Psychic Scars Linger in Wuhan after COVID-19 Subsides
By CHRISSY ZHU
Gutian Bridge, Wuhan, China. Photo: Chen.
The traditional Qixi Festival usually comes at the end of August in the Gregorian calendar. In modern Chinese culture, people celebrate this day as Valentine’s Day – lovers exchange gifts and merchants promote sales. This year in Wuhan, where COVID-19 first emerged and tormented the city for months, people relished this romantic holiday through retaliatory consumption and outdoor activities. Wuhan has regained its economic vitality and prosperity at an even faster pace than many other places on Earth. Still, after the virus was brought under control, pandemic-related mental health problems began to enter the public eye. In fact, trauma treatment and psychological counselling will become major public issues in the post-pandemic era – for Wuhan and the rest of the world.
Chen (out of privacy concern, she asked to use her first name only) is a second-year doctoral student majoring in media and communications at a university in Beijing, who grew up in Wuhan. Chen and her parents stayed in isolation for over 90 days, during which time both she and her father suffered from severe depression and anxiety. Moreover, Chen’s personal experience of being verbally bullied by one of her schoolmates to some extent reflects the collective plight of Wuhan residents in the early stage of the pandemic. Although such stigmatization has gradually decreased as people’s understanding of COVID-19 deepens, the long-term mental health recovery of the epicenter’s residents deserves more awareness and understanding.
“When Zhong Nanshan’s name was once again tied to an outbreak, everyone began to feel nervous.”
“One day, my friend called me to buy some ‘N95,’” Chen said, “I had even no idea what that was then.”
Like many Wuhan residents, Chen did not take it seriously when rumors of an “unidentified virus” spread on Weibo – the most widely used social media platform in China – in mid-December 2019. “I didn’t believe a word. I thought that was just the most common spam online,” Chen said. But her attitude entirely changed after reading in mainstream media such as CCTV News and Chutian Metropolis Daily that the leading pulmonologist Zhong Nanshan visited Wuhan and confirmed that such virus existed and was “transmissible among people.” “My family started to panic because we all trust Zhong Nanshan. You know, he has long been a household name,” Chen said.
Zhong Nanshan is one of the most famous scientists in China. Zhong gained his fame for managing the 2002-2004 SARS outbreak, a pandemic that infected over 5,000 people and killed over 300 people in Mainland China. “I think most of us still have fresh memories about SARS – Beijing was locked down, schools were closed, someone took your temperature wherever you went. So, this time when Zhong Nanshan’s name was once again tied to an outbreak, everyone began to feel nervous,” Chen explained.
Chen and her mother rushed out to stock up on daily supplies and sanitary products on January 21, preparing for a spontaneous stay at home, not knowing how long it might last. “What happened later proved that we were still too naïve,” Chen laughed bitterly and said, “My mother taunted me for picking rice and oil – ‘You’re overreacting.’ So, I didn’t end up taking them but just bought some snacks and instant noodles, which were not sufficient for even a week. Of course, we guessed there would be a lockdown, but no one expected the lockdown would last that long.”
The official notice regarding the Wuhan lockdown came in the early hours of January 23. Chen remembered clearly that she stayed up almost all night, observing what was on the social media platforms, Weibo and Douban, and could not help feeling worried. On the one hand, reports said that the situation in the hospitals was worsening. The province lacked capacity to conduct nucleic acid tests; infections were rising rapidly; and doctors still knew little about how to treat this new virus. On the other hand, she saw a flood of discriminatory remarks about Wuhan in the public sphere from people in other regions of China. Internet speeches blamed Wuhan people’s dietary habits, blamed them for taking the virus to the whole country, and blamed them for traveling out of the province.
“Those censures are too arrogant. Wuhan is a megacity with so many local residents and migrant workers – it’s impossible to make everyone stay where they are right away, especially during the Chinese New Year holidays,” Chen said, dismayed.
“There was a moment I felt like something choked me.”
Strict lockdown measures came into effect in the morning of January 23: public transportation was suspended, all the courier companies were out of service, residents were not allowed to go out and must self-report their daily temperature to their community’s temporary pandemic prevention office via WeChat.
The community supermarket published their “weekly combo” information to the WeChat group so that Chen could order food online and collect it at a fixed time every week. Delivery motorcyclists were almost the only group who were able to move around the streets freely. “Thanks to the government’s price-limiting initiatives, the prices of living materials were not rising at all. But the delivery fee increased dozens of times. That was understandable, but we rarely bought food in this way due to the high costs,” Chen introduced.
Since Chen’s family did not store enough food in the first two weeks of the quarantine, they decided to eat only one meal every day. Later, when the food supply became relatively abundant, they still kept this “rule” – an early sign of the pandemic’s lingering psychological impact.
“That may sound like an exaggeration,” Chen said, “but the uncertainty about the future could really kill you. Checking the filled fridge was the source of my sense of security.”
Chen used to check the fridge every day. Photo: Chen.
“Around one month later, my father was troubled by serious psychological problems,” Chen said painfully, “he used to be such a gregarious guy who dined out and played mahjong (a traditional Chinese tile-based game) with friends almost every night. He is a businessman – social activities are not only part of his job but also his biggest hobby. And aged people like him were unaccustomed to text or call friends through communication software, which aggravated his loneliness.”
In March, Chen’s father’s physical and mental condition declined further: insomnia, irritability, and reluctance to talk. Since Chen’s family has a few relatives working in hospitals, any message from them would make him nervous and worried. Even the good news such as the fast development of medical treatment failed to dispel his concerns. “Actually, my father is not good at expressing feelings to the closest people,” Chen said, “to him, telling his wife or daughter about his anxiety will undermine his masculinity. So, he would rather remain silent, which makes things worse.” With nothing else to do, Chen’s father vented his anger and anxiety through excessive exercise – running on a treadmill for more than four hours a day. With such a large amount of physical exertion, coupled with inadequate food intake, he lost about 30 pounds in 40 days.
“As for myself, I was almost getting used to the new lifestyle and doing my best to continue academic activities online,” Chen recalled, “but what happened at the end of February completely scared me.”
As a doctoral student, Chen needed to keep in close contact with other students mentored by the same professor. There were seven students in Chen’s academic group, and they mostly shared information through WeChat.
“One day, I asked a schoolmate to send me a paper material but didn’t get a reply. Hours later, I texted her again,” Chen said, “then she sent me a picture of a blood-stained dead mouse and said, ‘I wish you a happy Rat Year. Stay in Wuhan, and you’re poisonous enough to kill any virus.’”
“There was a moment I felt like something choked me,” Chen said in as calm a tone as possible, “I still can’t believe these vicious words coming from an educated woman.”
Chen cried several times after the horrible experience, but she chose not to tell her parents because “they were depressed enough.” From then on, Chen, the only one able to cheer the family up, stopped telling jokes during lunch time.
“It’s always fun to help others.”
The attempts to self-heal ran through Chen’s entire quarantine. In the beginning, she tried common methods such as meditation and mindfulness training but received minimal effect. She also tried talking to a psychotherapist online, but due to a lack of face-to-face communication, it was difficult to build trust and she abandoned this kind of treatment quickly. Although a few friends actively showed their care about her quarantine life, those “superficial communication” such as “how’s your life” “everything will be alright” not only did not help her to gain relief but made her even more tired.
“I appreciated their concern, but more often, I felt like I was the one who comforted others,” Chen said, “and I couldn’t stop thinking of being infected.”
However, signs of revival appeared after a long phone call with a more senior classmate in her graduate program. During an online discussion in March, Chen could not control her emotions and cried in front of the camera. The presiding student canceled their meeting and called her immediately.
“He shared his personal story of the isolation in Beijing during the SARS pandemic in 2002. That was exactly what I needed – a person who had the same experience and understood me,” Chen said, “he told me the Internet was underdeveloped and there were no social media then, so he was able to make full use of the time to focus on his favorite literature.” After that warm call, Chen felt a little relieved. Additionally, she reduced her time spent online and tried to focus on her academic project. Although self-healing was still a bumpy process, she began to accept her anxiety and pain..
In March, the number of daily confirmed cases in Wuhan continued to decline. At the community level, rigorous quarantine requirements loosened. For example, the temporary community management team – consisting of street officers, neighborhood committee, and property management staff – posted volunteer recruiting information in the WeChat group to engage residents in distributing household items and sanitary products. Chen’s father signed up for volunteer activities. His main job was to help the elderly with reduced mobility to pick up those items. He said that the volunteer work was not only his sole chance to go out of his apartment, but also the only source of happiness during his quarantine since “it’s always fun to help others.”
A “strange duality”
Wuhan officially lifted travel restrictions on April 8, 2020, after the 11-week lockdown. But Chen’s family did not leave their community until May out of fear of dense crowds. At first, they just took a 10-minute walk in front of their apartment building, and they increased the length of outdoor activities day by day. In May, Wuhan held a grand light show to celebrate the achievements of fighting the coronavirus, but Chen’s mother opted not to leave her room. As Chen explains, her mother is still worried about going out even with masks and latex gloves and has a new habit of hoarding food and doing thorough house cleaning almost every day.
At the end of June, Chen embarked on a trip to Hunan province to visit a friend. When she arrived at the hotel, the front desk manager noticeably hesitated to process the check-in after seeing Wuhan as the “place of issue” on her ID. Despite Chen’s repeated explanation that she was allowed to travel and posed no threat of contagion, the hotel manager insisted on placing her in a corner room on the highest floor and “advised her not to go out but stay at where she was from.”
At the ticket office of a scenic spot in Changsha, Hunan, Chen told the conductor that she was from Wuhan in response to the greeting “where are you from.” However, after hearing her words, several tourists around her immediately covered their masks with hands and ran away.
Although Chen felt aggrieved, she said those actions were “understandable” since “fear is natural.” But she also said that unprovoked fear was still hurting.
Chen said that there was a “strange duality.” On the one hand, she felt the whole society cared about the residents in the pandemic epicenter: scenic spots and restaurants organized coupons exclusively for Hubei people, her favorite blogger posted original comics to encourage them, and the well-respected Zhong Nanshan called Wuhan a “hero city.” On the other hand, based on the suspicion she personally encountered, Chen believed that in the short term, people still could not completely eliminate their concerns toward anything related to Wuhan.
Chen said the reason why she was able to mentally recover from the outbreak was the company of her parents and the support of friends. Such power could always help her to overcome the occasional unpleasantness. “That’s the most important lesson for me,” she said. In fact, the outbreak leaves an important lesson for almost everyone: it allows us to re-examine the interpersonal relationships with both close ones and strangers. As COVID-19 continues to plague the planet, everyone should probably remember which one we are fighting: virus or people. Meanwhile, the outbreak also provides a good opportunity for more people to face up to their mental health conditions. In the post-pandemic era, how to help those people eliminate the mental haze should become a global focus.