Disaster Psychology

Tuesday I continued to muddle through with my book about firefighting history. For years and years I accumulated notes to write this book.

I shouldn’t have.

My note files now swell into thousands of pages.

Fear motivates this kind of research. I’m so afraid of missing something essential (and looking like a fool when a truly knowledgeable person reads my book), that I collect every tiny scrap of information I can until I bog down in minutia which clogs the whole writing process.

Were I more confident, I’d have finished writing this book years ago.

But, it’s getting done now, Thank God! I’ve accomplished a lot since Donald and Adam cured my hard drive crash.

My friend Rex came over the other night and worked on our air conditioner. I’m scheduled to pick up some parts Wednesday so maybe by the end of the week we’ll get cool again. Right now I work with a fan blowing on the computer to keep it from overheating…. Me, I work sweating in my underwear all day. (Wouldn’t that make a great Author Photograph for the back of a book jacket?)

Last night Ginny and I attended our JaxCERT class where the subjects of the week were disaster psychology and emergency communications.

The communications expert, a ham radio buff, showed us various types of communication devices we can use in chaos conditions to talk with HQ and other teams 20 miles away… Er, make that other people can use those radios in chaos conditions; Me, I can’t make the tv remote change channels ten feet across the room.

How am I supposed to use a tinny-tiny radio thingy?

It has buttons on it.

Little gray buttons.

And I’m supposed to know how to call in a helicopter with this thing?

Ha!

The other instructor, who introduced us to disaster psychology, covered a list of symptoms associated with traumatic stress encounter both among catastrophe victims and among rescue personnel.

I found this enlightening.

It explained so much of what I saw on tv about the outrageous behavior of hurricane victims.

We humans assign blame.

When abrupt, unpleasant changes intrude on our lives, we get mad at somebody—FEMA, the government, shelter workers, tv weathermen—even the very people risking their lives to rescue us.

Gets irrational.

“If you’da come yesterday, Granny wouldn’t have died”.—That sort of thing.

Like a drowning man fighting and clawing and biting the lifeguard who swam out to save him, we attack the very person who came to save us.

One fireman once told me that as he worked like crazy to resuscitate a heart attack victim, a family member threatened to shoot him if the patient died. The family member stood right over the first responder with a pistol in hand, “Ready to pop a cap in my head”.

People in trauma often get mad at God.

Last week I talked with someone who is upset with God—And with good reason. A 5-year-old child in that family was raped and murdered by a sexual predator. Where was God when this happened. Why didn’t He protect this innocent little girl? God has a lot to answer for!

How could I address this person’s anger at God?

I don’t know an answer.

Heck, I don’t understand why my wife does things, how am I supposed to know why God does?

All I could say was that its ok to be mad at God. He’s a Big Boy; He can take it.

The Bible is full of characters who were upset with God—Job, David, Moses.

At least when we get angry with God, we’re acknowledging Him on some level above apathy. The opposite of love is not hate, it’s apathy. And sometimes it takes tragedy to shake us out of apathy.

Our CERT instructor said, “You should expect that survivors will show psychological effects from the disaster—and some of the psychological warfare will be directed toward you… The survivors appear to pull together against their rescuers, the emergency services personnel”.

Oh. That explains something .to me:

The Son of God came to seek and to save the lost.

Yet we nailed Him to a cross, mocked him with a thorn hat, poked Him with a spear, tried to make Him drink vinegar, and dumped His dead body in a cave.

We crucified our Deliverer, our rescuer.

Yet we could not permanently murder the Lord of Life who has life in Himself. He rose from the tomb and still reaches out nail-scared hands to rescue us.

That’s heavy.

But here’s something funny:

During a class break, a young lady and I were going over the page-long list of psychological symptoms of trauma.

“You know, Mr. Cowart, I could use this as a checklist for myself right now and I’d have to mark ever single one of these things—and I haven’t been in a disaster”!

Ginny said,” That just means living from day to day is traumatic”.

I glanced over the list and said, “I could check them all off too. I have every one of these symptoms—except for one”.

“Which one is that,” the young lady asked.

I patted my fat belly and said, “Loss of appetite”.