Rumors, Lies, Speculation, and Conspiracy Theories

Several years ago, when my husband was still coaching high school basketball, we had a visit from the father of one of the players on his boys’ team. The father was upset with my husband because our team had lost a game they probably should have won.

Anyone who has ever coached at any level will nod their heads in agreement and understanding that most parents and fans typically blame the coach for losses. It’s been my experience that with the exception of parents of professional athletes who truly do have extraordinary talent, most parents have a tendency to over-estimate their child’s athletic ability.

That evening in our living room, I only half listened to the father as he berated my husband for the team’s inconsistent performance. As the daughter and niece of basketball coaches and the wife of the current coach, I had heard most of the father’s complaints many times. There was nothing new is diatribe.

Then he said something that caught my attention.

“On most nights, this team could beat the Los Angeles Lakers, so how can you let them lose to the team that beat us last week?” he demanded.

Let me provide some context here. At the time of this conversation, the Los Angeles Lakers were the defending NBA Champions. Their roster included Magic Johnson, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, James Worthy, Michael Cooper, and Byron Scott. At that time, my husband was coaching at one of the smallest high schools in Oklahoma. None of his players was taller than 6’2’’. They were gritty, hard-working kids, but not one of them could have gone one-on-one with the equipment manager of the Los Angeles Lakers and scored. Even my sister, who was also the daughter and niece of basketball coaches but knew very little about the game and cared even less about it, could have watched both the Lakers and my husband’s team play and understood they weren’t remotely comparable.

I caught my husband’s eye, then had to look away for fear of breaking into uncontrollable laughter at the absurdity of the comment.

’ve been thinking about that father’s comment lately as I read and watch comments from people who are not medical or public health professionals chastise my friends and colleagues who are. Don’t misunderstand me. I appreciate curiosity and would never discourage any person from asking questions of medical professionals about their health. I believe we should all gather as much credible information as possible before making decisions. But that means we need to have the ability to evaluate evidence. And, I’m just not seeing that happening.

It’s true that I would rather be around individuals with whom I can engage in intellectual discussions. I admit that I tend to put a lot of value on academic degrees; however, I also appreciate “lived experience” when it is accompanied by curiosity. I also understand that not every “lived experience” is the same. The experiences of individuals who are wealthy and feel a sense of entitlement are vastly different from those who live on the edge of poverty and desperation. I am really trying to listen and hear both sides, so that I can be a vehicle of understanding to assist in finding shared solutions.

But, more often than I like to admit, I find myself frustrated with willful ignorance. It doesn’t matter how many times I read Brene Brown’s books or listen to her podcast, my “go to” emotion when I’m frustrated is to shame those who seem unwilling to learn or even “unlearn” falsehoods.

I hear people tout common sense over formal education, but my experience of late has proven there is no “sense” or “logic” or “reason” in many of the arguments I’m hearing. My best friend reminds me often that “you can’t have a rational discussion with someone who is irrational.”

In his book, The Death of Expertise, author and scholar Tom Nichols said, “Americans have reached a point where ignorance, especially of anything related to public policy, is an actual virtue. To reject the advice of experts is to assert autonomy, a way for Americans to insulate their increasingly fragile egos from ever being told they’re wrong about anything.” I agree with Nichols in that everyone may be entitled to their own “opinions,” but that doesn’t mean that every person is an expert or even knowledgeable on issues, and it certainly doesn’t mean that every opinion is true.

In a discussion with my husband the other day, I wondered, “Is this a failure of our education and religious systems?” As a Christian and someone who has many family members who are educators, it pains me to ask that question. But honestly, it feels like I have spent most of my life “unlearning” much of what I was taught in my youth – including the lessons of my elementary history books that taught me that many “masters were good to their slaves.” I’ve spent too much time away from church because when I was a child, the church taught me to judge people who were different than me. Even as a child that felt wrong, but I didn’t have the words or experience to stand up to the church leaders who were preaching this. When I became an adult, I wanted to be as far away from the hypocrisy and bigotry as possible.

On the other hand, my lived experiences have allowed me to spend my career learning from experts in epidemiology about evaluation and how to critically evaluate studies that don’t meet rigorous scientific standards. That experience has given me the capacity to distinguish facts from the never-ending smorgasbord of rumors, lies, speculation, and conspiracy theories. But that alone doesn’t make me an expert in epidemiology or infectious disease. It just means that I know who the experts are and how to find credible information.

The father who thought his high school son and teammates could challenge and even beat the Los Angeles Lakers all those years ago can possibly be forgiven for his inability to evaluate athletic talent. That wasn’t a life or death condition (although I’ve witnessed too many parents who think it is). But I struggle with finding compassion and empathy for people who perpetuate rumors, lies, speculation, and conspiracy theories on social media about situations with real life and death consequences because THEY ARE DANGEROUS.

It seems I’m in good company. During her speech at the 2020 virtual Democratic National Convention, former First Lady Michelle Obama amended the famous catch phrase she first uttered at the 2016 convention, “When they go low, we go high.” At this year’s convention, she said, “Let’s be clear, going high does not mean putting on a smile and saying nice things when confronted by viciousness and cruelty. Going high means taking the harder path. It means scraping and clawing our way to that mountain top. Going high means standing fierce against hatred while remembering that we are one nation under God, and if we want to survive, we’ve got to find a way to live together and work together across our differences.”

The message is obvious. Keep going. Keep working to slow the spread of rumors, lies, speculation, and conspiracy theories. Find a way. Our lives and those of future generations depend on it.

Hello Enthusiasm! I've Missed You.

I felt an unexpected moment of excitement on Tuesday, August 11 when I saw the announcement from former Vice President Joe Biden that Senator Kamala Harris will be joining the Democratic ticket as his candidate for Vice President. To be honest, that feeling caught me by surprise.

For those who know me best, my revelation of surprise to feeling excited about an upcoming election will be shocking to them. They know me as an unabashed political junkie (see blog post from November 9, 2018) who can “geek out” on political issues. My interest in politics was solidified when I was in elementary school and “campaigned” for one of my grandfather’s friends who ran for County Commissioner. As soon as I turned 18, I registered to vote, and I have voted in every election (whether local, state or national) since then.

Although my political leanings have changed as I matured and became more knowledgeable about issues, my commitment to voting and the democratic process has never wavered. Until November 8, 2016.

Let me be clear here – things didn’t change for me that evening because the candidate I supported in the presidential election lost; my presidential candidates have lost as many times as they have won in the past. Nor was it because a female was at the top of the ticket. And, it certainly wasn’t because I don’t like Republicans. I have voted for Democrats, Republicans, and Independents, unlike most of my conservative friends who have told me they would never consider voting for a candidate who isn’t a Republican. With the exception of the first two elections when I was able to cast a ballot, I have always researched the issues and how the candidates stood on them. I am offended when others try to paint me with their own attitudes.

I have also made mistakes in voting for individuals who turned out not to have the values that I consider important (I’m looking at you, John Edwards). But I have owned those mistakes and haven’t tried to justify them with excuses.

But the 2016 election changed me. As I watched the election results that evening, every hateful comment directed at me by “well-meaning,” “Salt of the Earth,” Christians that I had buried to avoid conflict or appease those individuals surfaced and crashed into my body that night, shattering my soul and spirit.

• Every time someone challenged my Christianity because I’m registered as a Democrat.

• Every time someone tried to shame me because of my support of reproductive rights.

• Every time a person told me that my opinions are “wrong” and there’s no reason for discussion.

• Every time someone spewed racist comments about my friends and colleagues of color.

• Every time someone ridiculed my LGBTQ+ friends.

• Every time someone chastised my friends of different religious beliefs.

• Every time a person with financial resources said they “don’t care if others have health insurance because I can buy my own health care.”

• Every time I witnessed despicable acts by sanctimonious Christians that were opposite of my interpretation of the principles heralded by Jesus.

Every. Single. Detestable. Comment. And. Action.

Since that night, I have strengthened my resolve to do my part to ensure that the values that are important to me – civility, equity, human decency, empathy, and respect are represented, including going back to my roots and knocking on doors for candidates I supported during the 2018 midterm election. However, the polarizing hatred, conspiracy theories, and discriminatory policies of the past 3 ½ years have battered my emotional health and left my emotions depleted.

While I have continued to feel joyful at times (particularly the past 2 months), I haven’t felt real enthusiasm for the past 4 years. That’s why I was surprised when I felt it on August 11.

There are 81 days between now and November 3, 2020. I like feeling enthusiastic. I had missed this feeling. I want to remain hopeful, but I have witnessed too many horrific actions to continue to be the wide-eyed optimist of my past. For now, I’ll enjoy this feeling and try to hold on to the excitement as long as I can.

#vote

#hopeful

“When you lose all sense of fear, you’re free.”

Congressman John Lewis

There’s so many reasons not to feel hopeful right now. We’re 6 months into a pandemic that has (as of this post) killed 154,000 in the U.S. and crippled our economy. We’re just weeks away from what should be the beginning of the school semester, yet our leaders have wasted months arguing about how to safely reopen the economy and seem ill-prepared to safely protect our students, teachers, and school personnel. Meanwhile, cases of COVID-19 continue to surge, hospitalizations are increasing at a pace that threatens many health care institutions, and economic situations for many remain precarious. Couple all of that with continued racial injustice and ongoing misogyny, and it sometimes feels like everything is broken beyond repair.

But I’m actually finding reasons to be hopeful.

Like so many others, I have watched many of the moving tributes to Congressman John Lewis, who passed away on July 17. Dubbed the “Conscience of the Congress,” Congressman Lewis remained steadfast in his resolve to protect human rights and secure civil liberties for all, including ensuring that all individuals have the constitutionally protected right to vote.

As a college student, he challenged the injustice of Jim Crow laws by organizing peaceful sit-ins at segregated lunch counters in Nashville. In 1961 at the age of 21, he became one of the original Freedom Riders; seven whites and six blacks who were determined to ride from Washington, D.C. to New Orleans sitting next to each other, something that was still banned by many states in the South. As the chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), he was the youngest person to speak with Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and other civil rights icons at the March on Washington in 1963. And in 1965, a century after the Civil War ended and the Emancipation Proclamation was signed, the then 25-year-old Lewis, led over 600 marchers across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, now known as Bloody Sunday.

While Lewis remained committed to peaceful, nonviolent protests, he repeatedly faced just the opposite from white mobs and law enforcement in the South, who brutally beat, bloodied and seriously injured him multiple times. Yes, multiple times. Not just in Selma, but in Nashville and all along the Freedom Riders route.

Years later, Lewis recalled being hit in the head with a wooden crate when he was a Freedom Rider. "It was very violent. I thought I was going to die. I was left lying at the Greyhound bus station in Montgomery unconscious.” Still Lewis and others were determined not to let any act of violence keep them from their goal. “We knew our lives could be threatened, but we had made up our minds not to turn back," Lewis said towards the end of his life in regard to his perseverance following the act of violence.

His perseverance led to the desegregation of lunch counters in downtown Nashville. He was instrumental in hastening the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. And, he continued his efforts until he breathed his last breath.

His dedication to the highest ethical standards and moral principles may have made him an anomaly in Washington, DC, but it garnered him the admiration of many of his colleagues on both sides of the aisle in the United States Congress. Even Senator Mitch McConnell (who honestly, I never expected to quote in one of my blogs), praised Congressman Lewis when he said, "Even though the world around him gave him every cause for bitterness, Lewis treated everyone with respect and love.”

In a media environment where so much space is devoted to brash, vile incompetence, Congressman Lewis was verification that hope for humankind is still possible.

Perhaps it would behoove Florida’s Representative Ted Yoho to spend some time studying the art of selflessness and service from the legendary icon. On July 20, Yoho confronted his colleague Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, and called her “disgusting” and a “fucking bitch.” Of course, he denied saying those words, although he was overheard by a witness. Texas Representative Roger Williams was with Representative Yoho at the time of the incident, but claims he was “thinking about other matters” and didn’t hear the exchange. Later, Yoho told the House that he apologized for the “abruptness” of his “conversation” with his “colleague from New York,” saying that he is “passionate” about his causes, has been married for 45 years and has two daughters,” as if being married to a woman and being a father to daughters means that he couldn’t possibly be a sexist. For far too long, women have stayed silent out of fear of the misogynistic behavior of repulsive powerful men or because we have just become desensitized to it.

I know that some people will choose to believe Representative Yoho’s version rather than Representative Ocasio-Cortez’s version because of political affiliation. I wasn’t a witness to what happened, but I believe Representative Ocasio-Cortez’s version because I have personally witnessed too many similar comments made by men to me and my female friends and colleagues, and I have read even more. I didn’t deserve to be treated that way, nor did my friends. Nor does my daughter or my mother or my sister or my nieces, nor does anyone’s daughter, mother, grandmother, sister, or niece. And neither does Representative Ocasio-Cortez.

In an act of courage reminiscent of Congressman Lewis, Representative Ocasio-Cortez chose not to stay silent. On July 23, she stood on the floor of the U.S. House of Representatives and spoke eloquently about the treatment she received from Representative Yoho. She described hearing the same language Yoho used directed at her at her jobs, while riding public transportation, and while walking down the street. She said her comments were not about one incident, but about “a culture of impunity, acceptance of violence and violent language against women, and an entire structure of power that supports a pattern of an attitude towards women and the dehumanization of others.”

In one of the most poignant parts of her 10-minute speech, Representative Ocasio-Cortez said, “I am here because I have to show my parents that I am their daughter and that they did not raise me to accept abuse from men.”

Both Representative Lewis and Representative Ocasio-Cortez reminded me what true courage looks like.

To Representative Ocasio-Cortez – amen, sister!

To Representative Lewis – rest in peace, good and faithful servant.

I am still hopeful.

The Healing Power of Laughter

“You don’t laugh anymore,” my husband said in an exasperated tone. We were facing each other in my apartment in the Fall of 2017. My enthusiasm for almost everything had been depleted for reasons that have been well-documented in this blog. I acutely felt what I believe is the rapid deterioration of our democracy, coupled with a deterioration of my work environment. My husband and family were losing patience with my morose mood. My husband’s words stung, but I knew they were true.

Laughter has always been important to me. I am attracted to people who can make me laugh. It’s probably the reason that I married my husband. I remember laughing at his dry humor on our first date, which led to a second date, and third, and . . . well, you get the picture.

The last time that I had experienced a dry spell from laughter was when my father was ill. For several months after he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and later passed away, I couldn’t imagine that I would ever feel like laughing again. Then one day, when I was just getting to know my friend Mendy, she said something that made me laugh – out loud. Mendy still makes me laugh, and she remains one of my closest friends.

I wish I could say that my laughter returned after that “conversation” with my husband, but it didn’t. While I’ve had moments of fun and chuckles with my family, my best friend, Mendy, and “Team Texas,” the past 3 ½ years have been tough. I haven’t really laughed. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time that I laughed.

But that changed this past week. I have laughed all week. Laughed so hard that I’ve been doubled over clutching my stomach. Laughed so much that by Thursday, my jaws were sore. Laughed with old friends and new colleagues.

A few weeks ago, my friend and former Injury Prevention Center of Greater Dallas colleague, Marissa, acknowledging the special atmosphere we had at the Injury Prevention Center (IPC), said she feared she would never have that again. I can’t guarantee Marissa will again experience what we had at the IPC, but I do know that the “magic” can strike more than once. At various times in my 35+ year career, I’ve experienced a magical workplace. First, with Leslea Bennett-Webb and the Health Education and Information Services team at the Oklahoma State Department of Health, later with Sue Mallonee and the Injury Prevention Service, and certainly for several years with the IPC.

I hope that all of my teams will remember the magic, the fun, and the meaningful work we did, but I feel a sense of disappointment that I may not have delivered on that for my Community Development Services team because they got the stressed, weary and apologetic version of me.

I’m still worried about our democracy, the ramifications of the coronavirus pandemic on our health and economy and continued racial injustice. But this week, I finally remembered what it feels like to laugh. And for that, I just want to say the most heartfelt thanks to the staff of the Safe States Alliance – Rich, Sharon, Michelle, Jamila, Ina, Julie, Eva, Christa, Carly, and Paul!

Laughter really does heal. And magical workplaces still exist!

Courage

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won.”

Mahatma Gandhi

During the course of my career, I’ve listened to dozens of talks on leadership and read just as many books and articles on the subject. There are two that I haven’t thought much about in a long while, but they have inhabited my thoughts a lot lately.

The first one is The Abilene Paradox. I first heard this story in 2000 when I was still working at the Oklahoma State Department of Health (OSDH). The story, which is attributed to Jerry Harvey, who was a professor of management science at George Washington University, was being told during an OSDH leadership seminar offered by the Human Resources (HR) Department. Earlier in the year, top Health Department leadership had come under scrutiny following an FBI investigation that uncovered fraud and corruption dealing with the licensing of nursing homes. As a result of the investigation, all Health Department officials at the highest level were removed, and one Deputy Commissioner was found guilty of bribery and served time in prison.

As is often the case when an organization suffers a scandalous event, they offer an abundance of mandatory leadership seminars in an attempt to regroup and shift the culture. Hence, my participation in the afore mentioned seminar. Paraphrased, The Abilene Paradox is the story of a family who forsakes an afternoon doing something enjoyable and meaningful to take a long, hot, dusty drive to Abilene, Texas for dinner. When one member of the family suggests the trip, all family members agree to it. When they arrive at the cafeteria, the food is bad. After they arrive back home four hours later, they are exhausted. As they begin to discuss the trip, each family member reveals they didn’t want to go to Abilene but agreed to go because they were trying to satisfy the others thinking that everyone else wanted to go. The group is perplexed that together they decided to take a trip that none of them wanted.

As the HR representative finished the story, she asked, “How many of us have taken the trip to Abilene?” Following the FBI investigation into the OSDH, many employees admitted they suspected wrongdoing, but never said anything because they didn’t have proof. I was in a completely separate department and pretty far down the leadership chain at the time, but I can admit to having misgivings about the leader that was convicted.

The other thing I’ve thought a lot about lately is the chapter in Jim Collins’ book Good to Great that talks about “getting the right people on the bus.” Dr. Sue Binder, a former director of the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, recommended the book to me as I was beginning my leadership journey. The book remains one of my favorites, but it is Chapter 3, “First Who . . . Then What,” that has always had the most impact for me. In that chapter, Collins emphasizes “getting the right people on the bus.” I’ve focused so much on getting the right people on my team, that I may have lost sight of the fact that I could be on the wrong bus.

For the vast majority of my career, I’ve reported to exceptional leaders. These people have modeled compassion while promoting autonomous, collaborative and innovative thinking. I was allowed to grow and learn from mistakes in a safe and supportive environment. It has contributed to my success and confidence. The idea of creating safe spaces for discovery is so integral to my beliefs that when my colleagues and I established the Texas Injury Prevention Leadership Collaborative, it became one of our core values.

In many ways, I’ve been in a bubble, protected from poor leadership almost to the point that it is hard for me to recognize. Like gaslighting, it can be subtle, initiating tiny cracks in the veneer of confidence until all of your confidence is shattered. It doesn’t matter how much mindfulness training you’ve had or how successful you are, those cracks cause you to question your success, expertise, knowledge, and even your values. Sometimes you want to believe that something is right so much that you make excuses for sacrificing your integrity. You justify the unjustifiable. Until you just can’t do it anymore. When that finally happens, you begin to realize that you’re on the wrong bus. Being on the wrong bus can destroy your self-respect, and possibly your career.

I’ve never been the person that selects a “word of the year;” I’m not even good at making New Year’s resolutions, although I enter every new year with the simple resolve to do better. But as 2020 dawned and after much self-reflection about the past and the future, I decided I needed to create a mantra to help guide my daily actions, so that I could become a better version of myself. So, I chose my word for the year – courage.

Here’s another thing about me – if I make a commitment or resolve to do something, I usually follow through with it. Choosing courage as my word of the year meant that I had to be courageous enough to speak the ruth in love (as my friend, Mary Ann says) and above all, adhere to my core values and ethics. Little did I know at the time that it would also mean being courageous enough in a time of uncertainty to get off the wrong bus.

For 12 years, I had the undeniable privilege to be the Director of the Injury Prevention Center of Greater Dallas (IPC). It was a position that I loved; much of why was because we always had the right people on the bus. I may have learned as much about leadership from working with my staff as they ever did from me.

I was notified in February that the decision had been made to terminate the IPC and shift all staff to different roles. While I am grateful no staff lost their jobs, we were all told that we would no longer be able to do the jobs we loved and were hired to do. If I was looking for a sign that I was on the wrong bus, it couldn’t have been clearer.

Fortunately, my career has provided me with an incredible network of colleagues and friends who still value my expertise. That network has afforded me with options – something I don’t take for granted, especially now. I will always value my time with the IPC and Parkland Health & Hospital System. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Ron Anderson, Dr. Compton Broders, the IPC and Community Development staff (former and current), the Broders ER Golf Classic Team, and all of our amazing partners.

Today was my last day at Parkland. On July 6, I will join the staff of the Safe States Alliance, the injury and violence prevention professional association that I had the honor of serving as President of from 2008 through 2009. I am thrilled and grateful to have the opportunity to work with this innovative group of people that I admire and respect.

As my friend, Lisa VanderWerf-Hourigan used to say, “Safe States is like family.” Finally, I’m back on the right bus, and I’m headed home!

Confessions of a Lazy White Woman

I have considered myself a staunch opponent of racism for decades. In more than one blog post, my righteous indignation has decried the lingering injustice of policies that have perpetuated systemic racism. I’ve complained about white fragility. I’ve patted myself on the back for being a good ally to my black friends. But the events of the past weeks have made me re-examine my own thoughts on race in ways that I’ve never considered. In many ways, I’ve been pretty lazy in understanding the depths and effects of structural racism. 

Thinking about this has caused me to look back and try to remember my earliest experiences with race. Frankly, that’s hard to do because many of those experiences were more than 50 years ago. 

My first recollections about race probably came when I was in elementary school in the 1960s. I didn’t know anyone who was black. There were no black students in my school or church. My parents and grandparents didn’t have any black friends. I looked like everyone else in my orbit. Occasionally, I probably heard my grandparents use the “n” word. Much later in life, I would be quick to call them racists, but now I wonder if their homogenized society taught them to “fear” people of color and diversity in general. 

 In 1967, my family drove to New Orleans for our summer vacation. My maternal grandfather had died the previous year. Because my mom was an only child, we began to include my maternal grandmother on our summer vacations. I had just finished 3rd grade. I recall us being in New Orleans and noticing that my grandmother seemed uncomfortable. At one point, I heard her comment to my mother about the large number of blacks. I’m often unobservant about my surroundings (which apparently goes way back to my childhood), so I honestly hadn’t noticed there were more blacks than I had probably ever seen in my life. I was far too mesmerized by the palm trees (which probably initiated my desire to live in warmer climates).

 Many years later, my mother took my grandmother to a Lena Horne concert in Oklahoma City. My grandmother had always loved Lena Horne’s music, but when they arrived, my mother said she seemed nervous and again commented on the number of blacks in the audience. They were seated next to a couple of black women who were close to my grandmother’s age. At one point, my mother noticed my grandmother engaged in a conversation with these women. They were sharing stories about their grandchildren and their love of Lena Horne. I never had a conversation with my grandmother about this, but I suspect that once she found common interests with those women, the color of their skin ceased to be an issue. 

I was so far removed from any thoughts and concerns about race as a child that the racial unrest of 1968 was barely a blip on my radar. I was aware when both Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated, but that was about it. However, when we started to study the Civil War (probably when I was in 5th grade), a flicker of something I couldn’t articulate at the time began to unsettle me. The idea that slavery ever existed seemed preposterous. 

I was always a good student. History was one of my best subjects because I could easily remember dates, something we were often tested on way back then. But I hated studying the Civil War, more particularly, I hated everything about the South and the Confederacy, even though I technically lived in a state that considered itself part of the Confederacy. My feelings ran so deep that I proudly declared as a 5th grader that if I had lived in the 1860s, I would have been an abolitionist. 

My mother, on the other hand, loved Southern culture. In the years following the above-mentioned New Orleans trip, we traveled to Tennessee and Mississippi, stopping to tour various Antebellum plantations. There are more than a few family vacation photos from those trips with me looking every bit the sullen adolescent. 

Even now I’m not sure why I hated the Civil War so much because I got the sanitized version of it all through school.  None of my history books or teachers ever came close to describing the horrific realities of slavery.

Here’s what I didn’t learn in school. I didn’t learn about Jim Crow laws, state and local statutes that existed for 100 years after the Civil War ended that legalized racial segregation. The purpose of these laws was to marginalize Black Americans by denying them the right to vote, hold jobs, get an education or other opportunities. If any black person attempted to defy these laws, they often faced arrest, fines, jail sentences, violence and death.

I didn’t learn about the Tulsa Race Riots of 1921. Even though I lived in Oklahoma, this never appeared in any Oklahoma history textbook, nor was it ever discussed in any class. I’m embarrassed to admit that the first time I ever heard about it was in 2001 when an official Race Riot Commission was organized to review the details of the event. Even then I didn’t do any research into the event. In my laziness when I heard “Tulsa Race Riot,” I incorrectly assumed that blacks had protested a legitimate injustice. It was only a few weeks ago that I learned the true horror of what happened. A false accusation from a white woman against a a young black man led to white rioters looting, burning and destroying 35 blocks of the affluent Greenwood District of Tulsa, an area known as “Black Wall Street.”  Although the exact number of deaths among Black Tulsans has not been determined, documents from the Tulsa Race Riot Commission suggests the likely numbers killed during the massacre are between 100-300. Not one of these criminal acts was then or ever has been prosecuted or punished by government at any level: municipal, county, state, or federal. 

I didn’t learn about “Juneteenth,” the commemoration of the ending of slavery in the U.S. I didn’t know that 2 ½ years after the Emancipation Proclamation, which ended slavery, did news finally reach Galveston, Texas that the Civil War had ended, and that enslaved blacks were free. While this is celebrated as a holiday in Texas, I’m still not sure why the hell this isn’t a national holiday. 

I didn’t read To Kill a Mockingbird in any English class. When I finally did read it as an adult, I was more inflamed than ever. 

The really disgusting thing to me is that my daughter who graduated from high school only 13 years ago, also didn’t learn about any of this. It sickens me that progress is so slow. But I’m so grateful to teachers like my sister-in-law who teaches high school English in Oklahoma and has found ways to discuss these important events, even though her approved curriculum fails to do so. At least one person in my family hasn’t been as lazy as I have been. 

The events of the past few weeks have caused me to take a step back from my “angry cool white chick” persona and examine my laziness in being a real ally. The other day, I listened to a podcast with Brene Brown and Austin Channing Brown, the author of I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, where Austin talked about her exhaustion with her white friends and colleagues always asking her how they can help. Austin pointed out that this is 2020, and we all have access to something called “Google!” Ouch, that hit home for me. I’ve been far too guilty of relying on my black friends to help me navigate this because I have proximity to them. My friend, Mary Ann, even mentioned this on a Texas Injury Prevention Leadership Conversation we recorded. Subscribe to our YouTube channel to hear that conversation with Mary Ann, Mighty Fine, Cassandra Dillon and me. It’s episode #6. 

So, I’m finally doing the work I need to do. I’m listening more than I’m talking. I read Austin Channing Brown’s book. I’m reading recommendations from my friend Dr. Brian Williams, including The Color of Law, Me and White Supremacy, White Rage, and How to Be an Anti-Racist. 

I’m going to take the advice of my friends. Like Cassandra, I’m going to meet people where they are in this journey. Like Mighty, I’m going to “push” when it’s necessary. Like Mary Ann, I’m going to treat people the way we were created to treat each other. 

I saw a text message from a misguided, but probably well-meaning individual the other day that chastised me for “feeling bad about the sins of my ancestors.” I can’t change or fix the past indiscretions or the actions of my forefathers, but I can do my part to ensure that my future grandchildren and great nieces and nephews don’t repeat or become complicit in those actions. 

I’m learning. I’m still a work in progress. Thanks for being patient with me. 

Happy Juneteenth everyone! We all win when racism ends. 

The New "Normal"

If you drive around Austin, Texas for mere minutes, you are likely to see a bumper sticker or someone wearing a t-shirt with the words “Keep Austin Weird” emblazoned on it. It’s a source of pride for the Texas Capitol City, which is home to the main campus of the University of Texas. That phrase is synonymous with Austin, a city with an international reputation for being funky, creative, and authentic. Austinites are proud of the “weird” moniker, and they wear it like a badge of honor.

Approximately 372 miles north of Austin is Norman, Oklahoma, the home of my alma mater, the University of Oklahoma. If you spend a longer amount of time walking the streets around Campus Corner, you might see t-shirts for sale in some of the shops that say, “Keep Norman Normal.” Clearly, this is an attempt to mock the “weird” label of their hated Texas rival.

I am a die-hard Sooner fan, and I’ve spent years cheering against the Longhorns when they have competed against my Sooners. But I own a “Keep Austin Weird” t-shirt and would never consider donning one that says, “Keep Norman Normal.”

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of the word normal is “conforming to a standard, usual, typical or expected.” Some may find what I’m going to write next unfathomable and possibly offensive – but, that just sounds boring, unimaginative and lacking in any possibility of innovation.

As a white, heterosexual, Christian, it hasn’t been much of a stretch for me to fit into the “normal” label. I was born into a typical white family, went to college, married a white man, birthed a white child, attended Christian churches, and had a satisfying career. I have virtually no complaints about my life. However, at some point in my life journey, as my field of vision expanded and my friend group increased, I became aware of the infinite spectrum of possibilities that exist outside of the suffocating confines of “normal.” I was introduced to new concepts, new ideas, new ways of thinking, and surprise – my life is richer and more meaningful, as a result. I can only imagine how the word “normal” has been used to hurt people on the margins or outside of that narrow category.

As the nation and world begin to plan for how to “reopen” following weeks of isolation, the term “new normal” has resurfaced. My colleagues and I even recorded one of our Texas Injury Prevention Leadership Collaborative Conversations on this topic. But I wonder if once again, our expectations are too limiting? What is “normal” or feels right to me is often beyond the realm of what is normal to even members of my own family. Couple that with the long-held beliefs by many who are white (and I’m including myself in this) that “our” life experiences and “version” of normal is the only “right” way.

As we contemplate a path going forward, isn’t it time that we find shared symmetry and consider new approaches instead of holding on to old views? Make no mistake, there are things that I enjoyed pre-COVID-19 that I will miss. But I really believe that the purpose in looking back is to learn from past mistakes and successes so that we can improve the future. If we spend too much time mourning what was, we will miss the beauty of what is or what can be.

Too Many Damn Names

When I finally went to bed last night, I lay there in the safety of my skyrise apartment and my white privilege for several hours wishing for the sleep that would be slow to come. Outside my windows, I heard the sirens of public safety vehicles and the whir of a helicopter circling overhead. Earlier in the evening, I stood on my 10th floor balcony and watched people march down Houston Street protesting the death of yet another unarmed black person as a result of police brutality. I heard the shouts. I heard people banging on the doors of the American Airlines Center across the street, and I saw the lights flashing inside the building when the security system was activated. When I went outside today, I saw that the building was boarded, which probably accounts for the banging we heard. But the noise and scene last night outside my apartment was eerily similar to the national news coverage of events happening in New York City, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C.

I detest the intentional destruction of property. I abhor violence of any kind. I do not believe in “an eye for an eye,” and I make no apologies for that belief – whether it is people retaliating against police violence or the sanctimonious white Christians who have used that excuse for generations to perpetuate violence against someone with a different skin color. I am saddened by the riots, but I am sickened by the ongoing racism in our country, the laws and policies that continue to promulgate it, and the defensive fragility of white people who aren’t willing to have a conversation about it, therefore allowing it to fester and spread.

The senseless death of George Floyd at the hands (or knee) of a Minneapolis police officer this past week is not an isolated incident. I’m ashamed to admit that I have forgotten the names of many of those who have been killed, mostly because there are so many damn names. They are names to me, but to their families, they were sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, and so much more.

Let me be clear – I respect law enforcement. I have worked with some of the best law enforcement personnel, both male and female, from various races and ethnicities. But as with other disciplines, including my own, there are individuals within those professions who do harm to others. No profession is immune – none, so it’s way past time to stop being defensive and start having honest discussions. Denying the problem does not resolve it.

I’ve always been the person who believed that if we were united, we could overcome all injustice and solve all problems. But the truth is that I may have had my head and heart so far in the clouds that I failed to see the corrosive evil in front of me. However, the past four years have brought it glaringly into focus.

I have always wanted to be part of the solution, but now I wonder if I’m too angry and weary to have the necessary conversations. I can’t muster an ounce of empathy or understanding when I hear people of my own race somehow justify the killing of unarmed, innocent black people because they assume wearing hoodies or “sagging pants” makes them “guilty.” My patience level has reached its peak for white people complaining about “black lives matter” because “all lives matter.” Whether it is a willful lack of understanding or ignorance, their inability to understand how they have completely missed the point is maddingly frustrating. I have lost any capacity I may have had to engage when I hear white people express outrage because Colin Kaepernick quietly kneeled during the national anthem. I am so disgusted by that “white nationalism” mentality, that I’m not sure I can stand during the national anthem anymore. I am so repulsed by seeing the confederate flag or homages to confederate soldiers that it wrecks my mood for days.

Trust me, I own my failings in this, too. I think I’ve spent too much time in my liberal bubble trying to be the “cool white person” to my black friends that I haven’t done enough meaningful work. I’ve spent too much time quietly seething at the racist comments uttered by white “prayer warriors” and not enough time trying to have an honest conversation with them around race. And now, I’m so sad, angry and weary, I am losing the willpower to try.

If I am feeling this way, I can only imagine how my black friends must feel. My frustration is probably only an iota of what they have endured for generations. I don’t condone violence of any kind – including war, but I understand the exasperation at the minutia of rectifying social injustice.

I fear the riots will further widen the divide in this country because whites will refuse to get out from behind the comfort of their privilege and continue to make excuses for their actions and blacks have just lost patience.

For now, I will continue to share uplifting stories of hope like ones I heard during a Facebook Live stream on May 28 hosted by 100 Black Men of Chicago. Two of the panelists had ties to Dallas – former Police Chief David Brown, who is now the Superintendent, Chicago Police Department, and my friend, Dr. Brian Williams, who is Associate Professor of Surgery at the University of Chicago, Division of Trauma and Acute Care Surgery. I learned about their efforts to address gun violence, which continues to be a major public health problem. I also learned about projects such as “Masks Up, Guns Down,” which involve youth in encouraging others to protect against COVID-19 by wearing masks.

And as the pastor said during the sermon at online church today, I will pray for God to “breathe strength into my weariness” and to make something good out of the “shitty racism” in our country. Please God – those are my thoughts and prayers.

Grounded

You know I've always been a dreamer

Spent my life runnin' 'round

And it's so hard to change

Can't seem to settle down

But the dreams I've seen lately keep on turning out

And burning out and turning out the same

So put me on a highway and show me a sign

One of the many things that I’ve had to get used to during the COVID-19 lockdown is that all of my business travel has come to a screeching halt. When people used to ask me if I travel a lot, I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. When I think of traveling “a lot,” I think of Ryan Bingham, the character that George Clooney portrayed in the movie Up in the Air. Those who watched the movie will remember that Bingham was obsessed with reaching 10 million frequent flyer miles. I am nowhere close to that, but I have traveled enough to enjoy some of the perks of frequent airline and hotel rewards.

My last business trip was March 4-8. When I returned to Dallas on Sunday, March 8, I began to pack for my next trip, which was scheduled for March 13-17. In addition to that trip, I had four other planned business trips through April 16. Then news came on March 10 that the conference scheduled for the upcoming weekend in Tampa, Florida was cancelled. Within days, all of the other conferences and meetings were cancelled. On Friday, March 13, the day I was scheduled to fly to Tampa, we learned that we would be “working from home” until further notice.

I have a “love/hate” relationship with business travel. Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not glamorous; the days and nights are long, and unless I travel a day early, I rarely get to see much of the city where the conference or meeting is being held. However, most of my closest friends work in the same field that I do, so business trips mean that I get to spend time with many of them, even if it’s just sitting in meetings together. Plus, I have always found my career stimulating, so it has never really seemed like work.

Not only did my business travel end in March, but all other forms of entertainment I enjoy were essentially shut down. I live within blocks of numerous restaurants and bars; prior to COVID-19, I would spend Friday nights, if I was in Dallas, at one of those spots working on my blog. I live across the street from American Airlines Center, so when the Dallas Mavericks had a home game, I was often there.

The truth is that I don’t do well with inactivity. I don’t find enjoyment in binge-watching television (no judgment here for those who do; it’s just not for me). I own a television, but the only time that it is turned on is if my husband is at my apartment watching ESPN. Even in the past, if we were watching a football or basketball game, I was probably also doing several other tasks during the games. I just don’t like being still (which may be why I continue to struggle with meditation).

I live in a small apartment and had just moved in December, so all of my closets, drawers, etc. were already organized. I’ve been at a loss. I had also gotten some unsettling news at work just weeks earlier and was personally struggling while trying to care for my staff.

I want to make it clear that my struggles are minor compared to those who have lost their jobs, economic security, and health due to the pandemic. I understand and recognize my privilege. I really do. But, with no other outlet, I started working even longer hours. I couldn’t sleep, so if I woke up at 3 a.m., I would grab my laptop and start working. I loathe naps, so sleeping during the day hasn’t been an option. Plus, the work that had been my passion for my entire career and had given me so much joy was no longer available to me. So, my days and nights became a perpetual cycle of frustration.

For the past 10 weeks, my only travel and bright spot in my day has been to go for a 7-mile walk on the Katy Trail. I actually think I’ve done an admirable job of adjusting to the shelter-in-place guidelines. I’m a public health professional, so I understand the need for the guidelines. I am aware of the consequences of endangering others with careless behavior, and I would never choose to put my own desires above others’ safety.

Anyone who has ever flown has heard the flight attendant utter the words, “Should the cabin pressure drop, put your own oxygen mask on first, then help others.” I’ve heard those words hundreds of times both from flight attendants and leadership experts. To be able to help others, we must take care of ourselves first. The past 10 weeks have been hard for so many people, including me. But I haven’t done a very good job of taking care of myself, and it may have hindered my ability to care for others.

In late February, one week before my last business trip and life as we knew it before COVID-19, my husband and I celebrated our birthdays watching The Eagles perform one of their last concerts at American Airlines Center. The Eagles were my favorite band when I was in high school and “Take it to The Limit” was one of my favorite songs. The lyrics have played over and over in my head and on my playlist for the past 10 weeks.

I’m not sure when my next business trip will be or when I will feel comfortable boarding a plane or even being in the same space with more than five people at one time. However, on May 21, I headed north on a highway, away from the city I love to a cabin in the woods.

I knew that the weekend would be different from all the other summer weekends I’ve spent there. Self-isolation would continue – just in a different place. Social distancing would prohibit hanging out with friends. I know that I’m privileged to have our cabin to escape to and that many don’t have the same advantages that I do. But for a few days, I’ll take care of myself, even in seclusion, so that I’m better prepared to take care of others.

Thank You Health Care Providers!

On June 16, 1998, my family received devasting medical news. That was the day my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When we asked about treatment options, my father’s physician said in a cold tone (and I paraphrase), “There are no treatment options. This is fatal. He has about 3 months to live. Go home and make him as comfortable as possible.”

Needless to say, that was not the news we wanted to hear.

Immediately, my sister began researching pancreatic cancer looking for any information that we could use to keep our father alive. We scheduled an appointment with an oncologist to discuss chemotherapy. We found information about a man who had survived pancreatic cancer for several years by using an alternative treatment (mostly vitamins and laetrile, which still has not been approved by the Food and Drug Administration) that he received in Tijuana, Mexico. Within 3 weeks, my sister and I were on a plane with my parents headed to Tijuana.

We read stories about how the pharmaceutical industry had blocked studies on laetrile and thwarted Food and Drug Administration (FDA) approval because “cancer is big business.” We were scared, and it was easy to buy into that narrative. My father was dying, and I wanted to believe that someone was responsible, while at the same time praying there was a cure. During that time, I was also consulting with my friends in the medical profession. They were sympathetic, but they cautioned me to critically appraise the science and evidence.

My father died on November 4 of that year, 4 months after his diagnosis. I don’t know if anything we did during those 4 months gave him an extra month, hastened his death, or eased his pain. What I do know is that my father received good, compassionate medical care in Tijuana at a fraction of the cost of chemotherapy in the U.S. Twenty plus years later, I believe that there is a combination of truth in all the information we received in those dark days in 1998.

While to this day, I think my father’s physician had an abysmal “bed side” manner, not once during that time did I ever think or consider that he, the FDA, or the medical profession was wanting my father to die or withholding treatment from him so that they could make more money.

This week, another conspiracy theory video surfaced. This latest video, entitled Plandemic, features Judy Mikovits. In the spirit of full disclosure, I haven’t seen the video; I don’t watch television much anymore, and I limit my intake of Facebook and Twitter. By the time I heard about the video, Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube had removed it from their sites because of concerns that “it spreads harmful and misleading health information." Honestly, I’m not sure t how I feel about that because as someone who possesses an undergraduate degree in journalism, I’m still very protective of our First Amendment rights of “freedom of speech.” To be honest, I wish the video could be used to teach students how to critically review evidence; something I believe is missing in our current educational system.

I hadn’t heard of Mikovits before this week, so I before I formed an opinion, I spent some time searching credible news sites to find out more about her. What I learned is that in 2009 she was research director at the Whittemore Peterson Institute (WPI), a private research center in Reno, Nevada. That year, she co-authored a scientific paper that suggested a viral cause of chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). Other scientists questioned her findings; eventually none of her findings could be substantiated in replicated studies. (Note: I will not go into detail about how to judge the validity of scientific studies; I’ll leave that to the real experts. However, after 30+ years working with epidemiologists, I now know just enough about randomized controlled trials and scientific rigor to be able to differentiate between valid and non-valid science). In 2011, the Whittemore Peterson Institute filed a lawsuit against Mikovits for removing laboratory notebooks and proprietary information belonging to the Institute. She has not published anything in the scientific literature since 2012. In 2013, she conceded that there was no evidence to suggest the virus she had identified caused chronic fatigue syndrome.

Last week, my friend Linda, who lives in Michigan, sent me a link to an opinion piece written by Len Niehoff, a Professor from Practice at the University of Michigan Law School, entitled “Virus Reveals Why We Need a Class in Evidence.” The article appeared in the Detroit Free Press on May 6. Niehoff believes that numerous leaders and individuals have made terrible decisions about how to assess and respond to the threat posed by COVID-19, and that those errors reveal a fundamental flaw in our K-12 and collegiate education systems. He said we have failed to teach individuals how to critically assess credible evidence, and it has “imperiled our health, our economy, and our republic.”

In 2001, I was a member of the National Training Initiative, which was tasked with developing core competencies for injury and violence prevention professionals. I recall that my academic colleagues wanted to include a learning objective for the competency on evaluation that included the “ability to critically evaluate whether a study met the criteria for rigorous evaluation.” “That would be too hard for most practitioners,” I argued. My power of persuasion may have been too good, because that learning objective was not included. Now, I’m embarrassed that I ever uttered those words.

Niehoff said, “Without such training, we will continue to make decisions based not on what is true but on what we wish were true.” I fear this is the case.

The current situation around COVID-19 has revealed our societal failure to understand what evidence is and to respect how it works, Niehoff said. He pointed out that national and local political leaders have made decisions that ignored the evidence, and members of the general public have been slow to accept the evidence. Additionally, recommendations by public health experts to help “flatten the curve” have been met with protests, even though there is evidence that they are working.

Daily, I hear about protesters armed with guns defying stay at home guidelines to rally against what they perceive as “government overreach” and an attack on their freedom. I understand the fear and frustration. I really do. I don’t like this situation either, but I am fearful of this virus and what we don’t know about it. However, I may be more fearful for my safety from the people who are protesting. And, with good reason.

On May 4, a security guard at a Family Dollar store in Flint, Michigan was fatally injured when he was shot in the head after he told a customer to wear a face mask mandated by the state. Anyone who can justify those actions has lost my respect and any grace-filled conversation I could muster.

“We have become a nation of magical thinkers, making decisions based on what we hope is the case and whom we want to believe, said Niehoff. “When confronted with opposing evidence, we do not engage with it. We dismiss it and stick a label on it: “fake,” “phony,” “biased,” etc.” He said we make the mistake of labeling our opinions for evidence.

As I look back on previous blogs I’ve written, I have spoken endlessly about trying to engage in conversations with people with different viewpoints. I have focused on my own growth to be better at having a non-judgmental, learning mindset. It feels like I’m to the point of almost begging individuals to engage in a rational conversation, yet I continue to endure text messages and social media posts that do just the opposite. Several people on a text chain that I’m on have spouted the conspiracy theories I’ve heard reported from the Plandemic video. I truly want to believe that these good Christians don’t want more people to die from COVID-19 or that they want to do harm. However, their comments make me cringe. They are hurtful, offensive, and dangerous.

Tuesday, May 6 was National Nurses Day in the U.S. Like most people on the planet, I have interacted with a few health care providers with questionable motives. However, the vast majority of the ones that I know are honest, caring, and competent professionals.

To all of the nurses and health care professionals who are on the front lines putting your health and well-being on the line to care for patients every day, you have my endless gratitude.

“Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

Stay strong.

Some Days Are Just Donut Days

Late in 2016 when my friend, Mendy suggested that I start journaling, I thought her suggestion was ludicrous. As much as I love her, I honestly thought she had lost her mind. Even as an adolescent when most of my friends were pouring out their hearts to “Dear Diary,” I couldn’t manage to string together five consecutive days of writing in a journal regardless of how many “mod” diaries I was gifted. (Note: I’m a child of the 70s – hence the word “mod.”) Furthermore, when Mendy made the suggestion to me, I was barely functional, and at one of the lowest periods in my life. Seriously, did she even know me at all?

Turns out that she did. She knew me better than I even knew myself. So, I took her advice. Over the next weeks and months, the writing proved cathartic, even enjoyable. That practice ultimately led to this blog.

Before COVID-19, and shelter in place orders, and social distancing, I would spend most Friday evenings in Dallas writing at one of the restaurants in my neighborhood. However, those evenings at the Living Room Bar at the W Hotel, or Dibs on Victory, or Mesero, or Hero, ended on March 13. Not only did the closing of restaurants impact my writing locations, “working from home” seems to have extended my work hours. While I still manage to get out of the apartment for a walk on most days, it is usually while I’m on a conference call. So, even “down time,” is punctuated by work.

Like most people, I’ve lost track of the days because every day looks the same. Friday evenings and Saturdays look like any other day of the week. Separating from work is getting harder because I feel obligated to respond to calls and emails at all hours. And, I’m starting to feel less creative.

This past weekend was no different than the previous five weekends. Except, that I “unplugged” for three hours on Saturday. No calls, no emails, no big thoughts.

I went for a walk and bought a chai tea latte and a donut, because . . . well, some days are just donut days.

I didn’t turn on the television for the latest suggestions about UV rays and disinfectant injections curing COVID-19, because . . . well, lunacy and I’ve “jumped the shark.” (See previous blog.)

I bought a frozen margarita “to go,” and drank it as I walked the streets of Uptown, because . . . well, Dallas has adopted practices from New Orleans, and why not?

Then, it was back to work.

Stay safe, stay well, stay sane, everyone.

"Jumping the Shark"

There’s a practice that my Action Inquiry Group (AIG) does before we start each meeting. Prior to delving into the topic for the day, we do an external and internal temperature check. I find this practice worthwhile in gaging the mood of my colleagues, and it’s something I’ve started doing with my teams before each staff meeting. But on our last AIG Zoom call, the facilitator didn’t do a temperature check – instead, she asked “How’s your heart today?”

It’s a legitimate question. At this point, we are all into 5 or 6 weeks of living in a way that would have been unfathomable just 2 months ago. A global novel coronavirus pandemic has disrupted our lives and livelihoods. As of April 18, 2020, there have been 2,312,050 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in the world, with 158,884 deaths; of those cases, the US claims 728,293 confirmed cases and 38,244 deaths. In addition to ravaging the health and safety of millions of individuals, this pandemic has annihilated the global and US economies. The US Department of Labor reported that 22 million Americans (approximately 13.5% of the labor force) applied for unemployment from March 14 to April 16. 

Although the virus is impacting families from all socioeconomic groups, early data indicates that Hispanics and African Americans are accounting for a disproportionately high number of deaths. Once again, health equity issues have revealed an ugly truth – health and safety still aren’t equitable, and vulnerable populations remain at higher risk.

While many scientists and infectious disease specialists have been warning about the possibility of a global pandemic for decades, we were ill-prepared. As an injury prevention and public health professional, I could rant about this for hours because my colleagues and I have spent years trying to make the best use of the woefully inadequate funds dedicated to public health and prevention. A New York Times opinion piece published on April 9, entitled “The U.S. Approach to Public Health: Neglect, Panic, Repeat,” sadly illustrates our failure to prepare. The article cites a 2019 report from the public health nonprofit Trust for America’s Health, which points out that the focus on treatment rather than prevention has resulted in health care spending increasing by 52% in the past decade, while the budgets of local health departments have decreased by as much as 24%. Between 2008 and 2017, nearly 23% of the workforce of local health departments were eliminated. Today, public health claims just 3 cents of every health dollar spent in the country.

So, when I heard the question about where my heart is, my first response was not original, but one that I heard a co-host of the podcast Pantsuit Politics utter on a recent episode – “I’ve jumped the shark.” For those who are too young to remember the 1970s television program “Happy Days” and its lead character, “the Fonz” played by Henry Winkler, just Google the reference. 

For those who don’t want to take the time to do that, here it is in a nutshell – I am past my peak of indignation. I have “jumped the shark” on blaming, idiocy, ignorance, incompetency, and self-serving politicians.

I understand the fear for our health, safety and economy, as well as the frustration of self-isolation, but I have jumped the shark on politicians screaming over the top of each other, which is what I witnessed during a recent meeting to decide whether to require individuals to wear face masks in public. As long as we are pitting the public’s health against the economy, we will never come to a satisfactory resolution for both. I just want everyone to shut up and listen.

I’ve jumped the shark on churches defying stay-at-home guidelines and encouraging their members to attend in-person services arguing that the restrictions are an affront to First Amendment rights of freedom of religion and assembly. I wonder how many of those pastors have even read the Constitution, much less have the capacity to interpret it?

I’ve jumped the shark on the conspiracy theories about Bill Gates starting the coronavirus, so that he can develop a vaccine and make billions of dollars. I’ve jumped the shark on the individuals threatening Dr. Anthony Fauci and calling for him to be fired.  

I’ve jumped the shark on young people who callously flaunted weekends at the beach over safety. 

I’ve jumped the shark on comments such as those made by Texas Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick that he and “lots of grandparents” would rather die than see public health measures damage the US economy. “Let’s be smart about it,” Patrick said on Fox News. “Those of us who are 70 plus, we’ll take care of ourselves.” Let’s be clear about this – there is nothing “smart” about those comments; instead they border on lunacy. 

I’ve jumped the shark on misinformation, and even more so on the lack of critical thinking skills. A recent study conducted by the Reboot Foundation on the public’s knowledge of COVID-19 as well as its social media use found that almost a third of the public believes COVID-19 myths. Furthermore, the more people rely on social media as a source of information, as opposed to credible sources such as the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institutes of Health, the more misinformed they are about the virus. 

I’m just done with it — all of it.

But I’m not done praying – praying for our front-line health care workers and first responders, praying for competent leadership, praying for the health, safety and resiliency of the scientists and public health leaders, and praying for the faith and spiritual leaders who are tasked with leading us out of the darkness of ignorance.  

I will do my best to distance myself from the daily examples of stupidity and will try to focus on the heroic efforts of many to combat the effects of this pandemic. But we shouldn’t have to rely on heroic efforts. We all deserve better. And, I’ll just keep working on making that happen.

 Stay safe and well.  

Happy Birthday, Audrey

Dear Audrey –

Happy birthday! Just like your birth didn’t go as planned, neither will your 1st birthday.

We are living in unprecedented times; nothing like this has been witnessed by any of the people alive today who love you. Life as we know it has been shut down by a global coronavirus pandemic. You are not likely to remember this, Audrey, but it means that we can’t be together physically in the same place on your birthday. It’s also a reminder that things change – some in big noticeable ways (like now during this health crisis) and others in more subtle ways over time. But change will occur. My wish for you, Audrey is that you will have the resilience to navigate those changes.

The future is never clear, but this I can say with certainty – your world will look different than the one your parents grew up in, as did your parents’ world from your grandparents’ world and the world of your great-grandparents. I really hope that your generation will grow up in a society that is more forgiving, understanding, and accepting and appreciative of difference. I can’t promise that will happen, but I can promise you that I will do everything in my sphere of influence to make it happen.

I hope that your generation will not succumb to someone else’s image of who you should be. Try to remember that others’ opinions are only that – their opinions; they are not the blueprint for your life. I hope the default for your generation is intelligence and critical thinking not fear and willful ignorance. I hope that you will never be the only female voice in the room, Audrey. You are surrounded by strong intelligent women in your family with different interests and talents. I hope that you experience that everywhere – in your classes, in your friendships, and in your career choices. I hope that you never feel that your voice is being silenced.

You are also surrounded by men who love you. I hope that you feel their support as you grow and make choices about your future.

You get to choose your interests, Audrey – not your parents, grandparents, aunts, or any other family members. None of us get to pick those for you, but we are here to help nurture those interests.

Your family isn’t perfect, Audrey. We have all made mistakes and are likely to again. We have all been frustrated and angry. You will also make mistakes. At some point in your life, you will feel frustrated and angry. As my friend Mary Ann says, I hope you learn to use that anger and frustration to speak truth and honesty in love. We will listen to you and do our best to learn.

It has been hard, but I have learned how to get comfortable with uncertainty and chaos, and it has helped me find clarity. These are not intuitive skills, but we will help you cultivate them. Because, you will have times when you are confused, and that confusion will bring challenges. You don’t have to navigate those challenges alone. You are never alone; you will never be alone. We are always here for you.

I hope that your world isn’t marred by another public health crisis and political squabbling. But if it is, I hope that you find ways to stay connected, even if “social distancing” becomes the norm. I hope that you learn how to listen through the noise and the silence.

You won’t remember your first birthday, Audrey, or the fact that your mom let the gift I sent you remain in the garage for two days hoping to allow any potential virus to die before bringing the package indoors for you. You won’t remember the gift I sent, nor am I likely to either. While milestones in our life are the things we cling to and hope for, it is the moments between the milestones that are important. What I will remember about your first year is the feel of your little body snuggled against mine as you napped with your head on my shoulder. I’ll remember the sound of your gurgles and the smell of the shampoo your mom used to wash your crazy hair. I’ll remember watching you take unsteady steps as we all Zoomed with Nan Nan on her birthday.

We love you, Audrey. Our love for you will grow exponentially every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year. We will always love you regardless of who you become, who you love, or what you believe.

Happy first birthday, precious girl. I hope that we can all celebrate your second, third, and many, many more birthdays with you.

Aunt Shelli

I Needed Church Today

We are five weeks into the Lenten season, and I just broke one of the things I gave up for Lent this year. I logged into Facebook.

For my non-Christian non-Catholic friends, Lent is the 40 days preceding Easter. My family isn’t Catholic, but like many other Protestants, I have celebrated this time by either sacrificing something or adding something to my life that I should be doing, but struggle with daily.

This year, I gave up Facebook and Twitter. Honestly, it hasn’t been that much of a sacrifice. I haven’t missed the snarky comments or the memes. I haven’t missed the Facebook and Twitter notifications that pop up on my phone constantly. I actually deleted both apps from my phone, and the jury is still out on whether I will download them again after April 12.

But I did log on to Facebook today because frankly, I just needed church. Not the judgmental church of my childhood – the one that told me not to question how the pastor interpreted the words of the Bible. I needed the church that I have found as an adult. The church that embraces my questions and sits with me in times of uncertainty – I needed that church. Because the only streaming platform they are using is Facebook Live, I broke one my Lent sacrifices a week early.

Last week when my friend, Mary Ann told me that she had attended digital church, I shrugged her off with, “I gave up Facebook for Lent.” But when I awoke this morning after one more fitful night of sleep or lack there of, I decided to “sacrifice” my Lent sacrifice.

And, it was worth it! I heard the words of the Bible come alive in the uplifting contemporary voices of the pastors. I sang songs I needed to sing. I prayed prayers that spoke to my heart. I felt hope and joy.

As we begin another week of uncertainty, whether it is related to health or economic concerns, my wish is that everyone can find a few moments of hope in whatever capacity serves them best. And, if you get the chance, listen to “I Wish I Knew How to Be Free” by Nina Simone.

Stay safe, well and connected, friends.

I wish I knew how It would feel to be free

I wish I could break

All the chains holding me

I wish I could say

All the things that I should say

Say 'em loud, say 'em clear

For the whole round world to hear

I wish I could share

All the love that's in my heart

Remove all the bars

That keep us apart

I wish you could know

What it means to be me

Then you'd see and agree

That every man [and woman*] should be free

I wish I could give

All I'm longin' to give

I wish I could live

Like I'm longin' to live

I wish I could do

All the things that I can do

And though I'm way over due I'd be starting anew

Well I wish I could be

Like a bird in the sky

How sweet it would be

If I found I could fly

Oh I'd soar to the sun

And look down at the sea

Then I'd sing 'cause I know, yea

Then I'd sing 'cause I know, yea

Then I'd sing 'cause I know

I'd know how it feels

Oh I know how it feels to be free

Yea yea! Oh, I know how it feels

Yes I know, oh, I know

How it feels

How it feels

To be free, Lord, Lord, Lord

*My addition to these beautiful words!

What's Saving Your Life Right Now?

I’m a regular listener of Jen Hatmaker’s “For the Love” podcast. At the end of episodes, Jen often asks her guest, “What is saving your life right now?” That would have been easy for me to answer a few days ago.

What was “saving my life” was being able to help out at the COVID-19 drive-through testing station at American Airlines Center (AAC). Everyone handles crisis situations differently. One of the things I’ve discovered about myself is that I’m a helper. When things seem out of my control, I just need to feel like I’m doing something helpful and meaningful. That feeling was probably cultivated during my time with the staff of the Injury Prevention Service of the Oklahoma State Department of Health.

On April 19, 1995 at 9:02 a.m., a bomb was detonated at the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. I was at work on the 6th floor of the State Health Department, approximately 2 miles away from the bombing site. As soon as we understood what had happened, I grabbed a few of my colleagues and within minutes we were at the Red Cross a few blocks from our office ready to volunteer. Because I spent the day answering phones and consoling individuals that had family and friends in the building, I had very little access to information beyond the four walls of the room where I was sitting. I finally left at 5 p.m. that day to pick up my then 6 year-old daughter at her babysitter’s house. It was only then that I turned on the radio and realized the extent of the devastation.

Days later, my friend and then boss, Sue Mallonee organized our department to do a study of the impact of the bombing. For months, our efforts were focused on conducting the study to learn how to prevent and mitigate deaths and injuries if a similar event occurred in the future. The efforts of my colleagues led to recommendations that were put into place at the Pentagon when 9-11 occurred. Our team also conducted similar studies following catastrophic tornadoes in Oklahoma.

On September 11, 2001, I was in a meeting at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill when we learned of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. After the airlines shut down, several of us in the meeting couldn’t get home. Instead of sitting in our hotel rooms watching raw footage of the carnage in New York City, Washington, DC and Pennsylvania for days, we gathered around a conference table in the offices of the UNC Injury Prevention Research Center and began to work on workforce development plans for injury and violence prevention professionals, which was the original purpose of our meeting in Chapel Hill.

Following the flooding in New Orleans caused by Hurricane Katrina in 2005, several of my colleagues and I traveled to a site in eastern Oklahoma where evacuees were being sent to conduct a Rapid Needs Assessment and provide individuals with needed supplies.

I think helping is in my DNA, but it has certainly been cultivated by my career in injury prevention and public health, which are clearly “helping” professions.

On March 19, I learned that Parkland Hospital was helping coordinate two drive-through testing sites for COVID-19; one of those sites was the parking lot of the AAC, across the street from my apartment. So, it should come as no surprise that the minute I learned that Parkland needed staff to help at the sites, I sent a message to the person coordinating the testing site and said, “I’m in.”

For five days, I walked across the street and helped with organizing the entry station, orienting the paramedics on how to screen individuals coming to the site for testing, while helping them put on their Personal Protective Equipment (PPE), collecting data on the number of people/cars coming to the site and reporting it back to Parkland and Dallas Fire-Rescue leaders on an hourly basis, as well as directing the flow of traffic. I was able to do all of this while still following all of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s (CDC) recommendations for staying at least 6 feet away from the vehicles and other individuals. Those five days were long, but they were rewarding. My contribution was small, but it did more for my emotional health than sitting at home wringing my hands over the state of my current reality.

Then, I was told that I couldn’t help at the testing site anymore.

What’s a helper to do, when a helper can’t help?

I understand that there is a lot of uncertainty and fear around COVID-19. I also understand that it is imperative that we protect our physical health, and that we have a responsibility to stay safe and not potentially expose others around us. I understand the importance of self-care. I’m also well aware of what doesn’t help me; I’ve had 62 years to learn that. Self-care isn’t staying in my apartment binge-watching Netflix. I’m not judging those who do that, but it’s just not for me. Telling me to “just pray about it,” also doesn’t help. I pray every day and have for most of my life. But spending all day in prayer is not in my repertoire. Again, I’m not judging people who spend hours in prayer. But, the words “just pray about it” often feel empty to me. They didn’t provide comfort when my father was dying, and they don’t now. What does provide comfort to me is being able to physically help, and I can’t do that now.

Although I know that COVID-19 can be serious, I don’t have anxiety about becoming ill myself because I know that I’m following all of the CDC recommendations. However, I also know that it is just as important to for me and others to pay as much attention to our mental health as we do to our physical health.

When I learned that I wouldn’t be able to help at the AAC testing site, my mood quickly spiraled down. I knew that I needed to do something, so I started searching for credible recommendations on how to stay sane without physically being able to help. The first place I turned to was a source I’ve relied on for 30+ years – CDC.

Here’s what I learned:

• Take breaks from watching, reading, or listening to news stories, including social media. This isn’t hard for me – I’ve limited the amount of television I’ve watched since 2016, and I gave up Facebook and Twitter for Lent this year. The only time I watch television these days is when Dr. Anthony Fauci is speaking – an individual I’ve respected since I began my career in public health.

• Take care of your body. I’m really trying to do this – I take long walks while still practicing social distancing.

• Make time to unwind. This isn’t as easy for me, but I did take a road trip to view one of my favorite sites – bluebonnets blooming in Texas. And, the meditations that my daughter and friends are sending me are helping, too.

• Connect with others. Talk with people you trust about your concerns and how you are feeling. As always, I’m leaning on a small group of trusted friends by having virtual Zoom calls.

These are all good recommendations, but I’ve added one more thing to my list. As I drove through small towns in Texas on my bluebonnet road trip, I saw local businesses closed, while the parking lots at Walmart and Lowe’s stores were filled to capacity. Not only are people ignoring expert public health advice, once again, I was reminded of the power of money and privilege. I understand that people are in need of supplies during this time, but allowing different rules for big corporations will not “flatten the curve” and will decimate the small business economy, if not the entire economy.

I don’t have the answers. The best thing I can do is get out of the way and not let my opinions interfere with the public health experts who do have the answers. I just wish others would do the same.

Stay safe and well, my friends.

They say that these are not the best of times

For we are always what our situations hand us

It's either sadness or euphoria

Now we are forced to recognize our inhumanity

A reason coexists with our insanity

Though we choose between reality and madness

It's either sadness or euphoria

Billy Joel

Summer, Highland Falls

Tough Times

“We need to remember that circumstances don’t make a person, they reveal a person.”

Emma Jameson

I’ve often heard that a person’s true character is revealed in tough times. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately as I’ve watched the rapidly changing news around COVID-19 and the vastly different ways people are responding to these surreal circumstances. I’ve heard my husband say hundreds of times, “There’s a big difference between adversity and inconvenience,” and that statement couldn’t be any truer than in this current reality. For some, COVID-19 represents serious adversity – loss of income and financial security, as well as health. For others, like me, it is challenging our activities in ways that are inconvenient.

While I have been working very hard at not being judgmental, it is no secret that I struggle with this. When I hear people of privilege complaining about the sparsity of toilet paper on grocery shelves, I clench my teeth. Nothing sends me into a spiral of anger faster than hearing someone whine about their difficulty getting back home after they irresponsibly boarded a plane to go on vacation following strong recommendations by every credible public health source to cancel non-essential travel. I have no tolerance for people flaunting their wealth and privilege while our country and this world is in the midst of a health crisis.

It’s probably a wise move that I gave up Facebook and Twitter for Lent this year because it is likely I would see posts that would send me screaming into the streets. So, there it is – after all of this work on myself, trying to be a learner, not a judger – I still fail at being the person I want to be.

I don’t like the angry, judgmental version of me. Anger and judgment don’t make me productive. And, we all need to be productive in these challenging times.

As I’ve thought about the term “social distancing” (which is likely to be the new term of 2020), I’m wondering if that is what I’ve been trying to do for the past few years? In 2016, I was chastised for “unfriending” (which was the word of the year in 2009) several acquaintances. They made assumptions that I had ended “friendships over politics” and expressed shock and outrage directed at me. But the truth is that we weren’t really “friends,” and I had tired of listening to their offensive comments about marginalized populations. They had exposed their character years earlier. It had nothing to do with politics; the election didn’t change my feelings, but it did zap my bandwidth for being around these people.

If I’ve learned anything from reading Brene Brown’s books, it is that I need to set boundaries around toxic people who suck all of my energy. By the same token, I need to surround myself with people who inspire me. And, there are plenty of those.

To all of my friends — near and far, employed and retired — who volunteer on social justice and health issues, you continue to impact my life in all of the best ways. You keep me sane.

As for me, I’m dealing with the inconveniences of COVID-19, by getting outside as often as possible while still following the guidelines of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and National Institutes of Health. I’ve actually been cooking a lot lately, but I’m privileged to have the financial resources to support my neighborhood restaurants. So, I’ll be ordering curbside pick-up meals from them for the next several weeks. I’m scheduling Zoom and FaceTime calls with friends. Thanks to my Action Inquiry Group and the Insight Timer app, I’m spending time in meditation and reflection. I’m expanding my knowledge and understanding by catching up on some reading. This weekend, I will also start assisting with drive-through COVID-19 testing at the American Airlines Center site.

These are tough times. Please take care of yourselves, friends.

Do We Really Need Any More Evidence That Prevention is the Answer?

A man is walking along the bank of a river when he noticed someone drowning. He jumped in and helped the person reach the shore. Almost immediately, he saw several others in need of help. They were fully dressed, obviously not planning to go for a swim. Fortunately, there were people on the bank who could assist with the rescues. Suddenly, a woman who’d been helping began to walk upstream. “Hey, where are you going?” shouted the man. “We need you.” “I’m going to see why people keep falling into the river in the first place,” she replied. As it turned out, the bridge at the head of the river had a hole in it, and this was the source of the problem. The hole was repaired, and additional drownings were prevented.

Upstream public health parable reprinted from Prevention Diaries: The Practice and Pursuit of Health for All by Larry Cohen

I’ve spent my entire career in public health; 30 of those years have been in injury and violence prevention. I’m ashamed to admit that for much of the early years, I had a difficult time describing what I did to friends and family. What is even more ironic is that my undergraduate degree is in Public Relations, and the first seven years of my career was as a public information officer – meaning, it was my job to provide information about public health issues and how to stay healthy. I’m not sure if that speaks to the failure of my undergraduate degree or my inability to apply those principles to my job!

Recently, I started reading Upstream: The Quest to Solve Problems Before They Happen by Dan Heath. I met Dan Heath in 2008 when he was the keynote speaker at the Safe States Alliance Annual Conference. Heath and his brother, Chip, had just published Made to Stick. The brothers have since authored the following New York Times bestselling books, Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard, Decisive: How to Make Better Choices in Life and Work, and The Power of Moments: Why Certain Experiences Have Extraordinary Impact. I think all of the books are worth reading, so it was a “no brainer” that I would read Upstream.

When I heard Heath speak in 2008, he good-naturedly chastised those of us in public health for being “bad” at messaging. He actually showed a typical Power Point slide from a public health professional that featured “alarming” statistics on a public health issue. He explained that public health professionals are so compelled by those statistics that we believe everyone else is, too. The real problem is that those statistics aren’t really compelling to anyone but public health professionals.

Even after hearing that keynote in 2008, I have continued to fall into the “compelling statistics” trap, which is evident in annual reports and other communications that my team has published. It is clear by my own evaluation of my efforts to educate decision makers about the need for “upstream” approaches that those efforts have failed.

As Heath points out in Upstream, we often get “stuck in a cycle of response.” He said we are so focused on putting out fires, dealing with emergencies, and handling one problem after another, that we never get around to fixing the systems that caused the problems. “We are so focused on saving the drowning kids in the river that we fail to investigate why they need saving at all,” Heath writes.

While downstream approaches are also important, they are not fail-proof. I frequently use a slide attributed to my friend, Larry Cohen, that says medical care is not always the answer because it comes late in the process after disease is present or an injury has occurred, and it cannot always restore health.

The injury and violence prevention field is filled with success stories of upstream solutions; many of which are documented in While We Were Sleeping: Success Stories in Injury and Violence Prevention, written by Dr. David Hemenway. One of the success stories that Dr. Hemenway describes is the introduction of poisoning prevention packaging. In the 1970s, baby aspirin poisoning of children less than 5 years of age decreased more than 70% in only 3 years following adding safety closures to aspirin packaging. Adding child-resistant packaging to a variety of other products (e.g., antifreeze, drain cleaners, oven cleaners, lighter fluid) resulted in a 67% decrease in poisoning rates in less than 10 years. This upstream approach was much more effective than educating caregivers to be vigilant in watching a young child at all times or even locking their medicine cabinet after every use. Today, we have moved even further upstream with blister packaging and subtoxic doses in medicines. I often use a slide developed by Susan Baker, professor emerita at the Johns Hopkins University Bloomberg School of Public Health, that depicts this type of upstream solution.

The problem is that while upstream solutions are generally more effective, they can often seem more complex. As result, people resort to what they believe is easier and doable. As I’ve learned through my study of systems thinking approaches, we often opt for technical solutions (ones that can be fixed with existing knowledge, such as fixing a broken arm). However, many of the societal issues we face need adaptive solutions (ones that require new discoveries, new knowledge, and new way of thinking).

Twenty-five years ago, a group of visionary leaders in Dallas County used adaptive thinking to address an increasing problem. In 1991, Dallas was facing a crisis. Injuries and trauma-related deaths had increased by 38% over previous years. Trauma-related injuries were growing at such a rate that by 1995, the number of trauma patients would eventually exceed the capacity of Dallas area hospitals to treat them.

Something had to be done – but not the same things that had always been done.

In 1992, more than 100 area health, government and business leaders examined the issue and developed a unique plan to address the problem. Led by Dr. Ron Anderson, former CEO of Parkland Health & Hospital System, Dr. Compton Broders, an emergency room physician at Texas Health Resources, Dr. James Carrico, former Chair of Surgery at UT Southwestern, and Dr. Charles Sprague, former President of UT Southwestern, the leaders established the Injury Prevention Center of Greater Dallas (IPC) in 1994 to implement upstream primary prevention strategies in the community to prevent the car crashes, burns, drownings, falls, child abuse, intimate partner violence and other injuries from ever occurring. These leaders chose to invest in prevention.

For 25 years, the IPC adhered to the guiding principles of using data to drive the selection, implementation of evidence-informed interventions, and evaluation of these strategies. We have developed and implemented prevention strategies through a health equity lens and in partnership with the communities we serve. At the very core of our efforts has been evaluation and community involvement. We are proud of the fact that many of our interventions have led to documented decreases in deaths due to motor vehicle crashes, older adult falls, residential fires, and violence. But we have also been good stewards of our limited funding. When evaluation showed that interventions were not successful in reducing deaths and injuries or increasing safety behavior, those interventions were not continued. Our commitment to evidence and outcome evaluation have resulted in our efforts being recognized nationally, as well as internationally, with more than 65 scientific presentations, 27 peer-reviewed articles and publications, and nine national and local awards. Along with our partners, the IPC led the effort to have Dallas designated as an international Safe Community in 1996 – the first urban city in the world to receive the designation and the first U.S city designated. Dallas was re-designated in 2007, 2011, and 2017.

As John Auerbach, President of Trust for America’s Health, said in a quote in Upstream, “We under-invest in the services and policies that would keep people healthier so that they would not develop those illnesses or have the injuries or suffer from premature deaths that we know could be avoided.” Not only is Auerbach correct about the under-investment in prevention, Heath points out that often public health efforts suffer from a punishment for success. He also quotes Dr. Julie Pavlin, a physician with experience running global health programs, who says, “In public health, if you do your job, they cut your budget.”

Heath says one of the “most baffling and destructive ideas about preventive efforts is that they must save us money.” Again, I have fallen into this trap and have tried to provide examples of costs saved by injury prevention efforts. While this is not my area of expertise, I have relied on credible studies by injury economists such as Dr. Ted Miller to provide this information. However, Heath says that “nothing else in health care, other than prevention, is viewed through this lens of saving money.” He says this is “madness.” The reason to prevent disease and injuries shouldn’t be because of financial returns, says Health, but because of the moral returns. He says we shouldn’t sabotage upstream efforts by subjecting them to a test we never impose on downstream interventions. Amen!

As I said earlier, my expertise is not in cost-benefit analysis. What I do know is that for the 12 years that I have been the Director of the IPC, our hospital has provided less than $500,000 each year to support the IPC. During that same time period, we have secured almost $5 million to supplement our efforts.

In 2013, the cost of injuries and violence in the United States was $671 billion; a new fact sheet from the Safe States Alliance reports that cost is now $840 billion. In 2013, the estimated cost of injuries and violence in Dallas County was $5.3 billion. Even with the significant documented decreases in injury deaths as a result of IPC efforts, unintentional injuries are still the fourth leading cause of death in Dallas County, according to the 2019 Community Health Needs Assessment (CHNA) conducted by Parkland Health & Hospital System and Dallas County Health and Human Services (DCHHS). Injuries and violence are also still the leading cause of premature death in Dallas County. Clearly, there is still much work to be done, yet injury and violence prevention strategies are absent in the CHNA Implementation Plan. That is on me.

As I reflect on our current crisis around COVID-19, I hope that this teaches us that short-sighted decisions to cut public health programs for perceived immediate gains can have catastrophic results in the long-term. I own my ineffectiveness in messaging the need for the IPC or showcasing our successes and value. I hope that the next generation of injury and violence prevention leaders learn how to do that better.

It has been one of my greatest privileges to lead the IPC for the past 12 years. I will be forever grateful to the founders, former leaders and staff of the IPC, and to all of our many partners for this opportunity. Today and always, my work with you will be a “moment of awe.”

When you have no words, turn to music lyrics

I actually started the blog I posted on February 28 the week of February 10 and had planned to finish and post it that weekend. Then, I got some unexpected news on February 14 that has consumed every amount of my emotional and mental energy for the past two weeks. Rest assured, the news isn’t life-threatening for me or any of the people I love, but my emotions have run the gamut since hearing the news.

While I’ve been on a journey to be positive and search for “moments of awe,” the reality is that not everything is positive, even in a “filtered” Instagram world. After finally finishing the “Foodie Thoughts” blog, I wanted to prepare a post that was authentic and vulnerable, but I just have the bandwidth. The words just weren’t there. So, I gave myself permission to not be perfect and to just escape from my thoughts and feelings for a day. On Saturday, I grabbed my camera and car keys, turned on my favorite playlist, and headed east to a Texas state park.

This is what I discovered – when you don’t have the words, often music does. As I listened to the playlist while the music looped during the drive to Caddo Lake State Park, and back, the song lyrics began to capture my thoughts and feelings in ways that I couldn’t.

When my words and energy levels return (and both will), I’ll post more. Until then, the words that appear below describe my thoughts about the past couple of weeks. My best friend will recognize the songs because she has heard my playlist too many times to count. For all others, I’ve included the name of the song and artist.

“Packing up the dreams God planted

A chapter of your life is through .

It’s hard to let you go.”

“Friends” by Michael W. Smith

“I feel like I belong.

I hold the happiness you bring.

It's a better place since you came along.”

“Better Place” by Rachel Platten

“This is a love song to the Earth.

You're no ordinary world.

A diamond in the universe.

Keep it safe.

Keep it safe.

Keep it safe.”

“Love Song to the Earth by Paul McCartney

“I've heard it said

That people come into our lives for a reason

Bringing something we must learn.

And we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them.

And we help them in return.

I know I'm who I am today because I knew you.”

“For Good” by Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth

“We can brave through those emotions, too.

‘Cause I'm gonna stand by you.

Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through hell with you.”

“Stand by You” by Rachel Platten

“Don't try to write my ending;

Nobody gets to sing my song.

This is the sound of surviving;

This is my farewell to fear.

This is my whole heart deciding I'm still here.

I'm still here,

And I'm not done fighting.

My freedom is in view;

I'm stronger than I knew.”

“Sound of Surviving” by Nicole Nordeman

“You can bend but never break me

'Cause it only serves to make me

More determined to achieve my final goal.

And I come back even stronger,

Not a novice any longer,

'Cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul.”

“I am Woman” by Helen Reddy

“I'll help your back when your back is to the wall.

I'll catch the tears when your tears fall.

I will give it all.

I won't give up the fight.

So, I'll fight, fight that war for you.

I'll fight, stand and defend you.

Take your side, that's what I'm here to do.”

“I’ll Fight” by Jennifer Hudson

"Foodie" Thoughts

Not long after I moved to Dallas, my husband accompanied me to Austin, where I had a meeting. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Austin and the culture, so I was anxious to share the city with my husband. Honestly, it was probably too much of a stretch to assume that my husband, whose hatred for anything Texas Longhorns had been cultivated years earlier when he was an undergraduate student at the University of Arkansas, but I had hope.

We had driven to Austin from Dallas. The plan was for him to drop me off at the meeting location, then he would spend the day in Austin. Typically, when I stay in Austin, I stay at hotels within walking distance of a local, craft coffee shop, or at the very least, near a Starbucks. But that wasn’t the case on that particular trip, so as left the hotel, I immediately started “Googling” the closest Starbucks to my meeting location. I found one and directed my husband there. As I drank my chai tea latte while we sat at a table in that Starbucks, I noticed my husband looking out the window. I followed his gaze to the Denny’s restaurant across the street and asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering why we are at this designer coffee shop, when we could be having a full breakfast at Denny’s for half the price,” he replied.

And that, in a nutshell, explains the difference between us!

I haven’t always been a “foodie;” that happened when I moved to Dallas. In fact, I had always been a picky (and bland) eater – a very well-done hamburger, any kind of potatoes, and chips and dips were my “go to” staples. If you looked in our cabinets when my daughter was young, you would have found rows of Hamburger Helper boxes (I didn’t really like Hamburger Helper, but it was easy).

In 1998, my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and I became a vegetarian. Because my culinary skills were limited, as were vegetarian options in Oklahoma in 1998, I relied even more heavily on potatoes and chips and store-bought hummus. After several months, I finally found a small grocery store that stocked organic vegetarian meals and products.

Possibly because I’m now surrounded by “foodie” friends, it’s 20+ years later and trendy, and I live in a thriving urban area, but my tastes have changed. And, it’s way more convenient for me to not only find healthy eating options, but numerous exercise options also abound. Within 2-3 blocks of where I live, there are numerous restaurants that have healthy fare on their menus. There are even three healthy “fast food” establishments where I can grab a variety of veggie and quinoa bowls in less than 10 minutes. Just steps from my door is the Katy Trail, an urban walking and biking trail that was converted from train tracks. The Katy Trail stretches 3.5 miles in length and leads to many other restaurants and retail shops. I can walk to Trader Joe’s – 1.7 miles, Whole Foods – .7 miles, or Tom Thumb – .3 miles.

This scenario isn’t unusual, even when I’m traveling on business. On a recent trip to Austin, I stayed in the Domain area, where I walked to a different restaurant for dinner every night. Not one of those restaurants was part of a restaurant chain. Many of the establishments had an ethnic flair, and every one of them had excellent healthy options. This is usually the case when I’m traveling, whether it is Austin, Washington, DC, Atlanta, or any other city. It is so convenient for me to be healthy that I often take it for granted and forget that this isn’t the case everywhere, particularly in rural areas.

A few weekends ago, I went to a high school basketball game in Weatherford, Oklahoma with my husband. Weatherford is approximately 70 miles from Oklahoma City. Once past Oklahoma City, I noticed that the only eating options were either various chain restaurants, fast food chains (not the healthy ones), diners where the menu specials featured some type of meat with gravy, or truck stops that reeked of fried grease. While I didn’t visit any grocery stores along the route, I think it is a safe bet that their shelves were not stocked with many, if any, healthy options.

For the past several months, Parkland Health & Hospital System and Dallas County Health and Human Services have partnered to complete the 2019 Dallas County Community Health Needs Assessment (CHNA) to identify the geographic areas and populations that experience the most significant health disparities in the county. The CHNA is a requirement of the Affordable Care Act (ACA), and outlines health disparities and incidence of diseases across racial and ethnic minorities, socio-economic factors, underserved populations, and access to care. Also required is an implementation plan to address those disparities.

I’ve been fortunate to assist with those efforts. Many of the conversations that my colleagues and I have are centered around the differences in life expectancy in zip codes in Dallas County. Life expectancy is defined as the expected average number of years of life remaining at a given age. It can vary by race/ethnicity, gender, socioeconomic status, and education. According to a UT Southwestern interactive map, the life expectancy near where I live is more than 86 years, compared to 74.2 in 75217, 70.8 in 75216, and 67.6 in 75215, which are three of the zip codes in the southern sector of Dallas County targeted by the CHNA. The overall life expectancy for Texas is 78.5, which is close to the US life expectancy at 78.6.

As I pondered the limited food options on that drive to Weatherford, I was reminded about a newspaper article that was published on September 23, 2018 in The Oklahoman, entitled “Life is short in some Oklahoma communities.” The article published statistics from the National Center of Health Statistics that showed that of the seven American towns or neighborhoods with a life expectancy below 60 years, three were in Oklahoma. – one of those three was my husband’s hometown, and the community where most of his family still resides. Even a few miles can make a difference in life expectancy. In the center of my hometown of Ada, the life expectancy is 66 years; just south of town, it is 84.

While access to affordable, high-quality health care is important, it is not the primary determinant of health and life expectancy. According to the Bipartisan Policy Center, medical care accounts for only 10% of what makes us safe and healthy, while our environment and our behavior determine 70% of that equation (the remaining 20% is due to genetics). As my colleagues at the Prevention Institute have noted, medical care is important but it does not address the underlying cause of disease or injuries and violence. Safe environments, access to affordable, healthy food, good schools, and jobs that provide adequate financial resources are some of the factors that contribute to life longevity. Those are the conditions that can help keep us from getting sick in the first place.

That brings me back to my earlier comments about access to affordable, healthy food options. My colleagues and I often talk about the “food deserts” in the southern sector zip codes of Dallas County because of the lack of quality grocery stores and the high density of fast food establishments. After my trip to Oklahoma, I began thinking about the potential “food deserts” in many rural areas.

Please understand that I’m not advocating that all of the “mom and pop diners” or fast food restaurants be replaced, or that everyone become a vegetarian. I also don’t believe decisions impacting those in rural areas or “flyover America” should be made without including those impacted in the decision-making process. If my 30+ year career has taught me anything, it is that there is power in collective wisdom and that solutions won’t be acceptable to those impacted unless we bring everyone into the conversation.

I certainly don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do believe that if healthy options are available and convenient, more people will begin to consume a healthier diet. Just as important, though, is that the healthier options be affordable. While I love the fact that I can walk two blocks to Freshii and purchase my favorite Oaxaca bowl, I also understand that a family of four can eat at Denny’s for the cost of my meal at Freshii.

Whether I’m in Dallas or Oklahoma, I hope we can find solutions to improve the health of everyone – not just the ones who can afford it.

Do you believe people are doing the best they can?

The first time I heard that question was when I read Brene Brown’s book, Rising Strong: The Reckoning, The Rumble, The Revolution. I have a become a Brene Brown devotee over the past four years. Brown is a research professor at the University of Houston. Her first TED talk, “The Power of Vulnerability,” is one of the top five most viewed TED talks, with over 45 million views.

I wish I had discovered Brene in 2010 when that first TED talk went viral. Perhaps, I would be farther along in my growth as a leader, and frankly, as a compassionate human.

Rising Strong has become one of my favorite non-fiction books. It sits on my nightstand, complete with multi-colored sticky notes attached to almost every page, so that I can have ready access to it and all of the wisdom it holds. Since reading the book, I have honestly tried to assume that people are doing the best they can. Granted, I have also been doing a lot of work on myself in the past four years, which has included professional counseling and executive coaching. I’m working hard on listening with a curious and learning mindset instead of reacting in judgment.

For the most part, I think I’ve made significant improvement. But just when I’m feeling smug about my progress, something will happen that immediately sends me into self-righteous indignation. That happened again this past week when I saw a Facebook post from a former colleague (and friend). The post dealt with politics and religion, which under any circumstances can be a powder-keg. I have many fond memories of times spent working with the colleague, but I was offended and disappointed in the post that seemed uncharacteristic of the Christian woman I remembered. To my credit, I actually tried to approach the post with empathy and curiosity. I wondered why my colleague felt like she did. Had her life experiences led to her views?

When a mutual friend of ours challenged the post, it unleashed a litany of other comments from the person who posted the original comment, as well as from several of her “friends.” I was dismayed because the comments from my colleague and her friends directed at the person challenging the comment felt demeaning, shaming, vile, and even threatening. The colleague even made a derogatory remark about the time we had worked together. That’s when I went from curious empathy to fury in a nano-second.

So much for my progress. But then I did something that I rarely do. I got curious about my reaction. Why did I react with such emotional anger? Last year, as a member of my Action Inquiry Group, I completed an interview with a facilitator to “peel back the layers” that inform how I think and respond to situations. I have to admit – the interview was tough and forced me to “unpack” and reconcile some long-held feelings. As I began to examine my reaction to the colleague’s Facebook comments, I started to peel back and unpack those layers. What I discovered was that the unkind comments posted by my colleague mimicked my own behavior at various times in my past, and it made me sick and ashamed.

I had been that pious Christian when I was in junior high, high school, and college. The “Shelli” of my youth and young adulthood was more prone to shaming and judging others than practicing unconditional love, acceptance and understanding. I bought into discrediting others’ beliefs, while focusing more on the afterlife than being a kind person in the present. Even later in life when I was dismayed about the hypocrisy and struggled with the evangelical authoritarian interpretation of the Bible, I was too often complicit and culpable in perpetuating some of that ongoing Christian shame and judgment. I recall too many times that I stayed silent when friends made disparaging remarks about people of other races, ethnicities, sexual preferences, religions, etc. During my “unpacking” exercise, I realized that I had been that person that I despise in others now.

During a counseling session recently, the therapist described two options for dealing with situations and asked me which option best described how I react to difficult situations. Option 1 is to dig in and bully others into submission until they agree with my point of view. That was probably me in my youth. Option 2 is to avoid conflict and disengage. That is definitely me today. When anyone raises their voice to me, I completely shut down. As Brene says, it’s hard to be compassionate when someone is hurting us. The therapist pointed out that neither Option 1 or 2 are effective and rarely, if ever, result in the desired outcome.

When Brene and her team analyzed their research around the question, “Do you believe people are doing the best they can,” they found that people who answered “yes” to the question were extremely compassionate people who had set boundaries and were very clear about what’s okay and what’s not okay. They found that these people are compassionate because they don’t subject themselves to the abuse of other people. They answered “yes” to the question because they knew and respected their own boundaries. They also found that people who answered “no” had allowed themselves to be hurt by the people they thought of when asked the question.

Brene then asked them, “What if God told you that a person you know is doing the best s/he could?” And that, she said, yielded amazing insight. The most common response was:

“If God told me that the person was doing the best that s/he could, I would have to stop being angry and have to start grieving the loss…and I would have to love that person, but I would "have to have some boundaries about what’s ok…”

Brene’s research found that if we assume someone is doing the best they can, we drop anger, condemnation and opinion. And, we realize that it is our job to take care and responsibility for what works for us.

Following the discussion with the therapist about Option 1 and 2, he pointed out that I have 51% (the majority) control of how I react when I feel hurt by others. I can react angrily or with curiosity, empathy and compassion. And, I can set boundaries. I’m working on that. I’ve actually found that it is pretty freeing when I set those boundaries and stop worrying about other’s opinions.

Ironically as I was contemplating all of these thoughts this week, my daughter sent me a link to a blog with these words:

Words can make you sick. And heavy. And dark.

Words can make you light. And radiant. And energized.

As I said earlier, so much of becoming more self-aware and working on myself takes a lot of internal bandwidth. As Brene said, “The tired I feel from doing this kind of exploration is different than the tired I feel from being pissed off and resentful all of the time.”

With my 51% control, I choose light, radiance and positive energy. I choose to surround myself with people who question the status quo, are intellectual and practice empathy and compassion. I choose to not be encumbered by hate and negativity and to continue to search for moments of awe.