On September 20th, I rolled out of bed and logged on to a Microsoft Teams meeting, unsure of what to expect. I had volunteered for the CREATE Team’s Community-Led Response Training, a simulation designed to certify participants in contact tracing procedures, for the presumed inevitability of another pandemic.
Over the course of the day, I was to take on three characters: a sister, a teacher, and a mother. For each, I was given a brief set of biographical information: personality traits, health conditions, potential exposures, symptoms, and a category labeled “challenges and concerns.” Each of these three characters had remarkably simple concerns, primarily about finances or the health of their loved ones.
Since the COVID-19 pandemic “ended,” I have tried my best not to remember it. In many aspects, I was lucky. My school transitioned to virtual learning surprisingly easily, so I never fell behind. I lived near a really nice nature trail, so I spent plenty of time outside, counting the animals that emerged in the absence of the normal foot traffic. I had – and have – a very supportive family and a large circle of friends, so I never truly felt alone.
I always considered myself to be lucky, to have had a better experience in most, and so I never truly considered my “challenges and concerns” and how these have shaped me today. I fret over my parents’ health, because both of them got COVID-19. I always carry hand sanitizer and disinfecting wipes, because I got used to the awareness of infection. I wear a mask and keep my distance when I feel under the weather, because I know the danger of the spread. I never wanted to think about where all my habits and routines changed.
Throughout the course of the simulation, I found myself bombarded with the language of contagion. Participants asked “me” about symptoms and advised me to isolate and quarantine. I was asked if “I” had sufficient PPE – referring to cleaning supplies and surgical masks – to protect “myself” and “my” family.
After the call ended, I laid in my bed and stared at the tiles of my dorm room ceiling, trying to sort out my feelings about the conversations I had throughout the day. I was a jumbled mess of memories and what-ifs, and ultimately, picked up my pen and started to write the first version of this article.Â
In the end, as I drafted and edited, what I landed on was hope. Even as we acknowledge the growing potential for future pandemics, there are efforts in place to prepare. There are still people who remember and care enough to protect others, and they are spending their time learning new skills to ensure we are ready. This simulation is just one of many quiet initiatives where the hard-learned lessons of the COVID-19 pandemic are being used to shape our future, and I am so honored that I got to assist in this process.