Endurance

Claire Molloy (top) and
Evelyn Asante-Mensah
(bottom)

I felt strangely relieved when I found out it was Blue Monday at the start of this week, as the day started badly and seemed to deteriorate from there.

Blue Monday is the third Monday of January and is, or so the theory goes, the most depressing day of the year.  It’s cold, you’ve spent all your money on Christmas and all your new year’s resolutions have failed. And that’s for a normal year without a devastating new wave of covid infections, deaths and lockdown.

I woke up feeling that I would just love to pull the duvet over my head and pretend the world wasn’t there! I dropped a glass during breakfast, which smashed everywhere. I then sat down on the settee in a sopping wet patch where my granddaughter had had ‘an accident’. And my son rang later to say that our family cat, which is currently keeping him company as he lives on his own, is very ill and may have to be put down.

These are all small things in comparison to what so many of you and our colleagues in local hospitals are dealing with right now, but Monday definitely felt a little blue.

However, in the evening I curled up on the sofa to watch ‘One born every minute’ and, you know what, it really cheered me up. There was a couple on the programme who were having a baby after seven stressful years of unsuccessfully trying to conceive and it was so heart-warming and uplifting. Just that sense of hope that, even when it seems as if things are impossible, they really aren’t.

I also felt really emotional scrolling through twitter and reading staff posts about having the covid vaccine on the opening day of our vaccine hub. They filled me with a huge sense of relief, hope and pride. The NHS has worked tirelessly to rollout this historic vaccine programme and, in Greater Manchester alone, there are now over 50 vaccination hubs. Our region is already about half way there in vaccinating people in the top four risk groups, with thousands more getting this life-saving jab every day.  

I want to give an enormous shout-out to Sian Schofield, Petra Brown and Sally Naughton for their phenomenal work in setting up our vaccination hub in just two weeks, as well as everyone else who has stepped up to support the programme. We’re now vaccinating just under 200 people every day, and it’s been an awesome and massive team effort. A powerful example of what amazing leaders we have in this organisation, which is timely as next week we start a bespoke leadership development programme with all the clinical and operational leaders in our new structure.

I’m popping into the vaccination hub this afternoon to see how it’s going and look forward to thanking some of you in person. Evelyn, our chair, is also having her jab this afternoon at our hub. As many of you know, Evelyn has underlying health conditions and is therefore in one of the high risk groups, and she’s written a guest blog about this which you can read below.

I know there’s still a long way to go in the fight against this pandemic and that the NHS is at a very precarious point, but this is all monumental news. The beginning of the end.

Throughout this covid crisis, people have referred to tackling it as a marathon, not a sprint. But what makes the pandemic so much harder is that it is not predictable. We don’t know where the finish line is, neither can we predict the time we will get there. We did not train for this and there won’t be the heady sense of accomplishment and completion when we finish. It’s difficult to envision any sense of celebration or any fading of the pain of this crisis.

But it has never the less demanded a huge level of endurance as we are needing to face the difficulties with perseverance and sustained energy over time. I don’t think any of us have any experience of endurance that goes anywhere near what we have been through over the last year. But whilst my own ‘endurance feats’ seem inadequate preparation for the pandemic, I do think there is some learning from the climbing expeditions I have been on and long distance races I have done over the years.

There’s a similarity in the sense of three phases.  If you think about doing any endurance event, the first phase is a shock to the system as you start. It’s always hard getting going, but that’s balanced by the freshness and novelty of the challenge. The middle section is where you get into a battle rhythm and become more effective at what you’re doing. And the last third is the most painful, it seems much longer than the other parts and the hurting physically and emotionally feels like a cruel, gruelling punishment. You want to stop and are desperate for it to be over.

It feels like we are in that painful last phase with this pandemic. We can see an end in sight and there is light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s such incredibly hard going.

There’s a book called ‘Run the Mile You’re In’ and it says that worrying about the miles remaining could overwhelm and paralyse you in the current moment, discourage you or drag you down. But you know you can run a mile. Yes, planning for the whole distance is important, but we just need to find the strength to get through the next mile, and then worry about the next one.

This covid ‘home straight’ might be longer than we anticipated, but we are in the final part as our fantastic vaccine hub is testament to.

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Guest blog – Evelyn Asante-Mensah

An injection of hope.

That’s how I feel about having the covid vaccine in our hub this afternoon.

I’ve always loved hugging my grandchildren and, before our world changed, I was used to spending lots of time with them. We would regularly be in each other's houses. That wonderful and simple act, that I previously took for granted and now feels like a lifetime ago, will be overwhelming when I’m finally able to put my arms around them.

This NHS vaccination programme is a monumental and momentous turning point, which will help us get back to some kind of normality.

Being in a high-risk group, because of my serious underlying health conditions, has fuelled my anxiety throughout this pandemic. The worry and stress has felt insurmountable at times, so knowing this small but mighty injection will help stop that gnawing fear is a really big deal for me.

As a black woman of African origin, I understand the fears and hesitancy within communities to take a vaccine not only because of the speed in which it was produced but also for some the mistrust around historic authorities and their actions.  As a health professional, I believe that the vaccine and the work undertaken by the scientists and medics is the best way forward.

There’s lots of dangerous rhetoric out there and I’ve been sent personal messages and videos from anti-vaxxers. Some people in my family, as well as some professional colleagues, are very cautious. It's important for people to be able to voice their anxieties, as it can help an informed discussion to take place, and I’ve had productive discussions with my family about some of their worries. 

I’m very aware of the responsibility I have to encourage others to have the vaccine and want to keep telling everyone that I have also studied the evidence and facts. Yes, we need to have some level of trust and put our faith in the experts, but I’ve still done lots of my own research on the pros and cons.

There are risks to everything and it's about weighing up those risks. And for me, it’s a ‘no brainer’. The potential risk of having covid versus the risk of any potential side-effects is simply no contest. Contracting covid would probably put me in hospital on a ventilator or even possibly kill me.

It's been a herculean effort by the scientific and medical professionals and I think we’re very lucky to have this opportunity so early. We need to gratefully grab it with both hands. Not just to protect ourselves can I stress, but to help protect others such as our families, friends, patients, colleagues and people in our communities.

My mum is in her 80s and also has a number of serious health issues and I took her to the NHS Vallance Centre in Manchester on Saturday to have her covid vaccine. There was such a positive atmosphere at this vaccination centre, you could feel a mix of relief and optimism in the air. The staff were so good, with a lovely doctor explaining everything so well to her.  My mum is very religious and said a prayer afterwards as she was so thankful and, like me, sees hope running through this vaccine. I knew she was nervous and felt so proud of her. We’re all brave in our own way and that’s a powerful thing.

So, this afternoon it will feel as though I’m entering the next phase of my life. I know it won’t be plain sailing, and we still all need to be vigilant and careful, but there will be a lot less fear and anxiety. A next stage where I can take such joy in being closer to my family and hugging my grandchildren tightly. I’ve so missed that.

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Best wishes

Claire and Evelyn