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siren
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2020-05-17
Bells, Breezes, and Sirens
The warmest April on record, yet we were all stuck inside. The streets usually congested with the honks of angry black cabbies, the loud hum of overused mufflers on double decker buses and the low rumble of the tube running underfoot were silent. The metropolis of over nine million people had come to a standstill. Windows usually closed to protect against the sleet or smog, were opened to quiet clean breezes. London felt serene, almost idyllic, until the piercing siren of an ambulance run would cut through that fairytale. Before COVID I never paid attention to the St. John’s Ambulance First Aid Training facility on my street, only occasionally seeing the paramedics pop in the Arabic supermarket next door during lunch. As the news was counting the number of days we were in lockdown, I started counting the number of ambulances lining my street; popping my head out the open windows, looking up and down the road. However, sitting in my favorite chair in my flat, back to the window, I could avoid the grim sight, a constant reminder of the reality of the pandemic. I would take my tea in that purple chair, alternating between endless Netflix shows and books, the church bells across the street the only thing to remind me of time. The warm sun and smog less breeze would join the bells drifting through the open windows. Through the books and shows, I not only escaped COVID but my small London flat. The silence of the city amplifying my imagination, only to be shattered by that first initial scream of the sirens, jolting me back to reality. Willing to sacrifice the warm breeze at my back, I closed my windows to protect my ears and the fantasies I had created. However, the double paned windows, sturdy enough to block out the honks of angry black cabbies, were no match for the sirens. Unable to even slightly defend against the shock of the sirens when surrounded by the new silence of the city, I learned to live with it. I reopened my windows to let in bells, breezes, and sirens, instead tuning my ear to notice the ambulance’s first turn of the engine to brace for the piercing scream that would soon follow. As the days continued, my ears started to acclimate to this new normal, with each ambulance run making me jump a little less off my chair. Though my body and mind would never accept the sound enough to not to jolt me even from the deepest sleep, as if to remind me that this was anything but normal. -
2020-04-15
An Unacceptable Wall of Sound
I live in Austin, Texas, in a neighborhood that is both in the approach flight pattern for Austin-Bergstrom International Airport and contains a hospital with a Level 1 Trauma Center and a helipad. During the first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic, the soundscape of neighborhood abruptly changed. The first thing I noticed, in the early days of a city-wide “stay-at-home” order was that I could hear more birds in the trees outside my second story apartment. It took a few days for me to realize that it was because the birdsong was not being drowned out by the sound of airplanes landing at the nearby runway. At the time I remember thinking that, perhaps, the sound of the birds was something I could look forward to every morning as I navigated suddenly having to find a new job due to the pandemic. Soon, the sound of landing airplanes was replaced with a sound that much harder to ignore. Ambulance sirens. It became noticeable after the first week, with ambulances arriving at the hospital several times an hour. By week three, it was a near constant drone broken up only by helicopters bringing even more critical patients into the city for care. By week eight, I stopped even noticing the sound of ambulances at all. The sound of the pandemic became so commonplace that my brain learned to filter out the wall of sirens as background noise. I often wonder how many ambulances carried patients who never left the hospital and how much suffering, fear, and sadness became “background noise” for us all. Given that we are entering into year three of the pandemic, and the United States has registered nearly one million COVID-19 deaths, it pains me to realize to know that number is far higher than any of us should have accepted. -
2020-04
Hope Is All We Have
Similar to many other Americans, the difficult months of March and April provoked a feeling of fear of what is to become when we return to “normalcy” in me. I still remember watching news channels constantly breaking the news of hospitals being overcrowded and insufficient storage of bodies making me terrified. The non-stop sirens were a reminder of the heart-wrenching situation we were living in every moment. I realize that we may never return to normal again. As we slowly return to our respective workplaces and institutions, I expect a more cautious attitude in New Yorkers. Some changes include less crowded trains and buses, fewer social gatherings, and less physical contact. Previously, crowdedness and liveliness were the essence of New York City but I do not expect this to remain to the same extent now. However, one positive change I expect in people is a kinder and compassionate attitude towards one another. These few months of quarantine have taught us to appreciate all that we have more. I expect New York City to develop a greater community outreach with New Yorkers looking out for one another. Having been one of the hardest hit cities in the world, we will evidently have more guidelines and safety precautions in effect once we return which will serve as a reminder of the battle that we have faced. I believe that each life we lose will soften the hearts of New Yorkers and unite us in our strength to overcome. When we look back upon this crisis, we will remember the frustration of being restricted to our homes, the fear of hearing the news of a lost loved one, and the anticipation of the good news of a treatment.