Anyone who knows me won’t be shocked to read that I am no
fan of Boris Johnson! As of last night,
however, the man’s in intensive care after being admitted to hospital in London
on Sunday night, and his condition then worsening, and I am thinking of him with
nothing other than good wishes.
In the past twenty-four hours, news teams with the BBC and
ITV have taken us behind the scenes of intensive care units at hospitals in
London and Bournemouth. We saw
desperately sick patients surrounded by trollies of equipment, screens, wires
and tubes. Machines whirred, whistled,
pinged and beeped and patients gasped for breath. Doctors and nurses in their blue gowns, masks
and visors worked ceaselessly with professionalism, care and remarkable composure.
‘It’s unimaginable,’ one doctor commented, ‘None of us have
ever seen anything like it.’ A nurse
described how physically and emotionally draining it is, adding, ‘Some of our
staff really can’t cope with it … it’s not uncommon for some to have panic
attacks – just finding this so, so stressful.’
Another said she was scared.
Patients themselves told of how taken aback they had been by the
severity of their illness, how hard it had been and of how they owed their
recovery to the efforts of the medics who had treated and cared for them. It was a harrowing insight to the struggle to
save lives on the front line; yet, undoubtedly, what we saw on our screens
barely scratched the surface.
Today, it’s hard to think of Boris Johnson as Prime Minister
at all, or as the politician I dislike; today, I can only picture him as a
fragile patient in an oxygen mask, probably anxious, possibly scared,
surrounded by all that noisy paraphernalia of the intensive care unit. He’s one of the many thousands of seriously
unwell people in this country and around the world, fighting a very personal
battle against a deadly virus, with friends and family who are deeply concerned
for him. He’s another victim of this dreadful
disease, putting his faith in the hard-working medical team at St. Thomas’.
Last night, I asked a friend if he had heard that Boris had
been moved to intensive care. A short
reply came back: ‘It’s sad for everyone going into intensive care with this
virus.’ I was embarrassed by my own reaction
to the news about the PM; in terms of this pandemic, he’s not special and as he
himself would probably remind us all, the virus is indiscriminate. Why should I be more shocked by his illness
than anyone else’s? Why should I – of
all people – care more about him than anyone else? The outpouring of concern for Boris on social
media, the ‘get well soon’ photos, posters, signs and placards, the 8pm clap
for Boris – they’ve all made me uncomfortable.
What about all the thousands of other people in intensive care tonight?
Maybe it’s inevitable that Boris now becomes the
personification of the fight against Covid19 in the UK. Once he recovers though, that will only
increase the responsibility he bears.
Most of the time, I wish he wasn’t our Prime Minister. Now though, I only wish him a speedy recovery
and return to good health. Importantly
though, my prayers for Boris will be no more nor greater than for everyone else
fighting for their lives in hospital.
No comments:
Post a Comment