I’m an NHS doctor. But tonight, please clap for yourselves

I know in Britain it’s borderline heresy to deviate from the "NHS hero" narrative, akin to saying you don’t like tea, but something’s been bugging me during this pandemic.

As I’ve previously written in this paper, I recently took a career break, partly due to burnout. But I got swept up by the government’s call to arms and returned to help fight the war on coronavirus. Running on adrenaline and free meals generously donated from "Feed the Front Line" charity.

Covid-19 is less likely to kill me. At 35, I’m young-ish, fit and healthy, I don’t live with anyone vulnerable, and not for the first time, my whiteness is in my favour. Others haven’t been so lucky. Tragically, there have been 18,500 deaths affecting the public and some NHS staff making the ultimate sacrifice, 8,000 more than is normal for this time of year. And these statistics likely don’t capture everyone.

Some doctors, nurses and health care workers, notably those in Intensive Care or on designated Covid wards, are having a very tough and traumatic time. And not just with sourcing PPE. But in the absence of a centrally coordinated workforce, there are also plenty of us around the country who aren’t.

Since returning I’ve sensed a discrepancy between public perception and the reality for some on the ground. I’m a psychiatric registrar plugging gaps in our emergency rota, covering four large A&E’s in London. Yet since lockdown, my shifts have sometimes been eerily quiet. Some A&E staff have been left twiddling their thumbs, given attendances in April are down 25-50 per cent compared to Feb-March, according to recent BMJ figures.

The much-hyped, 4,000 bed Nightingale hospital has so far treated just 41 people. Some have even described it as a "white elephant", a wildly disproportionate and expensive project, given we’ve already reportedly hit the "peak".

Friends from medical school, working in medicine, general practice, paediatrics and surgery tell a similar story. Some had even returned from abroad and are yet to be given work. In an online forum of 50,000 junior doctors, many others echoed this.

What does this curious phenomenon speak to? Quite simply the success of lockdown, implemented to flatten the curve. Far better to be underwhelmed than overwhelmed, to avoid repeats of our neighbours. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and be unsurprised by anything in between.

Some wars aren’t all about blood and guts but thoughtful, careful strategy and learning from the past i.e. Italy. The general public’s altruistic compliance during lockdown is largely why the NHS has coped thus far. Recalling extra doctors, cancelling non-urgent clinics and operations, and Covid-hysteria scaring off patients, has also paradoxically created empty beds and some bemused healthcare workers. No bad thing given a potentially looming "second peak".

Maybe it’s a symptom of a decade working in a stretched and underfunded system, that I feel guilty and unsettled by the novelty of not leaving work late or getting absolutely pummelled in every direction.

But I do feel uncomfortable, almost like a fraud, when my lovely neighbours bang their pots and pans or cheer for me when I get home from a shift, when my job was busier (albeit less dangerous) before coronavirus. Maybe I should see it as back-dated appreciation but this particular "NHS hero" has imposter syndrome.

Perhaps idealising doctors and key workers as virus-fighting soldiers keeping us safe is as much for the fearful public as anyone else. Streets brought together weekly for five minutes of community spirit. Ironically though, it’s them, through sacrificing civil liberties and staying at home, who’ve made the biggest difference. And long must that continue if we are to beat this microscopic enemy.

Please do clap for carers on Thursdays at 8pm, just don’t think of me. Like me, think of those working in Intensive Care, in care homes, cleaners, security guards, postal workers, shop keepers, bin collectors, or any of the other often unsung keyworkers keeping our world going. But also spare a thought for yourselves and those especially struggling during lockdown.

No doubt when it eventually ends, there’ll be a tidal wave of new and backlogged psychological problems for me to be kept busy with. Until then I should just try and enjoy the calm before the storm; the complimentary sandwiches, the extra time spent with patients.

Because as the phrase goes, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.

Dr Benji Waterstones is a General Adult Psychiatrist working in London