Not too long ago I put on my gloves and face mask like I had done every day for the past six months. I wanted to protect myself, be safe and I wanted to be healthy. No, I wasn’t a prepper preparing for the end of the world and/or the coronavirus, I lived in Antarctica.
From 2002 to 2018, I spent over six years of my life working and living in Antarctica. Math might tell you that looks like “16 years,” but Antarctica works on a different schedule.
Scientists and contract laborers (like myself) have been limited to work a maximum of 14 months straight in Antarctica because, after 14 months of isolation, it has been said, “You might lose your mind.” Therefore, four weeks, six weeks, or eight weeks of coronavirus quarantine is, for me, like a walk on the frozen ocean.
There are two different seasons in Antarctica: summer and Winter. For the layperson, that’s when it’s light 24 hours a day (summer) and then when it’s dark 24 hours a night (Winter). It’s not by accident that “Winter” is capitalized and “summer” is in lowercase. This is because you need to respect Winter.
I have spent four Winters in Antarctica. When I Wintered in Antarctica at McMurdo Station, the largest of the three American bases on the 7th Continent, a plane with all of our friends, hopes, dreams and escape plans left in February. The next time we would see the lights of a plane in the sky would be in August. When that last plane left, shit got real. We had to trust we had enough food, talent and toilet paper to last us until the end of August. As the saying goes, “If we don’t have it, then you don’t need it. And, you don’t need it, because we don’t have it.” More specifically, if you run out of chicken, then you eat pork. When you run out of pork, you eat lamb, when you run out of lamb, you eat hamsters–hamsters are what we called microwavable breaded (or deep fried) ham and cheese Hot Pockets™®.
I guess I’m saying, if the grocery stores are open, you can quit panicking. When you’re outside, hoping your squirrel trap has been bountiful today, that is the time to panic. However, today, it’s not minus 45 degrees outside. Walmart will be restocked soon, and you can put on your mask and gloves and purchase only what you need. Then go home.
It’s going to be fine.
My first job in Antarctica was as dishwasher at the South Pole. They had a “dishwasher emergency” there, 850 miles from the sea level solitude of McMurdo station. Just like we need grocery store employees, drive through food and universal health care, the South Pole needed a dishwasher—and they chose me. I left my home, friends and a girlfriend to seek this adventure. (I’m still happy with two out of three of those decisions.)
The South Pole is located at 9,301 feet above sea level. When I live my life in my hometown of Salt Lake City, I live at 4,327 feet above sea level but I have summited Mt. Timpanogos, in Utah, at 11,752 feet and Mt. Nebo at 11,928 ft. So when I was asked to work at the “high altitude” of 9,301 feet of the South Pole, I said, “Okay. I’ve done that.”
However, what I didn’t know was that it’s not just about the altitude. The South Pole has a variance of altitude because of the Earth’s centrifugal force which makes the South Pole seem much higher than the actual 9,301 feet. At times it can feel, because of lack of oxygen, as though you are over 12 or 13 thousand feet. And I was coming from McMurdo station, which is 30 feet above sea level.
Before going to the South Pole, the doctors and scientists said I should take “prophylactic acetazolamide” to combat the feelings of high altitude sickness. However, my friend Donald said, “You’ll be ‘okay.’” He said that since he was from Colorado and I was from Utah, that I would be fine, because I was used to high altitude.
I was at the South Pole for eight days. I quit taking prophylactic acetazolamide on day four, because I was feeling great. I listened to Donald.
On day eight, I nearly died. This wasn’t Utah. Because I’d lived at sea level for four months at McMurdo Station, my pulse oximeter (the amount of oxygen which should be in my blood and close to 100) was 52. I was failing breathing.
Pulmonary edema cut the oxygen supply to my brain making me think 3 + 7 = Cat. The South Pole doctor said: “Phil, you are two to four hours from death.”
Due to bad weather, all flights to the South Pole were cancelled the day I started seeing cats, however, due to my being 2 to 4 hours away from death, a C130 National Guard Airplane risked their lives and flew from McMurdo Station to rescue me. If not for universal Antarctica Health Care, I could be dead.
On this day, I learned I needed to listen to the scientists, and not to Donald.
I wish more could be done for those that won’t make it out of their own difficulties to breathe due to Covid-19, a number that is far higher than it should be, because people listened to Donald.
But if you’re hanging in there, breathing okay, here are my Top Ten Tips for surviving isolation and staying mostly sane:
1: Do something today better than you did yesterday. Did you go to bed sooner? Wake up earlier? Brush your cat?
2: Exercise. In Antarctica my exercise routine was called, “Brushing the Dust Off of David.” There is no reason to take a hammer and chisel to David. All you need to do is to take a wet cloth and brush off the dust. Do 10 sit ups, pushups, or jog in place. Be happy with who you are, and barely maintain. If you set higher expectations, you might fail. Simply, brush the dust off of your personal David.
3: Do something better today than you did yesterday. There were many times in Antarctica I got more drunk on Friday than I did on Thursday. I’m not advocating alcoholism, but lower your expectations. Don’t look for perfection when a glass of wine might do.
4: Did you make your bed after you woke up? Some days you will go to bed and your biggest accomplishment will be, “I made that bed today.” Congratulations.
5: Defy Groundhog Day. Every day may seem like yesterday, but, how did you make it different? In Antarctica, after six months of Winter the trash shelves are lined with “Learn ‘This Language’ in 30 Days” DVDs. Nobody accomplishes a lot during the isolation of Winter. But, if we do little, then that is a lot.
6: Communicate. Does your phone work? In Antarctica, no one can call us, so we have to call out. Instead of waiting for ‘that phone call.’ Make it.
7: Don’t go outside. It’s too cold. It’s too dangerous. My dad goes to dialysis three times a week; please don’t kill him. Don’t go outside.
8: Appreciate your pets. In Antarctica we are not allowed to have pets. I started the “Antarctica Cat Club.” All we did was share photos of our cats from home that we wished to be with. Now, we get to live a cat’s life. Nap. Eat. Shit. Nap. Clean. Nap. Eat. Repeat. Love your pets you lucky sons of bitches.
9: Be creative. Do something artistic. For instance, today, I chose to write this Manifesto. In Antarctica a group of us recreated the (drunk) history of the race to South Pole by Roald Amundsen and Robert Scott (https://vimeo.com/35084075). What will you or your isolated group create?
10: Know that it ends. A plane will come and take you away or scientists will tell you it’s safe to go outside. And then, it’s over. You take off your mask and gloves. You shop at a grocery store, you go to a movie, you hug your parents, you love being able to hold those who you love.
Stay warm. Stay isolated.