Toby Morris
Toby Morris

SocietyFebruary 28, 2021

Siouxsie Wiles: Why this new case means level three – and, please, don’t misdirect your anger

Toby Morris
Toby Morris

Siouxsie Wiles explains what’s concerning about the new case, and urges a moment’s pause on today’s anniversary of the first case, to reflect on what could have been.

Auckland woke this morning to another week at alert level three, with the rest of the country at alert level two, after a new community case of Covid-19. It will have come as a shock, especially as Jacinda Ardern and Ashley Bloomfield appeared at a Beehive press conference with very little notice at 9pm on a Saturday night. But the details of the case were too concerning to wait. 

What’s so concerning about the new case?

Once again, we have an unclear chain of transmission. We know that the new case (M) is an older sibling of a student at Papatoetoe High who has already returned three negative tests and has not had any symptoms. So where did case M pick up the virus? Though it would be highly unusual, it is still a possibility that case M’s sibling is the source of their infection. This would be the best-case scenario as it would rule out other undetected chains of transmission. 

Once again, the labs are working overtime to process samples to try to find out the answer. Blood has been taken from case M’s younger sibling which will be used to look for antibodies to tell us if they had been infected with Covid-19 despite their negative tests and having no symptoms. Genome sequencing has revealed the new case is linked to the recent Auckland community cases. The minister for the Covid response, Chris Hipkins, has said this morning that genome sequencing indicates a link to the second family in the cluster, cases E-H. What we don’t know yet is how it transmitted from that family to the latest case, or what other chains of transmission there might be.

The other concerning factor is that case M may have been infectious and going about their daily life for as long as a week and so has visited a number of locations and potentially exposed a large number of people to the virus. Moving Auckland to alert level three and the rest of the country to alert level two puts us in the best position to get on top of this outbreak as quickly as possible. We all saw what happened in Melbourne last year when they waited a few weeks before moving into restrictions. 

Don’t misdirect your anger

At the press conference last night, it was also revealed that case M went for a Covid test and then went to the gym despite being told to isolate. I know lots of people will be angry at this. It’s very, very frustrating when people don’t follow the rules. But here’s the thing. For about the last year, we’ve had people with medical doctors and people with PhDs telling young people they have nothing to fear from Covid-19 and should in fact be allowed to get on with their lives. Do not underestimate the impact these messages will have had on some people. 

Here in NZ, it’s the Plan B academics and their supporters, including the head of Blackland PR. Internationally it’s the signatories of the Great Barrington Declaration. They’ve been cherry picking evidence to argue that the pandemic should be managed by the herd-immunity-by-infection route. At its worst, young people around the world are being told that them getting infected is how we get herd immunity. As far as I’m concerned that’s bollocks. But the message that we need to “learn to live with the virus” has been spread far and wide, especially on social media. Some are even engaging with people spreading conspiracy theories and anti-vaccination propaganda. 


Dr Siouxsie Wiles and Toby Morris’ collaboration on coverage of Covid-19 is funded by The Spinoff Members – please join us and support this vital work


Remember what could have been

Today is also the one-year anniversary of the day the pandemic officially arrived in New Zealand with the announcement of our first confirmed case of Covid-19. On the same day Azerbaijan, Belarus, Iceland, Lithuania, Mexico, and Monaco also had their first confirmed cases. Globally there were 84,090 cases and 2,874 deaths. Just 87 of those deaths were outside China. 

One year on, there are over 113 million confirmed cases and over 2.5 million deaths. We know both of those numbers are underestimates. Here in New Zealand, we’ve had 2,018 confirmed cases and 26 deaths. Today is a day to reflect on the loss those families have suffered and the ongoing effects those with long Covid are experiencing. 

But it is also a day to reflect on what could have been. How are Azerbaijan, Belarus, Iceland, Lithuania, Mexico, and Monaco faring? If we adjust for our population sizes, we’ve had 418 confirmed cases and 5 deaths per million people. Monaco has had very similar numbers to us with 1,932 confirmed cases and 23 deaths but its population is only 38,400 so that works out at 50,312 cases and 599 deaths per million people. Similarly, Iceland has had 6,049 confirmed cases and 29 deaths but their population is 364,000 giving them 16,618 cases and 80 deaths per million people. As for Azerbaijan its 23,330 and 320, Belarus 29,873 and 206, Lithuania 70,268 and 1,151, and Mexico 16,220 and 1,440. If you are curious what the numbers are for the USA, one of the countries ranked most prepared to respond well to a pandemic, the answer is 86,227 and 1,542.

We know what to do

Today is another anniversary. It’s a year since the Spinoff published my article A practical guide to dealing with the arrival of the coronavirus in New Zealand. I had written it the day before our first confirmed case was announced. I knew the arrival of the virus into New Zealand wouldn’t be far away. I wasn’t wrong. 

In my piece, I asked people not to panic, and to check in with family, friends, and neighbours. I explained how, regardless of what all our favourite apocalyptic books, movies, and TV shows might have us believe, the communities that survive disasters the best are those that work together to share their resources and make sure no one is left out in the cold. Be kind, I wrote. We’re all in this together. 

That message is as true today as it was a year ago. It is absolutely vital that everyone, regardless of where they are in New Zealand, keeps an eye out for symptoms and if they have any, quickly contacts Healthline or their GP to arrange to get tested. That is how we find any cases in the community and stop the virus spreading further. It is especially important now we have more infectious variants of the virus evolving. 

At the press conference last night, the director general of health, Ashley Bloomfield, stressed that we are seeing a lot more people with Covid-19 just feeling achy and tired rather than having respiratory symptoms like a running nose. So, don’t think you just overdid it at the gym or that your symptoms are the result of a big night out. Get tested. Other symptoms include a loss of sense of taste and/or smell, and a fever.

What else can you do? Wear a mask. And not just on public transport. Start getting into the habit of wearing one when you are in an enclosed space with strangers. And use the Covid Tracer app to record where you’ve been. When you enter a new place, take a moment to pause and look around to see where the QR code is. Take out your phone or tablet and once you’ve found the QR code, scan it. You can even record who you were with. Then take a moment to think of all the contact tracers and the rest of New Zealand cheering you on for scanning and making contact tracing all that much easier. So, remember, stop, scan, smile! Even better, switch on Bluetooth on your phone and then make sure it’s enabled in the Covid Tracer app. If you don’t have a phone or tablet that can use the app, then have a pen and paper handy and make a note for yourself as well as signing the register that should be provided by the business.

And, as we steel ourselves for another challenge, remember: we’ve done it before and we can do it again.

Keep going!
an x ray of a human skull with a red cloud over the frontal bone
Image: Getty/Peter Dazely

SocietyFebruary 28, 2021

A bit more than a sore head

an x ray of a human skull with a red cloud over the frontal bone
Image: Getty/Peter Dazely

Fatigue, depression, pain, puking Mark Graham explains how life is still impacted by his concussion, over a year later.

This piece was published in February 2021.

A friend of mine wrote a wonderful piece on his life being “shattered by two punches” and his attempts to piece it back together again.

It made me cry.

Timothy Giles described his day-to-day struggles with concentration, anger management and fatigue, and acknowledged the pressures his recovery had put on his family. It was a remarkably good and honest insight into the impacts of concussion, and it gave me an inkling of what he had been going through in the years since his first concussion, back when we worked together 15 years ago. It resonated with me so much because I, too, am working to recover from a concussion.

As with Timothy, what I’ve found with my own concussion is that the struggles go well beyond the family interactions – though they’re certainly there – and beyond the dealings with the world, intermittent as they are. The ripples of that smack of my head into hard bitumen at speed carried on into my “self” – that person I saw in my mind’s eye. Now I was no longer that person who could do anything, achieve what I chose to pursue.

I was reduced to uselessness, fatigue, and depression. I slept through most of the first lockdown. 2020 was a terrible year for many, but I missed it almost completely.

Over a year ago, I was sideswiped by a ute while riding my Vespa. His lane stopped, mine kept going and he jumped into my lane where my Vespa happened to already be, carrying me and my 12-year-old daughter off to her gymnastics class.

I distinctly remember hitting the ground, firstly with my chest, which really hurt a lot, and then with my head. “That’s not good,” I thought to myself.

And it wasn’t.

The poor guy who hit me was mortified, probably at least as much at listening to my 20-minute profanity-laden tirade at him before the ambulance rescued me (and him), as at the fact he had nearly killed me and my daughter.

In many ways we were lucky. My daughter took a knock to the knee and, apart from being pretty freaked out by the accident and the sight of me lying in the middle of the road being told not to move, she was all right.

I was in pain but awake. And my toes moved. The swearing was also probably a good sign. I don’t recall being knocked out, but there are gaps in my memory, so I must have been.

After a series of tests in hospital I was diagnosed with three fractured ribs, concussion and whiplash.

My head, inside my helmet, had conducted its own short arc at speed as my chest hit the ground first, followed by my head whipping around behind it to bounce once… twice… onto the tarmac at high speed while managing to stay connected to my body via my neck.

Vertebrae are not designed for this. Fortunately, crash helmets and heads are, but they mitigate, rather than prevent, damage.

a side profile x ray of a human skull and neck, a red cloud over the cervical vertebrae
Human vertebrae are not designed for high-speed situations (Image: Getty Images/Peter Dazely)

Assorted scans and X-rays showed there were no brain bleeds and apart from a massive headache, the odd bout of losing consciousness and puking, an extremely sore neck and an inability to cough, sneeze, laugh or generally move without the feeling of a knife being driven into my side, I was OK, I thought.

I wasn’t really that keen on sitting up in bed the next morning, but the staff looking after me insisted – I cannot remember why. But I do remember what happened next, or at least some of it.

I remember going dizzy, then it going black, and then I awoke from one of the most intensely pleasurable dreams I have ever had, to a view of the floor and assorted feet I was not prepared for. Then I puked again. Then I felt the blood from my forehead as they helped me back into bed. No one had caught me on my way down and so it was my forehead that broke my fall to the floor.

I hadn’t really considered the detrimental effect of a 1.5 metre pitch off the bed to faceplant on the concrete floor, but the ACC medical assessor cheerfully pointed it out for me. So there I was: a double concussion within 24 hours. And here I am, 15 months in and still messed up.

The ribs healed, as they do. It becomes less painful to fart and laugh, and eventually you even feel comfortable sneezing. The whiplash continues to cause pain and discomfort, even after a year, as do the effects of the concussion.

And while I share Timothy’s symptoms of irritability, concentration and fatigue (lots of sleeping!), the mental well-being effects of the brain injury continue to play a major role in my life.

Because you’re tired all the time, combined with feeling like you’re constantly jet-lagged or hungover (depending on the severity of the headache), doing anything is a major effort. Add in difficulty concentrating on things, a general brain fog and, for many sufferers, aversion to noise and light (not me, thank goodness – music is a solace), it’s hard to actually do anything productive.

Physical activity is fine – good, actually – and certainly beneficial for improving a general feeling of wellness. It doesn’t require thinking, too, and that’s a good thing. Walking the dog, hitting the gym, painting the house – improving physical condition after so much time spent doing nothing has been a rewarding path back to some semblance of energy and positivity.

But coming out of the difficulties of engaging in any kind of cognitive activity are the additional impacts and negative circles on both motivation and self-worth.

The less you feel you can do anything, the less you do. The less you do, the less you want to do. The less you do, the less you feel you can accomplish. The less you accomplish, the worse you feel. The worse you feel, the less you want to do anything.

man sitting in waiting room with head in hands
The less you do, the less you feel you can accomplish (Photo: Getty Images)

When you’re left with time on your hands you also have time to ponder the failures of your life. If you have any inclination to anxiety and depression, this is going to make it worse, because you’re useless (figuratively and literally), something a recalcitrant 15-year-old delights in reminding me during periodic confrontations when I try to do some parenting.

For the first six months of my concussion recovery, I routinely forgot my wife’s request to put the washing on the line, much to her frustration (though her tolerance for my failings is remarkable). The kitchen would remain a mess and morning routines getting kids to school became a one-person responsibility (not me, since I was sleeping).

Trying to do any work is a major effort and everything takes longer. I started writing this a year ago.

Anxiety levels skyrocket, too, along with fears for my future. Since I shut down my business because I was unable to work (with associated guilt for unpaid suppliers and contractors), I was left with no purpose to fulfil. Nearing my 60s means my chances of finding a well-paid job are slim; unanswered emails or calls with friends are signs of rejection; unable to participate means being out of the loop; all of this only adds to feelings of worthlessness.

And while I’m grateful for ACC, there has been certainly been a degree of incompetence in their support.

Christmas, Covid-19 and internal restructuring meant I was largely left to my own devices to find treatments for the whiplash and concussion from January to July last year. I lost count at four case managers over the past year or so, and I was told by a supervisor at ACC that there was likely another four I wasn’t aware of because there was no interaction with them. I had no concussion clinic treatment from December 2019 to July 2020 after the funding for my case fell through cracks in the system.

Psychological counselling that had been requested in 2019 by my GP finally got approved in August 2020 after I sent an email expressing my dismay. It’s a good thing my suicidal thoughts remained just thoughts.

I also understand I’m not alone in experiencing these issues.

At the same time that all this is going on, there’s an awareness that others are much worse off than me. I have a friend who’s had to have back surgery while looking after her partner who was recently diagnosed with cancer, of parents dealing with their child’s cancer treatment, medical diagnoses that are permanent and debilitating, and I cannot help but feel that my own emotional toil is overblown and exaggerated – which, of course, adds to the feelings of worthlessness. How can I justify feeling sorry for myself when there are so many dealing with so much more?

Learning to accept the reality of my state of being and the validity of my sense of being has been a challenge, but I’m certainly grateful for the support of my wife and my friends, and those professionals who I’ve worked with in recent months. I know others who have or are suffering with concussion, and I know how tough it is for them because it’s such a hidden impairment.

At my last session, the psychologist I finally got to have counselling with told me that despite everything, I am still capable and have a lot more to offer. This message of value and hope was the greatest gift someone in my situation could have received. It still remains my go-to whenever obstacles seem insurmountable. Make sure you share it with anyone you know dealing with their own struggles.