Kayleigh Oliver is a GP resident and author with a deep-seated interest in inclusion health.
Personal Protective Equipment
It’s in every room:
The gloves, the masks, the aprons
The antibacterial gel sat at the desk
The hand-washing station at the side of the room
The clinell wipes held in emerald green
They’re for my body
Gloves to protect my hands from the shit
Masks to protect from the microbes in spit
Plastic aprons to protect my clothes
But what the hell Is there for my soul?
Coming to work
Bombarded by tasks
and asks
Expected to give when I’ve little in the tank
To smile and be pleasant
To be present in every
consultation
I try to do housekeeping
Do my box-breathing
And centre myself
Another person’s squeezed in
Another single appointment should be a double
I’m happy to help and go the extra mile
But when you end up so far from your base
And, of course, you’re running late
And your next patient
Rolls their eyes as you say,
“I’m sorry for your wait.”
What could protect me?
If I protect myself and my time
Am I doing my patients and colleagues a disservice
Or is it worth it?
Is it how everyone survives?
Every man for themselves
Once I’m out of training, what then?
It’s a jungle out there.
