Life in the contact tracing trenches

IWAS a COVID-19contact tracer in New York City and, for a short time, people would unlock their vulnerabilities and allow me into their lives.

I didn’t get into this because it was my dream job, or even because I wanted someone to clap for me at 7 p.m. Like many of my colleagues, I just needed a job. And I just wanted to help in some capacity as a global pandemic devastated my city.

A lot of people think of contact tracers as robo-callers. That they call up COVID-19 cases and say, “Hey, gimme your contacts!” But the answer was almost never “screw you” or “sure, here you go!” Most of the conversations were more nuanced than that.

For one, you often had to tell people for the first time they had COVID-19. Having to respond with empathy and patience to their reaction instantly dispelled any perception that this was a telemarketing-style job.

I educated people about emergency warning signs and when they needed togo to the hospital. I asked them about their symptoms to determine when they were infectious and how long they needed to isolate. It old them about job protections and helped them get letters to give their employers explaining they couldn’t go to work.

I set them up with isolation hotels so they could separate from loved ones, or with food or medication delivery if needed. I had them sent care packages of masks, thermometers, pulse oximeters and hand sanitizer.

And, of course, I got contact information for anyone who was exposed to them while they were infectious.

My official title was “case investigator,” and it did feel like an investigation at times. I would catch someone talking about their roommate early in the conversation and then later they’d say, “Nope, I don’t have any contacts.” Sorry. Busted.

But I also saw the humanity behind those case numbers ticking up every day.

There were people who took the news of having COVID-19 in stride. Maybe they already knew they were positive and had accepted it. Maybe they were isolating in their second home with all the amenities they needed, or they had no symptoms, and this was like a vacation.

There was some humor, too. People who said they couldn’t smell their cat’s litter box. Or didn’t have to lie about their spouse’s cooking because they couldn’t actually taste it.

Those were the good calls.

But there were people who didn’t take the news so well. Some would sob, and I would try to console this person I just“met” by telling them it wasn’t their fault — that you can be really careful, but it’s just very contagious. That it was OK to cry, and that I wanted to help.

Some were afraid for the people they may have infected unknowingly. I’d try to assure them that we were going to monitor their contacts and make sure they had what they needed to quarantine safely.

There were also moments of extreme kindness — like the people who called their contacts immediately after getting symptoms or test results, justin case, and as a result may have saved lives. There were families carefully caring for elderly relatives to prevent them from getting sick.

And there were instances of extreme bravery, like the adult children of hospitalized patients. They’d spend 30 minutes telling meparent went, how they think their parent got infected. All the while, they didn’t know if they would see that parent again.

Some people were lonely and just wanted to talk. Maybe they were elderly or they lived alone. I would stay on the phone just a little longer to hear their stories, to give them a brief moment of human contact.

There were people who yelled and vented at me angrily about politics, because they thought I had some direct line to the mayor or governor and could express to them their grievances. They didn’ t see that I was on their side, that I’ m angry too.

In all, I made something close to 1,400 calls in eight months. In my own experience, roughly 3 percent were refusals. For New Yorkers, that’s pretty good.

As cases drop, vaccines are distributed and life hopefully goes back to some sense of normal, we’ll mend and move away from the trauma of COVID-19, especially in New York City. But I will remember these stories of how New Yorkers kept going during the worst of times. That is something worth tracing.

Anita Raman has resumed working in climate research and policy and is currently at Cornell University.