My first day back at work was absolute chaos. We were rushing to pack away our entire paeds ward and office situated on the first floor in order for it to be made into an ambulatory ward for COVID-19 patients, and we had 8 hours to do it. I doused warm liquids to counteract the dust particles I was probably inhaling from all the moving and handling for fear it would trigger my cough again. In hindsight, we probably should have worn masks but PPE wasn’t just sitting around like it is now. We were also doing all this preparation and organisation, but had no idea what we were getting ready for. We didn’t even know where we were going to work the next morning.
They put us on a rota anyhow – some days we were working from home and others in the office completing telephone assessments. I remember finding it weird that they cared so much about meeting therapy targets when it was not exactly a priority, so it wasn’t a surprise when management later told us that the children’s service would temporarily close. I wasn’t really scared at this point – on the contrary I was very excited and curious about how massively things were going to change. I still remember sitting on my mattress (my bed had broken earlier) feeling the hot sun from the windows and silence of the streets, whilst I switched on my laptop to start work. I liked this new, quieter way of working.
I think the switch flipped when redeployment was introduced. I knew it was coming but all we were told was that we would be given very short notice to drop what we were doing and go. It would work like a conveyer belt – staffs were told to shield or expected to go off sick/isolate, so there had to be enough workers on hand to replace or manage in existing and new departments. Human Resources had already taken our details and amended our contracts, and new policies were rolled out stating all clinical staffs were able to work in roles outside of their current job description but if we did decline, we could face disciplinary action. I didn’t believe they could be so brutal until some of my colleagues had their names put forward for certain roles without their consent first. The only role that people were given a choice for was in the mortuary.
I sensed quickly that management were being pressured (by the operational NHS and government) to redeploy us so it all became informal. Emails were flying around saying things like “you need to go to ITU tonight, they’ll train you and you will start the shift so go home now and get some rest”. This was when the internal battle began.
Do I really want to work here right now? In this situation?
Yes ofcourse, it’s what you signed up for.
No it isn’t. None of us signed up for this. Not a job that could risk my life or could cause my family harm.
But would you be able to turn your back?
Is it turning my back?
What about everyone else? They’re in the same boat, they’re all going through with it.
Yes but maybe they’re having the same thoughts too.
They were but no-one really talked about it. It didn’t help that I was also very new to the team so I wasn’t comfortable talking to my colleagues. I watched as some of them paired up to put their name forwards for the roles. I didn’t immediately hit it off with with the team given the circumstances so I just sat at the table and panic WhatsApp’d my fam and bestie. It’s one of the toxic cons of working an environment like health-care – ironically very few are forthcoming about their worries because everyone else appears to be ‘handling it’. So unless you were using Twitter to publicly express yourself or you are just a fearless individual, you were silently screaming, that’s for sure.
My parents sat me down and gently suggested that I take unpaid leave for the next few months. I know how much they were worried, who wouldn’t be? But I couldn’t. I guess I snapped into fight mode at that point and my parents understood this. It was like a click and I’d made up my mind and that was it – no point dwelling or wondering now. I signed the consent form and quietly waited for an email to come through.
In the meanwhile, I was glued to the updates from the Trust – my head felt like an unquenchable tub. I had to know everything – all the stats, cases, trends, research – though this desire eventually stopped. A fortnight later I completely cut off my social media and stopped reading and watching the news entirely. “Just focus and get through today” I told myself “that’s your job, nothing else”.
An email finally came through from HR and new manager telling me to make my way to Ealing Hospital the next Monday. I was no longer an OT, instead I would be supporting the recently expanded bereavement service.
cosmosolive 