In such an overstretched service, it’s hard to feel like you are making any difference at all (Picture: Eloise Hart)
Metro
By Eloise Hart
When a man in his twenties came into the Covid-19 ward, I knew he was scared.
I reassured him that he was young and strong, so he was likely to be going home in a couple of days.
Unfortunately, his condition worsened so he had to be taken to the intensive care unit and intubated. When I returned after the weekend, his family had made the difficult decision to take him off life support.
I was shocked to see someone so young be so overtaken by illness. It made me realise how little my medical degree had prepared me for this side of being a doctor.
This happened in my first year as a junior doctor, where I spent four gruelling months on the Covid-19 ward during the height of the pandemic. I’ve lost count of how many similarly difficult conversations with relatives I’ve had since then.
Being thrown into the deep end like this had a monumentally negative impact on my mental health, to the point where I’m now signed off work due to its deterioration.
My dad was a GP in the NHS and I specifically remember patients sending him cards thanking him for his care. I have always dreamed of being a doctor – just like him – and I couldn’t wait to receive my own cards and feel like I had made a difference to someone’s life.
I worked hard to get the grades to go to medical school, which proved to be a challenging six years – but I was determined to get through it and graduate. I finally qualified into the NHS in July 2021 during the Covid-19 pandemic and quickly saw the crisis it was really in.
In such an overstretched service, it’s hard to feel like you are making any difference at all.
I’ve had to intercept family members on the ward and tell them they haven’t made it in time because their loved one has already passed. After receiving this news, some collapsed, while others screamed.
I’ve spent time with patients in their last moments. I’ve even had to convey a woman’s last words to her dying father.
Working as a junior doctor, you get an all-access pass to some of the most difficult and emotionally-charged areas of the human experience, which really takes its toll.My dad was a GP in the NHS and I specifically remember patients sending him cards thanking him for his care. I have always dreamed of being a doctor – just like him – and I couldn’t wait to receive my own cards and feel like I had made a difference to someone’s life.
I worked hard to get the grades to go to medical school, which proved to be a challenging six years – but I was determined to get through it and graduate. I finally qualified into the NHS in July 2021 during the Covid-19 pandemic and quickly saw the crisis it was really in.
In such an overstretched service, it’s hard to feel like you are making any difference at all.
I’ve had to intercept family members on the ward and tell them they haven’t made it in time because their loved one has already passed. After receiving this news, some collapsed, while others screamed.
I’ve spent time with patients in their last moments. I’ve even had to convey a woman’s last words to her dying father.
Working as a junior doctor, you get an all-access pass to some of the most difficult and emotionally-charged areas of the human experience, which really takes its toll.
In the last few years, the NHS has seen rising demand in the face of over a decade of chronic underfunding. Earlier this year, many hospitals recorded the worst A&E wait times on record with the president of the Royal College of Emergency Medicine, Dr Adrian Boyle, saying that up to 500 people were dying each week as a result of delays in emergency care.
Meanwhile, NHS staff shortages are increasing. Analysis of NHS digital figures has shown that 400 NHS workers leave every week and around 10% of posts are unfilled. I’ve never had a shift with full staffing and, more often than not, we’re covering more than just our own job and responsibilities. This results in being overworked and burnt out. It also jeopardises patient safety.
I reached my limit after a recent set of night shifts.
Now in my second year – and considered a Senior House Officer (SHO) – I am increasingly working longer hours and covering more staff. Nights have bare minimum staffing as it is – but with understaffing it becomes unmanageable.
I was left alone in an acute assessment unit with my seniors having to attend various medical emergencies across the hospital. On the ward, a nurse collapsed in exhaustion.
I spent my time going between critically-sick patients, having to make quick decisions and calling families in. I had to perform CPR on a woman in her fifties who did not survive.
I felt utterly helpless and overwhelmed. I cried all the way home.
Since then, I have been signed off work due to my deteriorating mental health. Within the NHS, I have found that there is little support for those suffering mental health issues.
Shockingly, 52% of doctors reported suffering poor mental health in the last 12 months, with burnout affecting more than three quarters of hospital doctors on the frontline. There is now a National Physician Suicide Awareness Day as doctors are up to four times more likely to die by suicide compared to the general population.
Research has found that many struggling doctors do not seek help due to the stigma within the medical profession, feeling shame and guilt to take on the ‘patient’ role. I know I’ve really struggled returning to work due to fear of how I’ll be perceived.
I have now been off for four months and I am due to return to work next month. I have to remind myself that healthcare workers are human too and it’s OK to admit when you’re struggling.
It will be hard to return to work but I am determined to speak openly about my mental health issues. After all, the majority of us are experiencing the same.
So what needs to change? Since 2008, junior doctors have had a 26.1% pay cut in real terms, while workloads and demand continue to rise.
Last year – while making life or death decisions, as well as working long and mentally-exhausting hours – I earned roughly £29,000, which is below the national average wage. An average working week for a junior doctor is 48 hours, 33% more than the average UK full-time equivalent – all while negligence or manslaughter charges loom if we make a mistake.
Increasing pay won’t fix all the problems, but it would help with staff retention and at least I could afford therapy.
It’s hard to see how the NHS can continue like this. Staff are fed up, burnt out and undervalued.
If things don’t change I, like so many others, will have no choice but to quit the NHS – for good.