A north London doctor – writing on the condition of anonymity – reveals what it’s really like for frontline medics fighting the virus

STRIKING the balance between sensationalising and downplaying the situation is difficult when talking about my role as an NHS doctor on the “frontline” of the Covid-19 crisis.

Making potentially life and death decisions, balancing probabilities, using limited public funds wisely, carrying risk, safety-netting, planning for death, witnessing pain and suffering, reassuring the anxious whilst not missing the serious, listening to traumatic experiences, giving people the worst news they’ll ever hear, comforting the sad and listening to the lonely, are all a doctor’s everyday reality, not just during the coronavirus emergency.

So while I understand and appreciate it, it feels strange to suddenly be hailed as a hero for doing my job.

The outpouring of gratitude from the public, so movingly illustrated by Thursday night’s clapping was wonderful, but for me felt slightly surreal.

I know I work hard and, although I don’t always get it right, I feel confident that mostly my hard work is rewarded by feeling I have done what I can to ease my patient’s journey through the complex thing that is life with all its challenges.

Usually I do this without much fuss and little public thanks and occasionally some resentment, when inevitably I can’t make things better. I also do this with inadequate resources that we doctors are now all accustomed to.

So why suddenly this appreciation?

Most people only come face to face with death and real suffering perhaps a handful of times in their lives, so it is mostly quite a distant concept that happens to others. Suddenly the idea of dying is up close and personal to every single member of society, rich or poor, old or young.

No longer are we feeling protected by our status or our youth or our money. We are all equal now and the people we need to help us are people like me.

But perhaps I have a different take on it because I see those handful of times every day and so I know we’ve always been equal when it comes to facing death.

Also fuelling the idea of frontline heroes is the reality that we are knowingly exposing ourselves to danger.

Of course, this is true as we assess infectious patients without adequate PPE and in an environment where it is hard to stick to infection control rules.

Being on your own with only gloves in a cluttered bedroom with an elderly patient in soiled clothes and no place to wash your hands other than the patient’s equally dirty sink is a regular experience.

It is risky, as is turning up alone to assess an addict who is ill in a crackhouse, and yet we do it.

Wouldn’t it be great, though, if elderly people had decent care so they didn’t live in squalor, and crack addicts had access to rehab? Shouldn’t there have already been PPE available for day-to-day use?

What appears remarkable in this crisis is not how quickly NHS workers on the ground are adapting because that’s what we do best, but how the system is adapting.

Finally everyone is waking up to the importance of joint working, joined-up planning and proper funding.

So it seems to have taken a threat that feels real, and on everyone’s doorstep (including even Boris Johnson’s), to make people and government see what’s been in front of them all the time.

The NHS is precious, the people who work in it should be lauded and supported and it, along with the welfare state, needs proper investment. I will just keep on doing my job.