The start of June marked the start of a return to normal for me – this new normal we keep talking about.
As lockdown unfolded, all my booked work was cancelled. I have been lucky compared to many locums, finding enough work to replace the cancellations. However, this has been almost exclusively out-of-hours practice, with a return to the night shifts I had hoped to leave behind when I finished as a night vet six months ago.
Veterinary nightlife has certainly been altered – every consultation takes three times as long and I almost forget we ever had owners in the practice. I have performed euthanasia at the end of a drip line in car boots, makeshift garden marquees and sat on the floor behind a glass door – a bottle of Euthatal and syringe on my side; the rest of the drip line, a sobbing owner and dying animal on the other.
I have also taken countless pets away, and done my best to stroke and reassure them in their final moments. I am thankful the shifts have been too busy to overthink these moments, but I know the images will stay with me forever and I will have to process them at some point.
Day and night
social distancing and personal protective equipment have made their mark on OOH, it is our norm to telephone triage, and see only urgent and emergency cases (as well as the odd nipple tick).
The responsibility for chronic cases, geriatric care, preventive treatment and ongoing education has always fallen to the day teams.
I have had glimpses into the strains on these teams at handovers, and between the lines on forwarded histories, but it has been several weeks since I have been in day practice on the ground.
In the beginning, I saw a determined and passionate – if diminished – workforce; crisis hats on, flying the flag for the profession, and proud to be doing their bit.
Over time, I have seen the same skeleton teams go from determined to exhausted. The sheer time it takes to see each case has meant that, although the workload has been slashed of routines, the pressure has been immense and unrelenting.
Return to work
The first week of June, as shops and schools reopened, we were given the nod to return to routine work – the work that had been piling up as the profession battled to cope with the urgent cases.
The practice I was working nights at calculated the number of dog vaccinations that are due (or overdue) across its branches. The figure was mind‑boggling – nearly 12,000.
Of course, dog vaccinations are just one tiny fraction of the work that needs to be done.
Even if it was economically viable for practices to employ locums, many are unable to bring more members of staff into the building, as it would be impossible to maintain any form of social distancing. Where do leaders find the balance between the care of our patients, practice finances and the safety of their teams?
As I discussed in my diary about triage (VT50.21), we are all skilled in a crisis. But I fear for us as the crisis becomes chronic – the new normal.
I fear for those on the front line who are already exhausted with no end in sight, for the students who will struggle to gain experience and the newly qualified without jobs; for the locums who are still out of work; for those who will lose their jobs. I fear most of all for the leaders who are under pressure I cannot imagine.
New practice
I wrote this diary ahead of my return to this new normal. On 1 June, I started on days at a new practice, hoping my presence would bring some respite for the staff who have been battling for months without help.
I was also nervous because I did not know what to expect. I did not know the team, nor what state it would be in. I was hoping to bring fresh energy and an extra pair of hands.
However, I was only able to start because it was increasing its workload to begin tackling the mounting backlog. So I did not know if I would be able to do much to tip the scales.
I am realising the conundrums of COVID-19 are impossible to solve. We must, reluctantly, accept no perfect solutions exist, and hope our clients understand and work with us to do the best we can in an imperfect situation.
For a profession of perfectionists and compassionate caregivers, this is a bitter pill to swallow.
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