Last month, during the peak of England’s coronavirus outbreak, I asked a doctor, nurse, postman, binman and supermarket worker how the pandemic had changed their lives
On lockdown, time fractures: it stands still yet, somehow, seems to tick on ever faster. Normal life and routine was vaporised in mid-March – it feels like an eternity. Days blur into one.
But there’s been one important weekly marker amid the fog. On Thursdays at 8pm, the nation sticks its head out of windows, steps onto balconies, opens front doors and makes a good ol’ racket in appreciation of the NHS and frontline workers.
The majority can self-isolate because of the minority who are applauded for five minutes once a week. For as much as the lives of those stuck at home have drastically changed, it’s nothing compared to the key workers putting their health on the line, heading into danger, now tasked with keeping the country’s frail heart beating.
So, I asked those battling on the Covid frontline about their day-to-day lives, and how they’ve changed since the Covid-19 pandemic. These are their stories.
“It can feel like no one is looking after us”
Mark Boothroyd is an A&E nurse in central London
“We’re working flat out, and there’s been a lot of staff sickness, but it’s not the nightmare scenario yet. There’s a lot of camaraderie; staff are trying to pull together. But if you’re working in intensive care, it’s flat out all the time, people are getting burned out.
“We’ve been able to manage the patient surge reasonably well. The lockdown is having an impact, but we’re still getting a steady flow of up to 50 Covid patients admitted a day. The message ‘Stay home, protect the NHS’ is getting through, but A&E attendance has dropped 75 per cent. My colleagues in paediatric A&E have said they normally see 100 kids a day, but they've done shifts where only five kids have turned up, which is unheard of. We worry that there are many at home who should still be coming to hospital.
“Everything has been reconfigured: a third of all beds are now for Covid patients and intensive care is pretty full. Many wards have become just Covid ones, but we haven’t run out of capacity. On the wards, you work solidly, seeing patients who are quite unwell and at end of life. That can take a toll.
“We’re just about OK now in terms of PPE. A lot of goggles and visors have been brought in which were missing before. We have enough gowns, but we still don’t know how long those stocks will last. When I finished my shift last week, there were 45 gowns for 28 patients. We nurse in bays of up to six patients. You wear a gown for a couple of hours then need to put on another. So, we have enough, but we’re close to running out. That doesn’t give us a lot of confidence – you don't want to be one who finds the box empty.
“I still haven’t been tested – it’s only if you’re symptomatic. That’s despite my housemate having had Covid symptoms [she later tested negative; Mark was finally tested at the end of April]. I don’t know if I’ve had it. I had flu-like symptoms in March and an on-and-off cough, but nothing consistent with what’s classified as Covid. The capacity isn’t there to test everyone. It’s demoralising for staff, it can feel like no one is looking after us. The running joke in A&E has been that we’re probably all positive and infecting the patients.
“There’s a lot of frustration: many feel that the government has let it get quite bad and that they didn’t prepare well enough, early enough. So, we’re treating many more patients than we actually should be seeing. The irony is that Boris Johnson can come to an NHS hospital and receive excellent treatment but, because of his policies, many aren’t going to receive the same standard of care. Many are being left at home and aren’t brought in by ambulance until they deteriorate. I wish every Covid patient could be brought in early for monitoring like the Prime Minister, but we can’t.”
“Customers have bought us flowers”
Kelly Havens is assistant team manager at a Waitrose in central London
“It’s been in the last few weeks since lockdown that I’ve felt like a frontline worker. There’s obviously an element of risk when we arrive at work every day, but we're just focusing on doing our jobs as best we can.
“When people were panic buying I’d never experienced anything like it before – I don’t think any supermarket had. It was stressful to begin with, but since social distancing was brought in it has calmed down a lot. There's still the odd query around high-demand products like flour, pasta and eggs but we can confidently inform customers of deliveries and supply levels.
“In store, we have face visors, hand sanitiser and protection screens for cashiers on checkouts. We’ve limited customers at any one time with a marshal on the front door. We have floor stickers reminding customers to stay two metres apart and regular tannoy announcements reminding customers of social distancing. We're also all washing our hands a lot more. We’re able to work safely: unloading deliveries in the morning and replenishing products on shelves throughout the day.
“I've suffered with anxiety for many years but I’ve found ways to control it with daily exercise and taking time to reflect – which has definitely become harder over the last month. On days off, I try to do my food shop in the morning and spend as much time as I can with my son. We go for daily walks, find new baking recipes and ways to keep us both entertained.
“We’ve had cards and emails thanking us – customers have even bought us flowers. It's been rewarding being able to help the elderly and vulnerable in our community. We deliver care packages too, which we know have been really appreciated. That is what being a frontline worker is all about.”
“Besides Christmas, it’s the busiest we’ve ever been”
Danny Robinson is a postman in the Lake District
“I’m happy to be working – it gives me something to do. I’m bored stiff at home otherwise by the time I’ve walked the dog. Being a postman means you have to walk a lot; it’s good exercise. I feel protected by being in the countryside, you can still stop and say hi to people you know from a safe distance. I think it’d be very different if I had to drive up and down the city streets where it’s much more densely populated.
“It’s so busy for parcels that it feels Christmas-y at the minute. It’s the busiest we’ve ever been besides the run-up to Christmas. With so many shops closing and people being stuck at home, you can feel the volume of online ordering shooting up in the number of parcels. There are a lot less letters these days.
“Now, I have to wear gloves and apply hand sanitiser all the time. You have to go to the door, ring the bell, put the parcel down and step back right away. Fortunately, nearly everyone is at home now so there’s no missed deliveries. If it needs a signature, you can put their name in the machine, enter a code and it’s done.
“The Lake District is usually busy around this time of year but it’s eerily quiet on the roads. It feels weird travelling around every day when nobody else is. I drive 20 miles to the sorting office and back, then 30 miles a day delivering around the surrounding town and villages – there’s no traffic at all.
“I don’t consider myself a frontline worker, that’s the NHS and those who have to come up close to people every day for work. I just want it to go away like everyone else and get on with normal life.”
“I can’t afford to become ill”
Dr Martin Edobor is a GP in east London
“The moment the lockdown was announced, we had to change our whole consultation model. In days, we went from face-to-face to video and telephone appointments. We didn’t know when PPE would arrive, so we had to order our own. Our receptionists, who have the most patient exposure, now wear gowns and face masks. Anyone who does come in has to have their temperature taken.
“I’m in awe of how the NHS has worked to absorb it. Primary care has had to innovate rapidly. We’ve rearranged ourselves through ‘hot hubs’, where potential Covid patients can see a doctor, wearing full PPE gear, in the community. Out of 100 patients, I only see one face-to-face now. It’s been pretty difficult. Face-to-face adds human empathy and touch; it allows us to interpret certain things which video doesn’t always provide.
“Hospitals are overwhelmed at the moment, so non-urgent patients we’d typically send are now trying to manage at home. There’s been a huge rise in mental health issues, with many who live alone now without social contact. Around 40 per cent of our staff has been ill from Covid. Doctors on the frontline have been hit hard.
“I no longer take the bus. Instead, I cycle five miles to work and back. I can’t afford to become ill, it’d mean I’d have to self-isolate for at least a week and we need to make sure we have enough staff to continue to provide care. But it’s affected me deeply. I live alone – I didn’t want to potentially expose my family to the virus. We do Whatsapp video calls. My friends have done pub quizzes over Zoom to try to recreate Friday evening, but it can never replace seeing them in person. I miss having a beer with a friend, going to the park and being around people.
“Clap for our carers gives me pride. I was taken aback by how loud it was when it first happened. We’re all going through this together – this pandemic is a huge national trauma. But most can self-isolate because of a minority of key workers. Those who are doing the most precarious work, with the highest exposure, often from immigrant backgrounds, are now experiencing the brunt of coronavirus. It’s highlighting what’s always existed in society – people are able to have affluent lives because of low-paid workers.”
“People clapping you is a bit awkward at first”
Baylie Seymour is a binman in Devon
“I’ve been a full-time bin man for two years. I love my job. I’m a positive thinker and, despite the bad, I’m grateful I can still go out for eight hours of the day and not be tucked inside the entire time. It’s obviously a physical job and we’ve had lovely weather which helps. I’m tanned to high heaven right now.
“There’s so much for collection now, it’s mental. Normally, a crew picks up 25 tonnes of rubbish, that's now doubled. All the food that people would’ve normally eaten at work is now in a black bin bag at home, and there’s loads more gardening being done. Breaks are out the window now, we have to keep going so we get home for a decent time. Normally, we start at 6.30am and finish our rounds at 12.30pm. Now, we’re lucky to be home by 2.30pm.
“We’ve had so many people try and walk up to us, to say thanks and shake our hands. We just want people to follow the rules. If one of us comes down with it, it’d quickly spread throughout the fleet, diminish the service and place the NHS under more pressure. There’s 80 of us. If one person gets it, we’re all going down: in the lorry, we’re only a half-metre apart. Our work hasn’t been able to order any masks but, thankfully, my dad managed to get me and my driver one each.
“All of our lorries are now decorated inside with thank you notes. As much as our office has understood we’re doing frontline stuff, the real thanks we get is from the public. We’ve had people applauding us from their windows. At first it’s a bit strange, you look at each other going a bit red. We’re not footballers or singers, so people clapping at you is a bit awkward at first.
“Our work means we’re in such close contact with everything – it’d be so easy to pick up the virus. But binmen can be a bit forgotten about. We work our arses off and across the public sector we’re probably paid the least. There’s been talk that the government will put in a percentage on top of our wages when this is all over, but it’d just make up the difference that our partners have lost. As I’m on full pay, we’re not entitled to financial help right now.
“I’m quite laid back, I come home and walk my dog down the country lanes. It’s harder for our partners. Whereas most can isolate together confident they don’t have it, every time bin men go outside whatever we pick up could be brought home to our families. We want people to appreciate that – none of us wanted to be working during a pandemic.”