One to one with a COVID-19 nurse

“I have a friend who wet herself because she couldn’t leave her patient, but she’d been there for hours and hours and hours. Nurses in intensive care units around the country are wearing nappies as part of their scrub uniform. There is not enough time for toilet breaks.”

Janet*, a 26-year-old from Southampton, recounts this as if it’s as commonplace as having a slice of toast for breakfast. Often though, she doesn’t even have time to eat on shift due to the sheer volume of patients. This is nothing out of the ordinary for a frontline NHS worker in 2021.

Janet* is baby-faced, but even our pixelated Zoom call can’t conceal the look of exhaustion that washes over her. There is every sign that her flat share in Clapham, south London, is the home of young graduates who have moved to the capital in hope of a bright future. A ‘Ring for Cocktails’ pink bell sits atop a drinks cabinet of spirits. Some dirty plates and Deliveroo boxes are stacked by the sink over her shoulder.

The young nurse reassures me that she still finds time to have a stiff drink and eat pizza after work. “Sometimes I feel guilty about having breaks or leaving work. But then I have to think, ‘I can only do so much and I have to look after myself as well’. If I don't look after myself then I can't care for these people either.”

Wearing a dressing gown and her hair in a messy pineapple, Janet* sinks into the sofa. It is 5pm on a Saturday, the sky is charcoal grey, and she has only just risen from a post-night shift sleep. The flatmates walking in and out of the frame have a similar aesthetic, although I am told this is due to raging hangovers. In two hours, Janet* must make her way back to the hospital for a ten hour shift and hold more fragile hands.

Fast forward 10 months since the first lockdown, and the coronavirus death toll has just passed 100,000 in the U.K. Cases are soaring but support is waning. Since the virus has torn through the country in what can only be described as the second tsunami, Janet* says that there is not the same support for nurses as there was in the in the first wave.

Last spring, the support from the general public was overwhelming. Janet* fondly reminisces on the care packages and freshly cooked food which filled the staff room. With a slight smile, she says: “I know it sounds silly, but when you're running at zero and giving everything to your patients, knowing that people are thinking of you by sending a gift really gives you energy to give yourself to people on the ward.” It doesn’t sound silly, it sounds completely rational.

Any remnant of Janet’s* smile fades as she says that staff rooms have been empty for months even though nurses are working harder than ever. “People don’t see how many dead bodies you're having to wrap up, or the FaceTimes you do with dying patients so they can say goodbye to their children who are not allowed to visit.” People are tired of this pandemic, but no one more so than the nurses on the frontline.

After qualifying as a children’s nurse in 2015, Janet* was working in general paediatrics at a hospital in central London until the pandemic engulfed the world. “Since I was about five-years-old I always wanted to be a nurse. My granny was a nurse and I love helping people, so my career path was pretty obvious to me.”

She recalls how much she loved developing relationships with young people and their families: “I just loved watching my patients grow up when I worked in paediatrics. I really miss the continuation of care - which is often not needed on a COVID-19 ward.”

On 2 April 2020 the paediatric day surgery unit at the London hospital was closed and transformed into an adult COVID-19 ward “basically overnight”. Janet* and her colleagues (who had never cared for adults or even heard of coronavirus a few months prior) suddenly had the task of looking after patients suffocating from the illness. There was no time for thorough training.

I wonder if Janet* would have chosen to pursue a career in nursing at all had she known what was pending? I can barely finish my sentence when she interrupts: “Definitely. I actually feel very privileged and blessed to be able to offer my skills and help people at such an awful time.”

It is astounding how many times Janet* repeats how much she loves her job and how lucky she feels. She is being genuine too. It is even more astounding that she says the thing that has affected her most working on the COVID-19 ward is “the camaraderie”. She explains: “Of course I have to put a positive spin on it. How else am I meant to remove dentures from multiple dead bodies each week?”

Shrugging off her experiences as if they are something short of traumatic, Janet* has a way of making light of the most gruesome of anecdotes. “At the moment I'm not thinking about the dark bits too much so I can keep going. I don't know if maybe in two years’ time I'll reflect on it all a bit more.”

As we bid farewell, I worry about what Janet* will embark on tonight in spite of her unfazed demeanour. Soon after the call, I get to work baking some cupcakes for my local adult COVID-19 ward. It’s the least I can do.

*Interviewees name has been changed for privacy reasons.