Repatriation Operation – Fears & Fumbles

I knew the pandemic was coming. I just wasn’t sure how fast it would come. Outbreaks had started in Asia in late 2019 and I had planned a two week vacation in March of 2020. My family members and I debated whether the trip needed to be cancelled, however, a global emergency had not been declared. Our beautiful Mexican vacation turned into anxiety, a closed resort; a repatriation operation and subsequent fears & fumbles. There were many. 

The storm

You could feel the impending storm; the tension, the unknown. No one really knew how bad the storm would be. When I left Canada, it had not been declared a pandemic. When it was eventually declared, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau recommended that all travellers return to Canada as soon as possible. Shortly after, I became a part of a Repatriation Operation that I will likely talk to a therapist about one day. For now, I will share the mentally unprocessed version of the story with you.

During the first week of our vacation, it felt like a vacation. My parents were there with their friends and I tagged along with my two year old daughter for some total relaxation and stress-free pool time. There were people and beaches; we were not overly concerned about returning to Canada and the resort we stayed had no idea an outbreak was even happening. Within one week, most of the resort cleared out. Those who needed to be repatriated to the United States had left, as well as other travellers who left out of fear and uncertainty.

Pandemic

During the second week, a pandemic had been declared. We looked at our options and knew we had to return to Canada. There were many variables to take into account and plan after plan was made. What if we lived here? I’m ok with that. What if we drove to Canada? With a two year old?! No, I’m out. I’ll live here.

We had many plans; likely we used the entire alphabet brainstorming our safest option. The little city in Mexico that we had found as our potential new home had a pharmacy, hospital and grocery stores. No concerns at all with up and living in Mexico.

People from home were contacting us to say it was the zombie apocalypse and that the city had run out of toilet paper. I pondered why there had been such significant toilet paper hoarding for a respiratory infection. Why would toilet paper be needed in excessive quantities? Questions that I still have not answered.

Repatriation Operation planning

Things escalated in Canada and Mexico very quickly. The resort that was once full of activity, staff and happy snowbirds was empty. The staff were laid off and told to go home. The resort effectively shut down due to lack of tourists. We were in the last group to leave and if we hadn’t gotten out when we did, we would be Mexican residents right now. I started teaching my daughter some Spanish, just in case.

Everyone began to get quite anxious in the days leading up to our repatriation. Canada had closed the border to anyone who wasn’t a resident and flights were being redirected to Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary or Montreal international. None were the airports we were supposed to fly into. We really didn’t know where we would end up, only that we needed to get to the airport as early as possible. Saturday, March 21st 2020 was repatriation day.

Repatriation risk assessment. High Alert.

We packed our bags that evening and planned to taxi to the Puerto Vallarta airport first thing in the morning. Our flight was not until 12:30pm, however, online check-in had been made inaccessible and we wanted to ensure we gave ourselves enough time. I assumed the airport would be quite busy with people traveling back to Canada, however, I truly did not expect what happened. I packed up the toddler with as many airport treats and books as I could and we left in the early morning to begin our Repatriation Operation.

Before we left, I stopped for a moment on the balcony. The hotel, beach and golf course were desolate. A beautiful landscape with perfectly groomed trees surrounded by pools and restaurants. Not one person, not one noise. The stillness was unsettling. The air felt different and my body was tight with anxiety.

WTF?!

By March 22nd, our repatriation day, the virus had already killed nearly 1700 people and infected more than 12,000. Countries were added to the list daily; Canada had started seeing cases. Six Canadians had already succumbed to the virus. Many were saying it was a hoax. It was being over-exaggerated by the media. I hoped that was true (spoiler alert – it was exceptionally, unfathomably untrue).

We arrived at the airport on March 22nd at about 7am. There was 80 trillion people there, approximately. We tried to locate the end of a line. There had been physical distancing measures put in place, in theory only, and I truly have never been so physically close to other people for such a long period of time. It was disturbing.

There was no line, we discovered. Just a huge jumble of people. We joined the jumble. We learned that the airlines had initiated their Repatriation Operation by telling all travellers to arrive on the same day, regardless of whether their flight was that day, another day or they had no flight at all. So basically, all people everywhere came to the airport. It was absolute insanity.

Repatriation Operation fears, fumbles and more fumbles.

Given the circumstances, people were incredibly patient and resilient. There was some yelling, but not much. Everyone in the airport was flying back to Canada and feeling equally unsure of what was going to be there upon arrival. I think the panic created a bit of unity and people helped other people as best they could. A united front of freak out. We stood still for hours and as more and more people piled into the airport, it became hotter and more tense.

Fears

The stroller was nearly broken from the rage-fest my daughter was creating so I released her, momentarily, so she could freak out in my arms instead. As I held her in close, I caught a glimpse of the reflection of the airport on a sign. It was a swarm. Pins and needles ran down my back as I suddenly began imagining how badly things could end. These were the exact situations that caused people to lose it. To shoot, to trample; to lose their mind in a moment of insanity and violence. So many people and so much stress.

A man fainted right next to me. My mom caught him as he fell and he landed on my daughter’s diaper bag, which made for a safe landing. I refocused myself on what was happening, snapping out of the what ifs my mind was cascading through. Everyone was so close together that there was no chance the man would have even hit the ground. There was no ground; the fact that anyone noticed him fainting is surprising. Heat. Stress. The second person, apparently, to faint in the airport that morning.

Fumbles

I decided to rush back to grab my dad in case the man needed medical attention. As I ran with a screaming toddler in a stroller, I became absolutely positive that was knee was broken. I had tweaked it in Mexico and that moment of jumping suitcases affirmed in my mind that I needed an amputation. In the coming weeks and months, my torn medial meniscus would be revealed and would have little to no impact on my life due to the isolation that was my future. I didn’t even need legs.

We all regrouped, the man who fainted was put in a wheelchair and my parents were actually in the same location. We checked in to our flight, got seats and made our way to an elevator so I could put the mini in her favourite plate – the stroller. The elevator went up one floor and when it opened, I was not in the least bit surprised to see a huge line. Security. Right. I love lines.

More fumbles

I spotted a Starbucks a few blocks ahead. The stroller screamer and I headed directly for it. I ordered all of us coffees (minus the kid) and after receiving them from people wearing masks and gloves, I asked if they had a tray so I could carry them back. No trays. This was a predicament. I had three coffees and a stroller. I definitely had only two hands and one leg. I came up with a creative plan that failed miserably.

The mini had been really into pushing her own stroller while we were at the hotel. She insisted on pushing around an empty stroller despite the fact that she couldn’t see over the top and therefore had no clue where she was going. Never the less, she moved the stroller successfully and was very offended if anyone tried to help her. I thought I could capitalize on her possessiveness of the stroller and get her to push it back to my parents while I carry the coffee. It almost went ok.

Taking down COVID-19 like a baby boss

She was thrilled to be let out of the stroller and as I predicted, immediately started pushing it. The first place she pushed it was toward a security guard. I stopped her with my body and then turned around, telling her to come with me to see Grandpa and Grammy! She took the bait.

As she started pushing it toward the line, she started veering like a drunk driver. My hands were full and burning so my only resource was my one good leg. I used it to kick the front wheels and change the direction of her stroller. Each time I did it, she screamed and I offered consoling messages like ‘STAY IN YOUR LANE OMG!’.

As we rounded the corner, I saw a large poster set up for the COVID-19 pandemic. It was one of those enormous stands that holds up large posters and had a table with public health officials handing out information. The mini took that poster stand down like it was her bitch. She absolutely nailed the corner of it despite my effort to kick her into a good direction and just like that the COVID-19 display became a bigger risk than COVID-19.

Who’s kid is that?

The health officials and my leg managed saved the poster from crashing to the ground but certainly not without debris in the aftermath. As I watched my child run away using the stroller like a battering ram, I looked at the elderly man beside me and, with complete authenticity, said “fuck. Who’s kid is that”.

*shakes head*

Following the security line was another dozen lines, confusion and screaming. Everything that could make the situation harder happened. When I tried to scan our passports, the mini pushed every button she could and cancelled my attempt multiple times. When I finally insisted she move away, she bolted into Border Control and was physically restrained by an officer. The officer was very clearly a mother and did an amazing job.

Sidebar Thank You

Thank you to all the moms out there. Because more than one helped me out and you can always tell who is a parent by the speed at which they can catch a toddler safely and gracefully. I finished scanning the passports and the mini played a bit more with Border Control. Success.

Repatriation Operation Initiation

We finally boarded the Air Transat flight and I really have to hand it to the airline. The staff took a very difficult situation and made it bearable in the best way possible. They flew empty planes down to Puerto Vallarta in order to repatriate Canadians.

Although they could not serve any beverages or meals on the plane, they apologized (so Canadian) and then gave every passenger a Kit Kat (the most Canadian). Not those shitty ‘fun’ sized chocolate bars (least fun thing I’ve ever heard of), it was the real deal. A FULL sized Kit Kat. Two for me (because it would be bad parenting to give my child an entire Kit Kat and I’m responsible like that).

Chocolate fixed everything and everyone was happy. They are my new favourite airline, not so much because of the repatriation, but the Kit Kat. What a great move.

Fellow Canadians

The plane waited forty minutes because six passengers were missing. No one wanted to leave anyone behind. In the end, four arrived and we had to leave two people behind. Their luggage was on the plane but unfortunately they were nowhere to be found in the airport.

It was a charged moment. Whatever the reason was that they didn’t make, every seat on the plane was critical. The operation was dangerous because of the outbreak; it cost the airline a lot of money and put the flight attendants in a very challenging position.

Many people on the flight were wearing masks, gloves and looked anxious. Leaving without two people mattered. They mattered, even if we didn’t know who they were or why they didn’t make the flight.

Perspective and sadness

Under normal circumstances, a plane that didn’t move for forty minutes due to missing passengers might be met with applause when the captain finally announced we were going to take off. On this flight, the captain’s announcement came with a tangible sadness to it; a sense of defeat perhaps. Of surrender. And again, of uncertainty. Everyone was still and silent. Breathing. Sinking into a void.

What if that flight was the only chance to get home? Everyone thought the same thing. What if. Another crack in my memory; a piece of glass you could call it. That moment of being told we were leaving. With two empty seats. It feels the same as the moment I saw the reflection of the airport. Disbelief. Fear. Deep uncertainty. A shard in my memory.

Home

The flight was uneventful, thank goodness. My mini insisted she Koala my body for the entire five hour flight. When we landed, I have never heard such an authentic and profoundly grateful round of applause. It was truly an amazing moment to be a part of. I looked around at grandparents who made it home to see their children and children’s children. There were entire families wearing masks; the fear in their eyes was momentarily gone as we arrived on our home soil. The gratitude for the Air Transat team was palpable. We were home. No matter what the circumstances at home looked like, we were home.

My parents helped me to get luggage and my mini ready to head out into the cold Winnipeg winter. My daughter was tired but holding it together like a champion. I wrapped her in my sweatshirt because her nice, warm airplane sweater had been packed into a bag of things that needed to go straight to a washing machine or an autoclave. I was focused on getting into my own bed and dealing with life the next day. Getting into the routine again, picking up my dog and figuring out what all the hype was about. Especially the toilet paper stories.

I’ll deal with it tomorrow

It was late at night and raining; I remember the feeling of sharp, cold air hitting my face and noticing how good it felt. It meant I was home. Grounded and steady. Things were ok. I hugged my parents, as if life was normal. A taxi drove my daughter and I home, as if life was normal. Then I went to sleep and planned to deal with ‘it’ tomorrow. It, being everything in life.

Tomorrow will be different

I write this today; the end of April. A month from when I left Mexico and remembering the self I was when I stood on the balcony of our hotel and felt the beautiful illusion. The tropical bubble that I had stayed safe in; away from the storm that raged through the bodies of what would be thousands. Then millions. I remember the stillness and the knowing that this beautiful, empty landscape was nothing more than a screen. A show. The real world was in hell. The heaven I perceived was hollow. Empty. 

The next day, I began work. My colleague and friend picked up a few items from my work station and I set up for the long haul of working from home with a two year old. I felt it would be ok because my work life was also a part of my home. I have been a part of the same division of the federal government for thirteen years and my colleagues are friends. I met with them on the Monday, via Zoom.  We made a plan. We talked. I felt confident. The following day, I was deployed to a new division with a new role, colleagues, director and assignment. I began to learn a new job to support the response effort to COVID-19. It was and is meaningful and challenging.

No one said it would be easy

To have such a critical role, along with a toddler that is growing and developing; it is a lot. I’m watching it happen alone. I’m wondering if it’s going well when there is nothing to compare it to. I sing the ABCs. I read bedtime stories. I try to make this home a happy place, despite weeks of isolation. There has been more time for colouring. More time to be together with no agenda. Especially since I freaked out about Paw Patrol and removed the TV.

There has also been more time to miss; to worry; to grieve. To watch my parents read my daughter bedtime stories over Facetime. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. I haven’t seen my siblings in nearly two months. Or anyone, actually. I really miss them and my daughter asks me where her cousin is every single day. At home, I say. She’s at home, just like us.

Remembering the little things

I wonder if I’ll remember when I am asked what it was like. When the ‘outside’ was criminalized in some countries and humans were forced to separate. To stay away. When we lived in a world of violence and fake news and anger; suddenly hit with a storm that no one could escape. The only solution being to separate humanity from one another. I wonder if I’ll remember the blur of days and isolation. Coffee and juice boxes. Being asked for a snack 27 times per day.

The moments of gratitude and slowness. Time acting differently. Earth and solitude. Hours, days, months; the hardest work of my life. The most beautiful moments with my daughter that only I will see. Only I will remember. I hope.

Pandemic history

The HIV/AIDS pandemic lasted seven years at its peak. It killed 36 million people. The Hong Kong Flu pandemic killed 1 million people. The Asian Flu pandemic killed 2 million people. The 1918 Pandemic killed between 20 and 50 million people; more than World War 1.

I could go on.

Cholera killed an immeasurable number of people during its six pandemics. Black death (Yersinia pestis – Bubonic Plague) killed between 75 and 200 million people during it’s pandemics. Outbreaks and epidemics are a constant threat to humanity, whether we see it or not.

Clusters of deadly viruses and bacteria appear all over the world. We live in an ecosystem of plant, animal, insect, parasite, bacteria, viruses and much, much more. The strength of an invisible, deadly pathogen is a true humbling of our perception of ourselves at the top of some type of food chain that we accept as truth. Who, or what, is really on the top?

Normal is what we make it

When I left the airport, I didn’t realize it was the last day of normal. I didn’t realize the goodbye hugs from my parents would be the last hug I felt for weeks. Months perhaps. I don’t know because we’re still in it. Our country is still in isolation.

When I returned on the Repatriation Operation, there were 12,000 cases of COVID-19 globally. That was just over thirty days ago. One month. We had 12,000 cases one month ago.

Today, we have 3 million cases globally and 208,000 people have died. One month later. Just one month. From 12,000 cases to just under 3 million. And no pandemic has ended in a few months.

I remember the day on the balcony in Mexico. The storm brewing. Destruction gaining momentum. I could feel it but not see it. And now, I am it. So are you.

Now, we are the storm.