machado: canceling game after hamlin's collapse shows taking a break after trauma is non-negotiable
we are conditioned to keep on going, pull up our socks and dust ourselves off, but maybe it's healthier to just lie there for awhile in the dusty overwhelm and take a moment to process and recover.
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the message on social media has been consistent: no matter what your team colour, we're in this together, you're not alone. getty
even if you aren’t a football fan, news of the collapse of buffalo bills safety damar hamlin during a game against the cincinnati bengals on jan. 2, no doubt touched you, whether by social media or chats in the grocery store line.
how interesting and affecting it has been watching this story play out. thousands of people were witnesses in real-time to the efforts of the bills’ 13-person medical team to revive hamlin. that alone is scary and anxiety-provoking. add in the repeated pans of cameras to his coaches and shocked team members who had taken a knee, some weeping at the sidelines, and it becomes downright traumatic. even worse, perhaps, is the social media-enabled ability the rest of us had to watch — and rewatch — every tense second from the moment he fell to when his body left the field.
fans watching at home had the option to look away
and while fans watching on television or on their devices had the option to look away, change the channel, or swipe to something a little lighter — dog videos, perhaps — fans at the game, coaches and teammates did not. it took awhile to decide whether to keep playing — some say the nfl actually planned to restart — but it was clear that the fragility of life had trumped the importance of a sport. it was impossible to continue. wrong, even.
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what a luxury for everyone on the field that day to have a break and the permission to take time to process the whole ordeal.
when my brother died of cardiac arrest, he was alone in an icu. my mom and i didn’t witness it, we weren’t allowed to see him when he was alive because of covid visitor restrictions. but we had our imaginations and the doctor’s account of his passing, which in many ways is hauntingly worse than having seen it for ourselves. we didn’t understand how such a thing could happen. we had so many questions — and still do. a chaplain whispering the psalm the lord is my shepherd knelt beside my mom who was sobbing on the floor beside my brother’s bed, asking me to tell her that her son was not really gone. i was holding his pale face, and a woman who said she was a social worker had come to stand quietly beside me. even now, almost two years later, the images from that day are both bright and grey, and if memories had sound, these ones scream inside my head.
it was just us and a clear plastic bag with my brother’s clothes
when we finally gathered our things to leave after what seemed like forever (it felt so wrong and horrible to just leave him there) my mom and i walked down a long grey hall, the floor was a dated tile pattern made up of small light and dark blue octagons. no one took a knee, no one was blasting out prayers for our family on twitter, it was just us, our grief, and a clear plastic bag with my brother’s clothes, shoes, water bottle and phone.
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there was also no game postponement, no time given to process. it was impossible to continue, and yet we did, with calls to family, reliving the events of the day over and over, planning funeral arrangements, worrying about his kids, emptying his house. we continued on — because it felt like we should, because maybe others thought it was time, because it’s not considered normal or healthy to halt your life to give your heart the space it needs to process a traumatic event.
a friend said almost these exact words during the summer last year. she had finished both her last chemo treatment for breast cancer and the last community casserole that neighbours had been leaving on her porch every week for six months.
“what just happened?” she had asked. it had been a gruelling bunch of months with excruciating side effects, infections and disfiguring scars. her mom thought she should get back to her job as a teacher as soon as possible — “it’s good to get back into the swing of things,” she told her — but my friend just wanted to “chill”: “i just need a moment to figure out the hell i have just been through.”
it’s true we are conditioned in some ways to keep on going, pull up our socks and dust ourselves off, but maybe it’s healthier to just lie there for awhile in dusty overwhelm and just … think. and if you’re thinking that sounds weak, consider this: people who are trained — trained! — to deal with trauma benefit from (and do better when) taking a proverbial knee after experiencing something terrible. in her commentary on the impact of hamlin’s collapse on witnesses, dr. ilana stol, a geriatrics and palliative care physician in south carolina, writes about the stress and trauma of doing cpr from a doctor’s perspective. whether a patient dies or survives, she says, it’s important for physicians to pause in order to bring closure, decrease distress and make room to acknowledge feelings. so shouldn’t all of us take the doctor’s orders when facing our own traumas?
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maybe what we have seen in the days since hamlin’s collapse gets us thinking more about what humans need during and after trauma, such as taking time to process our emotions. and not just making it ok to do so, but also acknowledging (demanding, even) that it’s a necessary, non-negotiable tool for self-care that must be respected. we need that.
the other important lesson from hamlin’s collapse is the value of community connection after experiencing trauma. it’s been playing out on social media since the very second he fell — a flood of supportive notes and encouragement for him and his family, but also from athletes to fellow athletes and fans to other fans. there was even a “prayer blitz.” the message has been consistent: no matter what your team colour, we’re in this together, you’re not alone, we’re coping as one. what a wonderful and sweet thing to offer to anyone struggling with fear and anxiety or who is trying to move past something awful.
so maybe because this almost-tragedy has been so widely discussed and because millions of people witnessed a major sports league decide to “take a pause,” we have learned the value of not only stealing a moment to process our own trauma, but also giving others the support and space to process theirs. all while honouring the fact that it’s ok to say that the show can’t go on… if only for a little while.
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lisa machado is the executive producer of healthing.ca. follow her @iamlisamachado.
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