Panic in the City
We had another aftershock scare yesterday afternoon. Isaac arrived home from school, closely followed by Xiao Long, who announced that everyone was outside again and a large aftershock – a magnitude 7.0 - was predicted to occur between 1 and 4 pm. “Even the babies are outside, all lined up out there under the trees,” she said, clearly alarmed. Also she had heard that schools and government offices in the town of Mianyang, near the epicenter of the original quake, had been closed since 11 am.
I looked at my watch. It was already 3 pm and I knew, logically, that aftershocks cannot be predicted and that so far all such panics have turned out to be false alarms. But then Sam said, “Mummy hurry up and go outside, my house is going to make a big noise.” That drew me up short. Most likely he had heard Xiao Long talking outside, but to describe it in those terms means that he must also remember the original earthquake. He has not been noticeably upset by events, apart from all the moving around in the first few days, but he obviously retains a memory. “My house making a big noise” is a pretty accurate description of his experience, lying down on the floor with me clutching him and Xiao Long calling “don’t worry baby it’s going to be OK” round the edge of the bed, while everything rattled and shook all around him.
His comment made me think that there was no harm in going outside for an hour or so. Unfortunately Isaac had other ideas. He had just got home from school and was tired. He has a cough and had woken up at 5 am, so now he just wanted to sit on the sofa and read his book. When I said let’s go outside, he rolled his eyes and said, “Mummy, you know they can’t predict earthquakes.” But with Xiao Long urging us to hurry up and leave, and Sam running round in circles saying the house was about to make a big noise, I insisted he come with us. A friend texted the news that Isaac’s Taekwondo class was cancelled because of the shake rumours. Xiao Liu wanted to finish making the beds but Xiao Long told her not to be so silly and to come along quickly. Isaac took so long putting on his shoes that, regrettably, I shouted at him to hurry up and he burst into tears. By the time we got outside we were all upset.
Once outside, it appeared that Xiao Long had exaggerated somewhat. There were a lot of people, some clutching quilts and bags of water and snacks, and it sounded like the roads were busy as well, but it was far calmer than during earlier alarms of this kind. I suggested that we get ice-cream from the shop, which restored everyone’s good humour. Sam smeared chocolate cornetto all over himself while Isaac and I sat on a bench and did his homework. Xiao Liu kept looking at her watch and after a while she said she would go back upstairs and do the ironing. I realized that she was right and there was no good reason to be outside. Ethan forwarded a text that said, “The National and Provincial Earthquake Bureaus have not predicted a magnitude 7.0 aftershock in Sichuan. Please do not spread rumours.” So we all traipsed back upstairs again.
This morning Xiao Long told me that the real reason schools and offices were closed in Mianyang was to practice evacuation in case of flooding from damaged dams, a much greater threat to safety than aftershocks. But, despite knowing that any aftershocks are going to be smaller than the original earthquake and therefore will not cause any great damage, it is still difficult to resist the urge to run away from possible danger.
I find something similar happens to me most nights. I wake up around dawn and feel a slight tremour, usually only lasting a couple of seconds. Maybe I even imagine it, although very likely not, as they are happening all the time. Then I am gripped by panic, my heart racing, as I imagine the building crashing down on top of us all, and wonder whether I should wake everyone up and rush them outside. I imagine us racing out of the door just in time, as apartment buildings collapse all around us. I manage to control the urge to run, but I find myself listening carefully to the noises outside for possible danger signals. Are the birds still singing? Are a lot of dogs barking? Are other people outside already?
This may sound ridiculous but apparently it is a very normal ‘flight’ response, a typical symptom of anxiety following a traumatic event. Several of my friends are experiencing similar feelings. Many of us also feel dizzy a lot of the time, which I attribute again to the constant tiny aftershocks, too small to register an actual feeling of movement, but still affecting the inner ear. My friend Cyndi, who has now joined her husband in the US, said in an email that she no longer feels the dizziness now she has left China.
Here is a link to a New York Times Article that describes the atmosphere of panic in Chengdu: Although I have to say things feel a lot closer to normal here now than he describes them.
Also this blog, ‘Barking at the Sun’, has good descriptions and a thorough debunking of the aftershock rumours.
I looked at my watch. It was already 3 pm and I knew, logically, that aftershocks cannot be predicted and that so far all such panics have turned out to be false alarms. But then Sam said, “Mummy hurry up and go outside, my house is going to make a big noise.” That drew me up short. Most likely he had heard Xiao Long talking outside, but to describe it in those terms means that he must also remember the original earthquake. He has not been noticeably upset by events, apart from all the moving around in the first few days, but he obviously retains a memory. “My house making a big noise” is a pretty accurate description of his experience, lying down on the floor with me clutching him and Xiao Long calling “don’t worry baby it’s going to be OK” round the edge of the bed, while everything rattled and shook all around him.
His comment made me think that there was no harm in going outside for an hour or so. Unfortunately Isaac had other ideas. He had just got home from school and was tired. He has a cough and had woken up at 5 am, so now he just wanted to sit on the sofa and read his book. When I said let’s go outside, he rolled his eyes and said, “Mummy, you know they can’t predict earthquakes.” But with Xiao Long urging us to hurry up and leave, and Sam running round in circles saying the house was about to make a big noise, I insisted he come with us. A friend texted the news that Isaac’s Taekwondo class was cancelled because of the shake rumours. Xiao Liu wanted to finish making the beds but Xiao Long told her not to be so silly and to come along quickly. Isaac took so long putting on his shoes that, regrettably, I shouted at him to hurry up and he burst into tears. By the time we got outside we were all upset.
Once outside, it appeared that Xiao Long had exaggerated somewhat. There were a lot of people, some clutching quilts and bags of water and snacks, and it sounded like the roads were busy as well, but it was far calmer than during earlier alarms of this kind. I suggested that we get ice-cream from the shop, which restored everyone’s good humour. Sam smeared chocolate cornetto all over himself while Isaac and I sat on a bench and did his homework. Xiao Liu kept looking at her watch and after a while she said she would go back upstairs and do the ironing. I realized that she was right and there was no good reason to be outside. Ethan forwarded a text that said, “The National and Provincial Earthquake Bureaus have not predicted a magnitude 7.0 aftershock in Sichuan. Please do not spread rumours.” So we all traipsed back upstairs again.
This morning Xiao Long told me that the real reason schools and offices were closed in Mianyang was to practice evacuation in case of flooding from damaged dams, a much greater threat to safety than aftershocks. But, despite knowing that any aftershocks are going to be smaller than the original earthquake and therefore will not cause any great damage, it is still difficult to resist the urge to run away from possible danger.
I find something similar happens to me most nights. I wake up around dawn and feel a slight tremour, usually only lasting a couple of seconds. Maybe I even imagine it, although very likely not, as they are happening all the time. Then I am gripped by panic, my heart racing, as I imagine the building crashing down on top of us all, and wonder whether I should wake everyone up and rush them outside. I imagine us racing out of the door just in time, as apartment buildings collapse all around us. I manage to control the urge to run, but I find myself listening carefully to the noises outside for possible danger signals. Are the birds still singing? Are a lot of dogs barking? Are other people outside already?
This may sound ridiculous but apparently it is a very normal ‘flight’ response, a typical symptom of anxiety following a traumatic event. Several of my friends are experiencing similar feelings. Many of us also feel dizzy a lot of the time, which I attribute again to the constant tiny aftershocks, too small to register an actual feeling of movement, but still affecting the inner ear. My friend Cyndi, who has now joined her husband in the US, said in an email that she no longer feels the dizziness now she has left China.
Here is a link to a New York Times Article that describes the atmosphere of panic in Chengdu: Although I have to say things feel a lot closer to normal here now than he describes them.
Also this blog, ‘Barking at the Sun’, has good descriptions and a thorough debunking of the aftershock rumours.
posted by Cat Platt at 2:39 pm
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