In his thoughtful piece “Numb” (Spring 2019 Intima), Nikhil Barot writes, “What is numbness? Is it an inability to feel, or is it just another word for fear, of not knowing what comes next? Perhaps it’s a fear of speaking about pain, of telling a stranger or loved one ‘I suffer in ways you’ve never known.’”
Laura-Anne White is a registered nurse who works primarily with adult cancer patients. Art and writing serve as a healthy outlet and source of joy for her. She created this piece in April, while working on an inpatient Covid-19+ cancer unit in New York City. Her artwork “Grip” appears in the Fall 2020 Intima.
Barot uses the concept of self-protective numbness to paint a portrait of his encounters with a patient suffering from widespread cancer.
I have spent my career as a nurse working with adult cancer patients. I, too, have experience with the self-protective tool of ‘numbing.’ Last spring, the COVID-19 pandemic hit New York City at full force, and I was temporarily transferred to an inpatient, COVID-19-positive cancer unit. I saw no one aside from co-workers, patients and other essential workers. I can only describe NYC as apocalyptic during this time. I tried to ignore the freezer trucks of bodies I passed on my bike rides to and from work, eerily metaphoric for the way I had to compartmentalize what I was seeing at work.
I would be telling a lie if I said this experience did not have a profound impact on me. I became numb, frozen. Unable to process the amount of suffering and loss that was occurring before my eyes, a sort of mental lidocaine set in, removing my sense of feeling. I could not have done my job without it.
One shift, a coworker on the COVID-19 unit placed her hand on my shoulder to get my attention. I remember thinking, ‘That feels nice, keep it there.’ We laughed together, but it was revealing of how disconnected I was. I painted my piece, “Grip,” sometime in April as I reflected on my hunger for touch, as well as the many ways people were supporting one another and me personally. During a time of isolation, the love of people in my life was the only sure grip I had.
Hopelessness is an experience I suspect most are familiar with after this year. Amidst a sort of global hemorrhage, I take solace in pieces of evidence that suggest we have gained even a small bit of empathy for one another. Just as COVID-19 began to let up in NYC, protestors took to the streets to speak out against racial injustice. People from varying backgrounds—racial, cultural and social—banded together, reaching for change and progress while holding one another in support . They know the stakes, but keeping this hold secure feels like the way forward.
With time, my numbness has begun to wear off. One day in August, I got an alert on my phone, Zero COVID-19-related deaths in New York City today, and I wept. This was the start of the thaw, and I am feeling again. Sadness, fear and despair intermingle with joy, love and in certain moments—even some hope.
Laura-Anne White is a registered nurse who works primarily with adult cancer patients. At present, she resides in California, and has worked previously in Minnesota and New York. Art and writing serve as a healthy outlet and source of joy for her. She created this piece in April, while working on an inpatient Covid-19+ cancer unit in New York City. Artist's statement: "We are living in times of change - the only way forward is together." Find her on Instagram @lawhite_art or visit her website. All proceeds from the sale of prints of “Grip” go to Black Women's Health Imperative. Her artwork “Grip” appears in the Fall 2020 Intima
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