Bet we can't all wait for Clap for Carers to return. Photo by TOLGA AKMEN/AFP via Getty Images
The rainbows drawn by children at the beginning of lockdown and blue-tacked to the living room window are starting to look rather yellow at the edges, as the brief flurry of love for “our NHS” starts to fade. The pandemic rumbles on, and all the while the healthcare recruitment crisis grows ever more acute. A recent survey undertaken by the Doctor’s Association UK asked respondents “where do you see yourself working in the next one to three years?” Shockingly, almost two-thirds of doctors said they would be leaving the NHS.
The Covid-19 crisis is one reason for this exodus, but only one. Although a majority of doctors surveyed reported that the Government’s handling of the pandemic had made them more likely to leave the NHS, a much more significant factor was the lack of a real-terms pay rise. And indeed, at the beginning of this year, just before the pandemic took hold, an article in the BMJ warned of the threat of “Drexit (Doctor-Exit)”, described as:
“… the exponentially growing trend for doctors to walk away from their jobs in the NHS, either to new healthcare systems overseas such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand or perhaps worse, into new professions altogether, leaving behind their well-trained medical brains. This exodus has been gaining momentum for several years with the workforce now at breaking point.”
I’m a medical school drop-out. I applied for reasons that were, in retrospect, a bit silly; I liked both arts and science subjects, and thought (wrongly, as it turned out) that a medical degree could neatly combine the two. Also, I really did want to “help people” — pat, I know, but true.
I got in, I disliked it, I failed my first-year exams and, rather than resitting them, I decided to leave. The experience has left me with a very patchy knowledge of the human body (for instance I know a surprising amount about the anatomy of the thorax, and next to nothing about the anatomy of the head). But it hasn’t left me with any feelings of wistfulness — because I don’t know a single junior doctor who is happy in the job.
At the end of last year, I met up with four old friends from medical school, some of whom I hadn’t seen since I left. All of these women are highly capable graduates of UCL, one of the best and oldest medical schools in the world. But only one of them intends to remain in NHS clinical practice. One is leaving to do private cosmetic work, one is going into hospital management, and another is leaving the profession altogether. I also know several doctors who have emigrated to South Africa or Australia, enticed by a higher salary and a lower cost of living.
And why on earth wouldn’t they? As I know all too well, the desire to “help people” may be genuine, but it doesn’t always last. Medical students are selected for the three magic traits that together produce a highly desirable worker: high intelligence, industriousness, and good communication skills. With these talents, almost all could go and work in the city and earn lots of money if they wanted to. Or they could choose a lower paid role that offers a comfortable work-life balance.
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