Missing My Moons: What Social Isolation Has Taught Me About Myself
Eat. Sleep. Learn.
My daily “to-do” list has diminished to only a few things now.
If I am being completely honest with myself, those three things are all it has ever really included since I started medical school this past August. I have lived the last several months trying to eat all the pancakes Dr. Sorrells once spoke of. Some days my stomach growls with hunger, but other days I am trying to force down even just a couple more bites.
After seven months, I sit here — stuck in isolation.
Unit A of a small duplex in Terrace Heights was once a place I used only to close my eyes for a few moments in between lectures. It has now become the entirety of my existence. Nonetheless, it provides everything I need to cross off my three big boxes each day. From this house I can do everything that is asked of me.
However, something is missing. To begin to investigate this problem, I think it is easiest to wind the clocks back one year.
This time last year I was serving as an AmeriCorps member in a small town in southern Colorado. I specifically served at a non-profit called The PALS Children’s Program of La Puente, where we mentored 5- to 9-year-old kiddos who all had a history of trauma, abuse, neglect, or (far too often) all three.
These youngsters had each been through more than I ever could imagine enduring in a lifetime. My job was to help them find the tools to succeed; to help get them back on track in school, and help them prepare for life.
What does that look like? Most of the time, I didn’t really know.
To help them get on track in school, I spent time in the classroom with each kid each day. This was my favorite part of my service. I felt like I knew how to help them the most at school. I felt like in the classroom I could actually make a difference. I based my efforts off what was expected of them in school. Ironically, those expectations were to eat, sleep, learn, and play.
Yes, play!
Play was always a crucial ingredient for our students’ cognitive growth. From what I witnessed last year, elementary schoolers spend most of their day playing. There were coloring pages to help us learn math, computer games that simplified learning the alphabet, songs that helped us learn colors, crosswords to build our vocabulary, and dancing to get the wiggles out so we could do it all again.
I say “us” because the inner 7-year-old Austin also loves to play! As it turns out, at 24-years-old, I have a lot in common with that younger version of myself.
So, as I examined my current state of social separation, I couldn’t help to wonder: is play what is missing?
As a medical student, I don’t have much time to do the things that bring me joy outside of medicine. That has been the case since I started, and I do not expect it to change. Although it happens a lot less now and I am confined to Unit A, I still try and let my mind and spirit run wild. This has taken weird forms for me (including writing this story for you), but it’s still a form of play, and it’s still crucial.
Going back to elementary school also taught me the importance of friendship. In my opinion, the real benefit of elementary school is that you get to play with others all day long and make many friends.
Friends at your table. Friends in your class. Friends from other classes. Friends in other grades. And perhaps most important of all, your teachers.
Oh, and don’t forget that tall guy from the PALS Program.
These interactions help to shape the growth of young children. While serving with the program I got to have a small role in that for a number of children. This meant that for me, friendship was less than 50 inches tall and weighed less than 50 pounds.
Since young kids do not really appreciate the concept of personal space, I had a constant orbit of smaller humans. Picture something similar to the Earth and the moon. However, it is important to note that I probably looked more like Jupiter, for I am a giant in comparison to little children, and because I had significantly more moons than Earth.
Sitting here in isolation amid the COVID-19 outbreak, I realize more than ever that I need moons. It’s the reason I enjoy BHH 301 — even with all its exam time terror.
In that auditorium I am surrounded by 140+ others in the same struggle with the same goal. I find comfort learning in the presence of my classmates. Knowing that they are all working toward becoming physicians is very inspiring to me. I can look around and see the family physicians, the anesthesiologists, the oncologists, the surgeons, the pediatricians, and all the awesome others.
So… I guess my problem is that I am missing you.
This time is hard for everyone in different ways. So I will close by saying that I wish you all a successful struggle. I wish you all get the resources that you will each need. Lastly, for those of us that need it, I wish for moons to orbit you (not to close, of course). This will not be easy, but I believe we will all come out of it stronger together.
Austin Baumeister, ENS O-1, MC, USNR
Osteopathic Medical Student, First-Year (OMS I)
Pacific Northwest University of Health Sciences