The Sorrow of War

I recently read an article[1] explaining that the underlying discomfort people are experiencing during this coronavirus pandemic is grief. In it, David Kessler, author of Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief, describes a number of different losses: loss of normalcy, loss of connection, loss of safety, the realization that things will be different, and anticipatory grief of an uncertain future. This realization rang true for me, since I have dealt with a similar feeling before, as have many veterans.

I was deployed to Iraq for the first time in 2006. I knew that any time I travelled on the roads, there was always a chance that an IED (improvised explosive device – not to be confused with an IUD, always a possible slip of the tongue for me in medical school!) might explode underneath our vehicle or one nearby. We lived in a constant state of low-level stress, not knowing if mortars or rockets would hit our base. But our way of dealing with that stress and anxiety was with trust and faith. Trust in our training so that we could focus on doing our job well, faith in our coworkers as we all relied on the people to our left and right, knowledge that some things were just out of our control, and finally, if applicable, faith in one’s God or a spiritual being with whom you’ve made your peace, since you could die at any moment. My brigade alone had about 40 killed in action that deployment, and even more injured or lost to suicide. I attended countless memorials. But relying on the others around us and on the things we could control and on the others around us helped those of us remaining make it through. We made sure to include lighthearted moments, never losing our sense of humor (gallows humor that it may have been). Many veterans now on the frontlines in the healthcare system have recognized the similarity of a combat deployment to these times of uncertainty, and thus can represent hope, since they are aware of the resilience of the human spirit.

I discovered my own resilience later on in my Army career. I tackled an even more difficult situation than a deployment, saddled with more grief than I could imagine, when my husband of ten years was tragically killed in an avalanche. I moved through the various stages and waves of grief with the skills I built in the Army: trust and faith, in my family and friends who were there for me, in my coworkers who helped pick up my slack, and in myself, to seek therapy and stay engaged in physical activity.

The grief never goes away, but it changes, and usually lessens. The grief people are experiencing from loss due to the corona virus will continue, but will lessen and change over time. It may be the literal loss of a family member, friend, or coworker; loss of a job and financial security; or loss of the ability to celebrate a wedding or graduation from high school, college, or medical school. Naming these feelings as grief will help you to move through it. It helps to acknowledge this as temporary, and to remember that we will find purpose and meaning in it. I have continued to engage with and discuss death, grief, and my journey whenever I have the chance, including through writing, as I have proceeded through my medical education. One such article I wrote recounts my experience with receiving a death notification, how I have learned the value of human connection, and how I hope to continue gathering meaning and purpose as I move forward as an emergency medicine physician (see the article here: https://nyti.ms/3cnEuzn).

Melissa Thomas, MPH, MBA, MHA is a graduating medical student from Yale School of Medicine and matched to join the Yale Emergency Medicine Residency Program. She is a graduate of West Point, US Army veteran 2004-2015, and a 2016 Pat Tillman Foundation Scholar.

[1] https://hbr.org/2020/03/that-discomfort-youre-feeling-is-grief 

Melissa Thomas, MPH, MBA, MHA