Throughout the pandemic, NHS workers were provided with a variety of techniques to “de-stress”. Articles were published on strategies to increase our “resilience”. Continually trying to be “resilient”, however, can be a heavy burden in itself. If you feel that you’re burning out and need to cry after a long and stressful day at work, does this mean you’re not resilient?
NHS workers were encouraged to take mindfulness exercises and discounts were provided for mindfulness and self-care phone apps. These were the “magic solutions” for getting you through the pandemic and increasing your “resilience”.
But no amount of mindfulness could stop the images of a patient dying before you, as you fell asleep each night – knowing you’d been the last to see them, passing them a message from their loved ones.
No amount of mindfulness could stop your heart from breaking when you rang an elderly relative and heard them crying because they were so worried about their loved one and because, too scared to leave the house, they had no food at home.
No amount of mindfulness could temper your anger when seeing people breaking the Covid rules on your journey home, after spending a day sweating through full PPE, trying to communicate with patients with what might be their last breath.
No amount of mindfulness could stop you tossing and turning at night, frightened at what was to come. How much more could the NHS take? When would we run out of oxygen? When could I get back home to see my family?
No amount of mindfulness could stop you worrying about your fellow NHS workers. Which would succumb to the virus next? Who would have long-term side effects?
The most valuable and relaxing thing for me was spending time talking to my partner on Facetime, my partner, who did not work in healthcare and was well removed from all things NHS. Throughout the pandemic I lived with housemates who were also healthcare professionals. After work, it was very easy to fall into the trap of comparing Covid death figures from our London hospitals. Instead I would take myself away, and spend my evenings on online video with my partner talking about the merits of Tiger King and Joe Exotics’ many differing love partners. It was the break I needed from swapping fears of doom and Covid stats.
We would talk about what holidays we would go on, debate the merits of skiing or a sun-soaked beach. We started looking at flats to rent where we would move in together later in the year. We browsed flats over budget and under budget, and everything in between.
Speaking to my partner gave me hope. Hope that the pandemic would end and that there was life outside the hospital. Bubble baths and mindfulness didn’t get me through. What got me through were the simple conversations with loved ones every evening. This hope helped me through the darkest days.
