families globally are facing the same harsh reality — forced to say goodbye through a video call or being deprived of even that small connection, due to precautions in place or personal safety decisions made to avoid spreading the infectious disease.

University of Alberta nursing professor Donna Wilson studies end-of-life care, bereavement and what it means to have a good death.

She said while initially many of us were taken by surprise by the pandemic, now that it has been the reality for months, it’s time to find better ways to let people say goodbye.

“There has to be a way around this,” Wilson said.

If a family member thinks it wasn’t a good death … they may have seriously complicated grief.
– Donna Wilson, University of Alberta nursing professor

Wilson said the deathbed goodbye — where loved ones gather around a dying person’s bedside to make amends, and express sentiments that may have previously gone unsaid — is a centuries-old custom for a reason.

“People don’t want to be alone, they want to be surrounded by their family members, the people that really mean something to them… it’s really important because people have the opportunity to say something to the dying person that maybe they never said before.”

She said international research has shown that a good death, which is somewhat expected, largely free from suffering, and in accordance with a patient or their family’s wishes, is vital to the grieving process for those left behind.

“If the family member thinks it wasn’t a good death … they grieve harder and longer and they may never get over the death, they may have seriously complicated grief,” she said.

The families of people who died after getting COVID-19 are sharing the stories of their loved ones to encourage others to do what they can to prevent further spread of the coronavirus. 2:05

That’s the situation Britt Patrick finds herself in.

“You have people who are passing away afraid and alone, why can’t we at least set something up to allow people to say goodbye safely?” she said.

Michael Bittante, the regional director for Extendicare, said while Jennifer Patrick’s family was contacted and informed of her condition, end-of-life visits are not always feasible.

“We continue to provide end-of-life visitation with families when possible, using personal protective equipment and infection control measures. Unfortunately, this is not always possible for a number of reasons, including the progression of a resident’s illness,” he said.

CBC News reached out to Extendicare to clarify the timeline as to when residents are allowed end-of-life visitors, and the company reiterated that it is following provincial directives.

Donna Wilson said it’s important for the government or health officials to step in, as they did to limit visitors to nursing homes, to ensure end-of-life visits happen.

“We’re looking at a lot of people that are going to be really severely damaged if they’re blocked from the deathbed,” she said.

Wilson suggested strategies like bringing in retired nurses to facilitate visits and assist visitors with donning protective equipment, or arranging for visits to be held in private rooms near the entrances of buildings or even in ambulances, that can be cleaned after each visit.

“If you can get a nurse in and out of a hospital safely … you can bring a relative in and out safely.”

Some end-of-life policies were applied too strictly

Dr. Deena Hinshaw, Alberta’s chief medical officer of health, said Wednesday that she knows the protective measures in place at long-term care facilities are causing many residents to feel increasingly isolated and said some end-of-life visitation policies were being applied more strictly than intended.

“There have been some interpretations where some believed the intention of the order was [to only allow visits] in the last few hours of life … it’s very difficult to arrange for visits in that very narrow window,” she said.

“We expect that individuals who are dying must have the opportunity to have their loved ones at their side.”

She said up to two visitors can be allowed to see those estimated to be two weeks away from death, as long as they maintain two metres of physical distance.

While that update doesn’t change anything for Britt Patrick, she’s learned one thing in her grief she wants to share.

“Just take every chance to connect with your loved ones.”

There were 503 cases of COVID-19 in nursing homes across Alberta as of Wednesday.

In the two weeks since an outbreak was declared at Jennifer Patrick’s nursing home, eight residents have died, and 19 residents and 10 staff members have contracted COVID-19.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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How to Deal with Loneliness If You’re Self-Isolated During the Coronavirus Outbreak

Whether you’re truly alone in this difficult period—or just feel alone—these tips from therapist Rachel Wright will help you feel more at peace with the situation.

By Rachel Wright

Humans have always been pack mammals. Go back in time, and you’ll see we like being part of groups and communities.

But then a thing called the internet came along, and it really halted a lot of that in-person connection. That’s why, before the coronavirus crisis even happened, we were already in a “loneliness epidemic.” Basically, before we were being forced to self-isolate, we were already feeling lonely and isolated.

It’s not that feeling lonely on its own is necessarily a bad thing—just like feeling jealousy or stress on its own is not necessarily a bad thing. They’re natural human emotions that you can’t entirely avoid; plus, they can trigger beneficial responses (like realizing your relationship is unhealthy or spurring you into action to get a big project done). But when you experience it chronically, which is what’s starting to happen with this loneliness feeling, that’s when it can start to have repercussions. When you feel lonely, it affects the activation of serotonin and dopamine—two feel-good neurotransmitters—in your brain. Their activation slows down, which can make you feel low, possibly depressed or anxious. And so it’s really challenging when you’re by yourself, and you’re also navigating anxiety, stress, or depression separately in addition to being alone. (More here: What Are the Psychological Effects of Social Distancing?)

How to Manage Loneliness During Social Isolation

If you’re living alone or feeling extremely lonely from lack of social interaction, these strategies could drastically help. Even if you’re surrounded by people but this whole situation has you ~in your feelings~, you can take advantage of some of these strategies as well.

1. Decide how often you want to connect through video.

It’s okay if one day is an all-day affair and you’re just going to be on your phone for most of the waking hours. And it’s okay if there’s a day where you want to put your phone down and not look at it at all and just be with yourself. Figure out what the right balance is for you. On average, I would say one to three face-to-face interactions a day is a healthy number. You don’t necessarily need to be interacting with the other person—for example, just watching an Instagram live could count—as long as you feel really connected and fulfilled by it. (If you’re stuck inside with a partner or S.O., these tips fo relationships and dating might help.)

2. Journal.

If you journaled before, great. If you didn’t, now’s the time to start. (Related: 10 Cute Journals You’ll Actually Want to Write In)

It is going to be very interesting to retroactively look back on how you felt throughout this coronavirus pandemic. Take the time to just sit with yourself and ask:

How am I feeling?

What am I thinking?

What am I doing?

If you’re journaling and you’re starting to feel that discomfort of sitting with your own feelings, know that discomfort was probably there before and you’re just now accessing it. Stick with it and process through that—even if you feel your hand getting tired or like you can’t write as fast as your brain is going. You can also use a voice memo on your phone, especially if you’re more of a talker than a writer. There’s no rule that says the journaling has to be a pen and paper in a book with a lock; it can be anything you want. (Related: Journal Apps for “Writing Down” All Your Thoughts)

Another great journaling prompt is to focus on gratitude. It’s so easy for us to get caught up in what we don’t have anymore and what we’re missing—and it’s ok to write that down. But it can also be really helpful to acknowledge the things you’re really grateful for: Do you have food at home? Do you have toilet paper at home? Are you feeling healthy? Is your family healthy? All these things that, honestly most of us probably take for granted.

I like to sit down in the morning and do a brain dump—I write down anything that’s kind of swirling in my head that I just need to get out. Then I wrote down my gratitude and my intention for the day. And you don’t need to journal for a long time—for it to be beneficial you only need to journal for like one minute.

3. Keep a schedule—including time for self-care.

It can help to write out a schedule in the morning because it encourages you to notice the things that you look forward to that bring you joy—including making time to relax, just like you did when you were leaving the house more.

Just because we’re in a new, unprecedented time doesn’t mean that the things that felt relaxing before aren’t going to work now. If you liked to take a bath with a candle, take a bath with a candle. Think about what you did to relax before this pandemic, start there, and then if that’s not working, you can brainstorm some changes. (Related: The Self-Care Items Shape Editors Are Using At Home to Stay Sane During Quarantine)

And for people who are worried about money or looking for a job, you might be thinking ‘what if I don’t have time to relax? I don’t have time to sink into my feelings.’ Still, I’d say if you don’t take the time to relax and focus on yourself, you’re not going to be in a great place to be creative, to figure out finances, or find solutions. You need to take the time for yourself, no matter what socioeconomic or pandemic position you’re in. (Use these self-care ideas as inspiration.)

4. Get rid of “shoulds” and expectations.

Start from scratch because your expectations for yourself are now different. Collectively, we need to lower the bar for ourselves in a compassionate way. Think: ‘Yeah, I showered today, and that is a win.’ Sometimes our anxiety, our loneliness, or whatever emotion it might be, spikes and it’s hard to change out of sweats; it’s hard to exercise. So when we do these things, we should celebrate and honor the fact that we did it and not in a self-deprecating way. Like, truly, ‘we’re in the middle of a global pandemic, and I took a shower. I’m amazing.’ We need to do that for ourselves and for our friends and family as well.

What to Do When You’re Feeling Especially Anxious, Lonely, or Depressed

First of all, just know that you’re not alone; I don’t know anyone who has not felt some level of anxiety and or depression thus far through this. It’s a normal human emotional response to feel that way right now and period.

When you find yourself spiraling into one of these emotions (and it’s not a chronic issue that you have), imagine that you’re talking to a four-year-old version of yourself. How would you talk to that four-year-old if they said to you, “I’m scared that I’m not going to get to see my friends for two more months.” How would you respond to her? Ideally, you’d meet this little kid with compassion. But when we talk to ourselves, we’re normally like, ‘Ok, you have to push through this. You have shit to get done, you need to do this work.’ And the more that we try to shove it down, the more we try to escape those feelings, they’re just going to come back with even more force and angrier. Sometimes feelings are like that; we just need to acknowledge them with compassion and let ourselves feel them. (Related: Everything You Should Know About Anxiety Disorder)

With what’s going on right now, the fear and anxiety we’re all experiencing makes a lot of sense; there’s so much unknown, and anxiety is based in the unknown. So if you’re thinking, “I don’t like this and I’m feeling anxious,” well, nobody does. Let’s just get that out there—this sucks. It’s the worst feeling.

It can be really helpful to lean into anxiety and use coping tools, even if you’ve never experienced anxiety before. Things like learning about breathwork and practicing grounding breath, limiting your news intake to a certain amount per day (don’t just have CNN on in the background all day; we need to stay informed, but we also can’t take that in all day, every day), and acknowledging the feelings you’re having to someone that you trust and love. So if you’re feeling depressed, if you’re feeling anxious, call a friend, text a friend, and let them know. Say, ‘hey, my anxiety is spiking. I don’t need you to do anything about it. I just, I need to tell somebody.’

Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Internet-Based Socializing?

Everyone will hit a point where they need a break. For me, it was like day two of social distancing. Everyone was reaching out, and, on one hand, it was so wonderful: I would set my phone down for five minutes, and I’d come back to like four missed FaceTime calls and like 82 texts and I thought, “Wow, that’s amazing.”

But then it started creating anxiety: I felt like I had to respond to all of the things coming at me. So there’s a happy medium to find—whether you’re alone or with people. You can still have alone time and find time to socialize just like you would if this wasn’t going on. It’s really easy to think, “Well, I can’t meet up with people in person so I have to be constantly on Zoom or on Instagram with people.” Personally, my screentime shot up from an average of like four hours a day to, yesterday, I was on my phone for nine and a half hours!

That’s not healthy for anybody, even when you’re doing it to connect with other people. It’s really about finding what that “new normal” is for you. I don’t like the term “normal” because we get to times like this and we’re like, ‘I just want to go back to normal,’ and that way of thinking is just going to keep you feeling more frustrated and more stuck.

How to Deal with the Indefinite-ness of It All

Number one is acknowledging it. Say it out loud. If you’re home by yourself, even if you say it to your walls, say it out loud: “I don’t know when this is going to end, and that is scary. I don’t know when this is going to end, and that is horrific.” Whatever word is appropriate for what you’re feeling.

Next, make a list of things you want to do or would like to watch while you’re in quasi-quarantine. Give yourself a bucket list of things—maybe there’s a TV show that you’ve been wanting to watch but haven’t had the time, a project you’ve been meaning to start, or a skill you want to lean. Give yourself things that you can actually accomplish and look forward to within the confines of your home. Maybe Friday you’re working, but Saturday you plan to have a guitar lesson on YouTube—it’s something that you can then still look forward to, even if it’s small.

Lastly, make a post-quarantine bucket list, or a list of things that you want to do once this is all over. This concept is recommended to people when they’re going through things like cancer treatments. It really helps to make a list of what you want to do when you’re feeling healthy and when you can be with your friends again.

How to Deal with a Lack of Physical Touch

This is the hard part. I mean, it’s all hard; let’s just acknowledge that. But this is the one thing that is really hard to replicate and recreate without actually having another human being there with you. The good news is that it’s an opportunity to get into self-love and self-touch. We think of self-touch and most of our minds immediately go to masturbation—but if I’m going to talk about masturbation, I would say masturbation. I’m talking about self-touch as in, literally, take your arm and drag your finger on it. Rub your arm. Then increase the pressure by pressing more deeply. Then go get lotion and rub the lotion into that same part of your arm. Give yourself the physical contact and touch that you are craving from other people. It’s not going to replace it completely—there is no replacement for a human being touching another human being—but it will help in the meantime, and it’s way better than sitting just not touching yourself at all. (Related: The Benefits of Human Touch and How to Get More of It, No Matter Your Relationship Status)

And, yeah, also masturbation. It’s a great time to really take the time to explore your body in all of the ways sexual and non-sexual. Rubbed your feet? See what it feels like to rub your knees. Use this situation as an opportunity to be with yourself with less distraction. (Helloo, mindful masturbation!)

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