"The precariousness of life is staring me in the face"

Here's me (top) and
Evelyn Asante-Mensah (bottom)

Perhaps I was just naïve that it wouldn’t happen to our organisation. Or perhaps I just couldn’t face thinking about it too much. You know, that ‘heart over head’ stuff.

If I had forced myself to face the harsh possibility that we would lose staff to this vicious virus, then maybe the emotional impact wouldn’t have knocked me sideways quite so much.

I can only imagine how Grant’s cruel death is affecting his close colleagues, friends and family.

The horror of this pandemic has come into our workplace and it’s shocking. It’s real and raw and we feel wounded. As we all know, behind every statistic there is a human story and a family dealing with the unimaginable.

We will continue to do everything we can to honour Grant’s huge contribution to our organisation, compassionately caring for patients over a decade of devotion. And we will do everything we can to support his grieving family and his devastated colleagues.

I’ve found, up until now, watching TV after a working day has helped me unwind. But it’s been impossible this week to take any joy from the uplifting or funny stories and programmes.

It made me think of the W.H Auden poem, featured in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral, which starts with the line; ‘Stop the clocks, Cut off the telephone…’. This beautiful and powerful poem calls for silence, but also an acknowledgement of a life lived.

On top of the loss which colleagues will be feeling, there must be an extra layer of concern for your own personal wellbeing, as well as worrying about those you love. We are doing everything we can to help keep you safe and support you.

I am seeing first-hand the stress that feeling vulnerable to this virus brings, albeit from a different angle. My husband falls into the ‘at risk’ category enduring 12 weeks isolation; the so-called ‘shielding’. The whole world is dangerous to them. And they’re scared that, even when the lockdown lifts, their lives will still be at risk until there is a vaccine.

Evelyn, our Chair, is also shielding because of her underlying health conditions and, along with Grant, is in the black and ethnic minority group that has alarmingly seen a disproportionate number of deaths. NHS England and Public Health England have in fact just started a review into this.

Evelyn and I therefore agreed that it would be timely for her to feature in this week’s blog.  

Evelyn Asante-Mensah

The numbers are shocking and stark.

Over 100 healthcare workers have tragically lost their lives, and within this there are valid questions as to why so many black and ethnic minority NHS staff are dying from coronavirus.

Is it because BAME communities live in larger, multi-generational households or more densely populated areas? Is it because we have higher cases of diabetes, kidney disease, high blood pressure, cardiovascular disease and co-morbidities? Is it because the NHS BAME workforce is predominantly on the frontline?

My family and friends are talking about this, and I know its complex, but it is worrying and upsetting. Many of our BAME staff will be feeling the same and, as Claire has said, we are doing everything we can to keep everyone, in every different group and role, as protected as we possibly can.

The statistics and facts of course matter, but at the end of the day this is still all about people. Human beings.

Grant Maganga was a husband, father, brother, uncle, friend and much more. He had hopes, dreams and plans like the rest of us. His death is so heart-wrenching.

He was clearly loved, respected and admired by so many and reading all the tributes has filled my heart. We will not forget Grant or his family.

It’s always incredibly sad to lose a member of staff, and we have lost colleagues over the years in some very tragic circumstances, but there is something about the nature of coronavirus that makes it especially painful. The feelings of loss, injustice and helplessness are compounded by people not being able to see, speak to, touch or kiss their loved one in their last days and hours.

Coming from African descent, like Grant, I know funerals in African culture are more like public celebrations where the whole family, including extended family members, friends and even friends of friends come together to celebrate the life of their loved one. 

My uncle passed away in February, just before we went into lockdown, and the whole process of who could and couldn’t attend his funeral was so difficult. It wasn’t the kind of goodbye we would have ever wanted to give him and I know this will be the case for many up and down the land.

As Claire has said, I am one of the many thousands of people shielding and therefore, although still working, I am unable to leave home for 12 weeks. The new norm is not normal and our world might never be quite the same.

I know I’m not walking in your shoes but, as a black woman with underlying health conditions, this pandemic is also touching my life in a severe way. Chances are I'd be very seriously ill and unlikely to survive if I got coronavirus.

I want to be stoic and strong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I am scared. I know I am lucky in many ways and appreciate the small things more than ever. But my mortality and the precariousness of life is staring me in the face, and as an ordinary human being I’m finding it tough.

But this is not about me. I simply hope that by sharing my vulnerability it shows that I can maybe understand some of the anxieties and fears that you might have.

At times of crisis, they say that it’s more important than ever that leaders are visible. Well, this is a truly different type of crisis, and although I may not be visiting wards, wandering corridors, popping into offices or attending events, I am thinking of you all the time and doing everything I can behind the scenes to support you.

Most importantly, I simply want to thank you. I’ve always been in awe of your commitment, compassion and dedication. On any normal day, your work caring for vulnerable and complex patients must be so challenging, so my respect and admiration is currently off the scale.

We’ve seen the very best of humanity during this pandemic, with so many inspirational acts of kindness. You are a shining example of the best.

The coronavirus feels like it has left nothing untouched in its wake, but you are spreading love and hope. I have never felt more proud of you. Thank you – Evelyn Asante-Mensah

 

Best wishes,

Claire

You can follow me on Twitter @ClaireMolloy2