Viruses Don't Discriminate: What I Learned From Epidemics and Lockdowns

I moved to Haiti in 2012. Not long after, a hurricane swept through the nation. As that was taking place, I suddenly came down with an (at the time) unidentified illness. I woke up feeling fine, but was delirious and passing into deep sleeps by evening. I don’t remember much about the week following. Most of it was spent in extreme exhaustion with 20+ hour sleep cycles. My fever was high, but my mind was innocent. For 27 years, I was unaware that diseases beyond my understanding even existed. I grew up going to the doctor every time I coughed. I stayed home from school when I had a stomach ache. I went to the nurse’s office at the first sign of a headache. Both my body and my psyche were completely unprepared for this new wave of tropical diseases I would spend the next 8 years accumulating. 

As my time in Haiti continued, I learned I was not alone in the symptoms I had experienced. Most everyone (including both foreigners and locals) have had at least one strand of Dengue Fever in their lifetime. Dengue is characterized by itchy hands as the virus leaves your body. Yes, itchy hands. You see, during my time in Haiti not only did I accumulate a variety of physical illnesses, I also accumulated a doctorate from Web M.D. With lack of proper healthcare, the expat community turned to self-diagnosing our random illnesses and seemingly made-up symptoms, like itchy hands. We grew to become experts helping each other identify fevers and rashes. We even have a Facebook group to ask other non-medical professionals to weigh in on our newest life-threatening illness complete with disgusting photos and TMI descriptions. 

Until this time in my life, I never realized how absolutely privileged my childhood was. I grew up with health class and I learned early on of the complexities of my body, how diseases are spread, when to wash my hands, how to cook my food, and what water was safe to drink. Most importantly, this education taught me that I had value. My body was mine own, to love, to protect, to preserve. I was empowered with control over my body. If something was wrong, I fixed it. If someone threatened it, I had the power to say no. My life, and my body were mine, and I had the control over what happened to it. I learned the hard way, this was not the case for the majority of the world, specifically people living in poverty. 

I learned that in poverty, bodies are at the mercy of unpredictable circumstances. Not only was this proven through the 2010 Haiti earthquake which killed over 250,000 of our friends and family. This was also shown in the little known cholera epidemic that broke out shortly after. An outbreak in which the United Nations would later be held legally responsible for years later. I learned that in poverty, healthcare and hospitals are dark places. Most lack modern education and proper resources to handle even daily activities. I have seen people with open wounds given Tylenol because that is the highest form of painkiller in the entire hospital. I have witnessed gunshot victims waiting hours for a blood transfusion as they bleed out unsure if they will live. I learned that in poverty, there is no “blood bank.” In order to take blood out, you must put blood in. Simply put, this means if you are taken to the ER at midnight, you are not given blood until your friends and family donate blood at one of the few locations the next day. You can’t take blood out, unless you put blood in.

I learned that in poverty diseases sweep entire nations. In 2014, a mosquito borne-illness from Asia took over Haiti. It was called Chikungunya. A word that in English means the “bone-crushing virus.” Every single person I knew had Chikungunya. In fact, my parents who visited for 7 days went back to Minnesota with Chikununya as their parting gift. A few years after, Zika took over Haiti. Everyone I knew had it. Myself included. And now, Coronavirus. But this time, I am back in the United States. Wrapping my head around this epidemic is difficult. Part of me is jaded by the thought of another virus. Been there, done that. But another part of me is concerned. I am concerned for our friends and family who do not have what it takes to make it through this. Of course, I am referring to physical health, but I am also referring to the economic safety net that the majority of the world does not have. 

When Chikungunya and Zika took over Haiti, locals did not have the choice to go to work or not. Women still had to struggle with their virus-crippled bodies, carrying vegetables on their heads to sell at the market. Shoe shiners had to take their fever-ridden selves to the streets hoping to make $1 that day. Countries like this do not have the privilege of social distancing. Living day-to-day, meal-to-meal, doesn’t leave room for the privilege of isolation. Taking the risk of getting Coronavirus outweighs the reality of not eating that day. 

I learned that viruses don’t discriminate. They do not care about the state of your economy, or your work deadline, or even your age. Newborns, elderly, black, white, rich, or poor, everyone has a chance at becoming a victim. The discrimination lies in the recovery. Who will recover? How fast? What will be the long-term effects? These are questions we are all struggling with. And when the future seems unknown, it can be scary. But, if poverty taught me a lot about darkness, it also taught me a lot about light. Human beings and societies have the ability to overcome almost any obstacle. The same hospitals where I watched people suffer, are the same places where I learned about strength. The same viruses that tried to take me out are the moments where I learned about my own privileges and how I could use that to change the lives of others. The places where I saw death and destruction are the places I learned that friends and family and prayer are what will get you back up when you keep falling down. I learned that in poverty, people matter. Communities matter. Each day matters. So if nothing else, what we must realize during this seemingly dark time, is that we are stronger than we know. We are more interconnected than we realize. Maybe we are not so different from our neighbors across the sea, because after all, viruses don’t discriminate.