I thought I'd never work as an NHS doctor again. I was wrong
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Version 0 of 1. I quit five years ago because of burnout, but the coronavirus outbreak is so unprecedented that I feel compelled to help Never did I think I would see the day that I would consider returning to medicine. I left clinical practice five years ago, aged 26. I was burned out, depressed, physically weak and emotionally crushed. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do – a painful divorce from my entire identity. Now I’m a different person: happier, healthier, and more fulfilled. I am a professional mentor for doctors who find themselves in the position I once was in. I’ve spent the past five years speaking out against the toxic working culture of the NHS – an inherently abusive system that treats doctors without humanity, restricts their personal growth, decimates their physical and mental health, and uses them as political scapegoats when things go wrong. On Friday, however, I and other former doctors across the nation received an email from the General Medical Council (GMC). It said that, should the government decide to recall retired doctors to help with the coronavirus crisis, our licences to practise will be temporarily reinstated and we will be asked to return. Funnily enough, I was already considering writing to the GMC to volunteer my services. I knew the government was considering emergency legislation that could fast-track recently retired doctors back into work. So far most of that discussion has been around doctors over the retirement age, but there is another group of retired doctors who did not leave because we’d reached the end of our career, but because we wanted to begin a new one. I feel conflicted. I went through so much to free myself from the shackles of medicine – the crippling guilt over leaving; the sense of duty and obligation that overtook my sense of self-worth; the lack of self-confidence that came from being infantalised by NHS management. To go back into the fray feels, in some ways, like a step backwards. There are also so many practical issues. Having been out of the clinical setting for years, how safe will I be? Medicine changes so fast that my knowledge base will be woefully behind the times, and we don’t yet know what we’ll be asked to do exactly. Normally a former doctor would have to go through a rigorous revalidation process to get back on the medical register, but this is being waived to expedite returns. I realise that in an emergency like this rules have to be bent, but the idea of being thrown back in the deep end with a rusty set of tools is concerning. Then there is the legal question of medical indemnity, the insurance that covers malpractice claims. We have been given assurances that returning doctors will be fully covered, but the GMC has been eroding the trust of the medical profession for years. There have been high-profile cases – such as whistleblower Dr Chris Day, who lost his job after highlighting dangerous understaffing in his trust, and Dr Hadiza Bawa-Garba, who was blamed for the death of a child – which make me suspicious and anxious to work in the NHS again. I’m scared failures and deaths during this crisis will be blamed on returning physicians. And what about the risk? I might be in my 30s, but youth certainly does not guarantee safety from Covid-19. There is still an appalling lack of personal protective equipment and testing for healthcare professionals. Doctors around the world have already died on the frontline of this battle, and I’m a mum now to a toddler. I’ll admit, it’s scary. Yet when I speak to my friends, relatives and former colleagues who still work in the NHS about their struggles and fears, and hear about the unthinkable challenges they face, I feel compelled to help. There’s something about being a doctor that always stays with you. It no longer defines my entire identity, but part of me is still guided by the oath I took all those years ago to protect humanity. I won’t be coming back for good, that I can say with certainty. But this pandemic is so utterly unprecedented – a threat to the NHS like never before – that despite the risk, even this most disillusioned of medics might pick up her stethoscope once again. Anjalee Perera is a former NHS doctor and author of the Disillusioned Medic blog If you would like to contribute to our Blood, sweat and tears series about experiences in healthcare during the coronavirus outbreak, get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com |