What gives a person’s life ‘meaning’? Is there a universal definition of what is most important to people? Do people prioritise living a long life over most (or all) other things? Or do some people consider certain circumstances to be worse than death?
At the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, it seemed as though questions of this nature were completely ignored in favour of a broad strategy of COVID-zero at absolutely all costs. Perhaps this absolutism was justified in the first few weeks of the pandemic, until we had more information on the mode of transmission and rates of case fatalities, but it quickly became clear that the harsh measures invoked in the name of safety (or safetyism), would be part of our lives for months (and now years) to come.
I think we can probably all agree that the Australian pandemic management strategies allegedly designed to protect the elderly and vulnerable failed in myriad ways. Not only have many facilities had deadly COVID-19 outbreaks, residents in most aged care facilities have experienced onerous lockdowns during which they have been unable to see their families and/or other loved ones. Similarly, hospitals altered visiting policies (some of which remain in place today) to reduce the risk of COVID-19 entering their facilities, and elderly and otherwise vulnerable people in our communities have also experienced isolation. If you dared suggest that these measures might have negative consequences, baseless vilification and calls of ‘grandma killer’ ensued.
We told these vulnerable people these rules were for them and we were all ‘doing the right thing’ to keep them safe. Governments used them to show they were taking positive action and as the means to score easy political points. But did we ever think to ask any of them what they thought or what they wanted? Of course some of these people would have chosen to stay in their homes or facilities voluntarily in the hopes they could avoid COVID-19 forever (which we now understand beyond doubt, is not possible). But for some, they may have wished to assess their own risk in the context of what is import to them.
Take a moment to consider an elderly person admitted to hospital and unable to be visited by their spouse of several decades. In some instances, people like this have died lonely deaths, unable to have the comfort of their loved ones in their presence as they took their final breaths. Some had cognitive issues which meant no matter how often or how reassuringly healthcare staff placated them, they simply could not understand why their loved ones were absent in their hour of need. How do situations like this affect the partner (and other family/friends) left behind? What about a person recently diagnosed with a terminal illness and given weeks or months to live? How might they have felt being told to remain in their house to avoid COVID-19, knowing they would die in the near future anyway? Gone was any opportunity to fulfil ‘bucket list’ activities and squeeze whatever small joy might be had in the wake of such a soul-destroying diagnosis and rapidly approaching demise. There are many other examples of people who need (and I mean ‘need’ literally) the company of others – whether they be loved ones, faith-based mentors, so-called ‘non-essential’ healthcare staff, or others – in order to survive and live a healthy and meaningful life (and perhaps experience a meaningful and dignified death).
By the time the COVID-19 pandemic took hold, all of my grandparents were thankfully deceased. I say ‘thankfully’ not because they are not loved and missed daily, but because it makes me beyond sad to think that their final days may have been spent in isolation from us. My maternal grandparents were warm but stoic people who had both been in the armed services during the Second World War and endured the terror of a persistent and deadly bombing campaign in the United Kingdom. They adored their children, so much so that when my uncle announced he planned to move to Australia as soon as his age permitted, they packed up their whole family and moved here together. They spent mere months living more than a few kilometres away from my parents when my brother and I were born, and they were at every important family gathering and milestone and then some. I can’t say for certain, but I strongly believe that if they had been locked away in the aged care facility where they lived together at the end of their lives, unable to see us, that would have been a fate worse than death for them – and one which would not necessarily have prevented death anyway given the outbreaks experienced by some aged care facilities.
I understand the logistics of doing things differently would have been difficult and likely expensive, but I can’t help thinking that in our haste to ‘keep people safe’ and to ‘save lives’, we have caused untold pain and suffering which has hurt a number of the very people were all anxious to protect. The trauma inflicted on the loved ones left behind will only be truly realised in the years to come, when it once again becomes acceptable to share one’s personal experiences without ridicule, and when we finally accept that COVID-19 is unbeatable and that any attempts to manage it must not be ‘one size fits all’, but rather nuanced and person-centred. Some people may want to avoid death at all costs, but for others those costs are just too much to pay to avoid death – something which at some point will be inescapable for all of us.
There are many things that are worse than death, and social isolation is one of them!