If this chair could speak…     

This is the green chair that I work from each day from 9am-10pm, Monday to Thursdays and 9am-6pm on Fridays. There’s also some Saturdays as well. It’s the second green chair that I’ve owned, along with the matching ottoman and shrink couch for three.

When you spend as much time as I do in this chair, you get to appreciate its comfort. After 47,772 hours, like me, it’s starting to look a little haggard and worn out. It’s also like a sidekick, very familiar and easy. Chairs like this also have seen and heard a lot.

On 9/11 2001, I was sitting in this chair when I heard the beginning of the attack at the World Trade Center in Manhattan, 17 miles straight South. People started to come in very upset. We watched what was happening, and within a short time, individual sessions turned into a group, trying to process the destruction of lower New York, Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and the Pentagon. As I am a psychologist and psychiatric nurse practitioner, I’m also a registered nurse. Nobody knew what was going to be the response. But it wasn’t a good sign when the George Washington Bridge was closed to all but the first responders and medical personnel. My kids were safe in school in lockdown mode. Body bags were summoned at Saint Vincent hospital, anticipating over 10,000 dead.

Would I have to go downtown? What role would I play? Nurse or psychologist?

I sat in the green chair to think it out. While in the chair, the phone began to light up, one call after another of upset, panicked people.

“My husband works on the 36th floor of One World Trade! He’s not answering!!”

“Amy’s at the Vista (Hotel) at a conference. The South tower just fell on it!!”

It was then clear that I had to do the mental health work and remain with my people and family.

From that point on and remaining, the chair and I continued to treat the PTSD of city officials on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, first responders who are no longer able to work, and the surviving family members whose loved ones worked on “The Pile.” They thought it was safe, the right thing to do, and died in that effort.

If you live in the New York TriState area, you know someone who died on 9/11 just as you know someone who died of COVID-19. In my case, I know five.

The chair and I listen to anxiety and depression all the time, but it’s different now. It’s the uncertainty of life. You can make all the plans you want. Just don’t get emotionally wrapped up or committed to them. There is a Plan A, a Plan B, and then a Plan Zero. On 9/11, there was a moment of incredible unity of purpose and collective focus. There was the national and international grieving that we did together.

The nearly 3,000 who died were from all walks of life.

Today, in the US, we have lost more than 900,000 Americans to COVID-19, more than losing the entire city of Baltimore or where I live, Bergen County, New Jersey.

There is no discernible unity unless you work in healthcare. There is no collective purpose. Individually, we deal with it one day at a time. The collective grieving has stopped. It’s in the background after two years.

And still, those who are sick and those who have died were from all walks of life.

I often sit in the green chair alone with my thoughts. I push down the feelings to do the work, produce treatment ideas that are effective, and keep my feet moving. Because of the confidential nature of the work, there is no sharing it with anybody. At this point, I think it’s safe to say there’s almost nothing really new that I haven’t heard, but honestly, I don’t think I want to hear anything new that I’ve never known.

The green chair is there for comfort. It envelops and provides a knowing embrace that allows for reflection and resilience. At times, it promotes humor and laughter that heals the ironic absurdity (and often stupidity) surrounding our lives. We hear and learn lessons and truths, often inconsistent but always clear and real.

When a new week starts on Monday, there will be the 12 hours of listening and bearing witness from the green chair. We do the work as a privilege, a mission with love and compassion for all. We are worthy of being treated well and to be instilled with understanding and positivity to share with others to make all our collective Mondays a little better for all.