Tales from way behind the front line. A retired anaesthetist in the vaccination clinic tells all | Association of Anaesthetists

Tales from way behind the front line. A retired anaesthetist in the vaccination clinic tells all

Tales from way behind the front line. A retired anaesthetist in the vaccination clinic tells all

Illustration man with inserting syringe into an illustration of a virus

Jabber and his colleague, the Queen Bee, having finished the last jigsaw and been comprehensively blocked by Boris from visiting their respective grandchildren, have decided to throw in their lot with the ever-expanding COVID vaccine force. If nothing else, it’s an excuse to get out of the house that doesn’t involve Waitrose and a sudden and inexplicable shortage of quinoa.

Despite the media fuss, the online training package was a breeze. Without this essential preparation, we could easily have finished up administering vaccines without knowing, for example, that a wet floor is a hazard that can cause harm, or that someone clenching their fists might be exhibiting warning signs of impending conflict. The potential consequences of such ignorance cannot be lightly dismissed.

The only bright light was that, NHS bureaucracy being what it was, nobody had yet got round to cancelling my hospital parking permit.

No, it was the form-filling that nearly did us in. Although I had left only four months earlier after more than 30 years at the coal face, Occy Health at my old employing Trust did not have any record of my existence, and the Other Trust, managing the community hubs, wanted my bank account number actually spelled out in words (yes, as in ‘one, nine, eight’ etc). I had to take my passport and a gas bill to the hospital to show what appeared to be a 10-year old from Human Resources that I was actually me as part of my DBS check, and submit a cheek swab for DNA confirmation (one of these may be untrue). The only bright light was that, NHS bureaucracy being what it was, nobody had yet got round to cancelling my hospital parking permit.

Since then, it’s been all hands to the pumps. Our hospital Trust has two or three doctors on duty at any time, largely involved in helping the ‘assessors’ who are doing the screening, or in signing prescriptions for the vaccine. In the community hubs, prescriptions are not needed at all, for some reason relating to PGDs which I learned on line and then instantly forgot. I say not needed at all, but in the first two weeks we had to prescribe every sixth dose of Pfizer, since only five doses from each vial are licensed - amazingly this is not the most pettifogging rule we have encountered, as will become apparent.

There are, of course, few more important tasks than helping with the vaccination drive. 

Each community hub has at least one GP ‘lead’, who does exactly the same job as me and the Queen Bee but gets paid twice as much for doing it. The actual task of jabbing is, quite reasonably, regarded as easy to learn and teach and is often performed by medical or nursing students, and we are left with the vital and skilled task of saying “Yes, she’s good to go despite the apixaban”, a phrase which we should really have emblazoned on our foreheads to save time. As anaesthetists, we tend to get a bit busy checking the emergency equipment; this led me to search out a bloke with a hacksaw the day before one of our hubs opened, when it became apparent that the legs on the examination couch were so long that you’d have to be Richard Osman on a step-ladder to have any chance of performing effective CPR.

There are, of course, few more important tasks than helping with the vaccination drive. The multidisciplinary teams are highly motivated and great fun, the customers almost entirely happy, and the atmosphere as positive as a proton blessed with incurable optimism. But, for those of us accustomed to a patient bleeding out in a trauma room or a rapidly-deteriorating CTG in a BMI 60 primigravida, it’s not the most exciting place to be. The biggest thrill in the last fortnight was when a vaccinator, faced with a morbidly obese patient, whispered to me, in a manner reminiscent of Roy Scheider in Jaws, “I think I’m going to need a bigger needle”. Clinic nearly went into meltdown as I replaced the standard blue needle with a whopping 21-gauge green, and I had to justify myself to none other than a pharmacist. But more of pharmacists next time…

Jabber the Nut

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