Today, March 9th, 2025, marks the first UK-wide COVID-19 Day of Reflection. It’s a moment for us all to come together to remember the lives lost, reflect on the profound impact of the pandemic, and pay tribute to the resilience, courage, and kindness that emerged during one of the most challenging periods in our collective history.
For me, as a survivor of COVID-19, this day feels deeply personal. It’s not just a time to honour the memory of those we lost but also to acknowledge the sacrifices so many made and to reflect on how the pandemic has shaped who I am—both as a person and as a professional.
Chaos, Loss, and Isolation
I was admitted to hospital on 3rd April 2020. Those early days of my admission, during the height of the pandemic, were chaotic. I was moved between wards almost daily, leaving me disoriented, frightened, and witnessing things I wish I could forget. Among these difficult memories, one moment stands out vividly: sharing a room with a woman who, sadly, passed away during that time.
The restrictions meant visitors were not allowed. Although I was not in a fit state to comfort her, I find solace in knowing she was not alone in her final moments. Her presence and passing remain etched in my memory—a poignant reminder of the profound human cost of the pandemic and the isolation it forced upon so many.
The Intensive Care Unit Experience
As my condition worsened, I was moved to the General Critical Care Unit at The James Cook University Hospital. My memories of that time are vague, but I spent time in two different critical care units across two hospitals.
The first was an open ward where I could see and hear everything happening around me. It felt chaotic and overwhelming, with the constant noise of machines and the visible distress of other patients. Sleep was a luxury I could rarely afford in this environment.
The second was the Integrated Critical Care Unit at The Freeman Hospital. This unit was a long corridor with individual cubicles separated by walls and curtains. While I could still hear the cries of others, this setup felt calmer and more organised. The curtains provided a semblance of privacy and created an atmosphere that felt more intentional and well thought out. This brought me some comfort amidst the fear and uncertainty. The staff here went out of their way to personalise my space, adding pictures sent in by my family to the walls. Over time, cards of well wishes were added.
I was unable to do anything for myself, often spending hours staring at the walls. Seeing familiar faces staring back at me in the photos was both comforting and upsetting—a bittersweet reminder of what I was fighting to return to.
One memory that stands out from the General Critical Care Unit at James Cook is of the staff dressed in full protective gear. Their masks, with tubes extending from the back, made them look more like aliens than humans. It was both surreal and unsettling—a stark visual reminder of the severity of the situation and the extraordinary lengths staff took to protect themselves and their patients.
The Resilience of NHS Staff
During my 13-month hospital admission, I saw the resilience of NHS staff first-hand. While not all my experiences during that time were pleasant, most staff showed extraordinary compassion, professionalism, and kindness. They worked tirelessly under unimaginable pressure, navigating an unprecedented situation with humanity and grace.
It’s important to remember that the NHS is not just made up of nurses and doctors. My recovery relied heavily on the contributions of Allied Health Professionals (AHPs) such as radiographers, speech and language therapists, occupational therapists, dietitians, and physiotherapists. These professionals provided essential care, expertise, and encouragement at every step of my journey.
I am also deeply grateful to the porters who transported me from one place to another with care and a friendly word, the cleaning staff who always had time for a chat that brightened my day, the maintenance staff who fixed the TV in my room, and the catering staff who paid attention to my dietary needs when I began eating again, doing their best to cater to what I could or could not manage. Each person played a vital role in my recovery, and their contributions remind me of the strength and diversity of our NHS workforce.
A Broken System: The Limitations of Current Services
There was a time during my hospital stay when I was well enough to leave the ICU but not yet well enough to be discharged home. My entire body had deconditioned, and it was clear that recovery would take time and therapy to get me to a safe state for discharge. This was one of the most difficult and frustrating periods of my journey. I required a specialist placement, but these were incredibly hard to come by. My pre-existing disabilities made my recovery more complex, and this added to the challenges.
I vividly recall many conversations about where I would go next. Looking back, this was a time filled with uncertainty and discomfort. Although I know there was no intention to make me feel this way, I often felt like a problem to be solved rather than a person with specific needs. Numerous assessments were carried out for placement in neuro-rehabilitation facilities, both within the NHS and private providers. These assessments were humbling, and I often felt as though I was being rejected—not for who I was, but for not fitting a particular set of criteria.
One phone call stands out vividly in my mind. A doctor from a rehabilitation unit, someone who had never met me, made an assessment of my suitability based solely on reports of my functioning and routine on the ward. She commented that she didn’t feel I was “motivated enough” to engage in the intense therapy the unit required. In a single conversation, it felt as though I was being written off before even being given a chance.
When I was eventually discharged home, I felt as though I had been written off. Yet, I had also given up—on what the system could offer, because it wasn’t what I needed.
I was fortunate that my family could help fund private rehabilitation. With the right physiotherapy team and hydrotherapy sessions, my recovery finally began to progress.
Reflecting on the Social Care System
Reflecting on my experience, I am compelled to highlight the challenges within the UK’s social care system. Carers are often undervalued, poorly paid, and given little recognition for their hard work.
Carers who visited me three times a day were only paid for the time spent in my home—not for travel time or expenses between visits. This undervaluation disproportionately affects women, who make up the majority of the workforce.
The inconsistency in care I received reflected wider systemic issues. While some carers were excellent, others left me feeling rushed and burdensome. These challenges reflect the pressures faced by an overstretched and underfunded system.
A Personal Thank You
I want to take a moment to express my heartfelt gratitude.
To the staff who saved my life, thank you. To the staff who made living in the isolation of a hospital bay for over a year bearable, thank you. To those who thought of me and my family during such a difficult time, taking a moment to let us know we were in their thoughts, thank you.
When I was well enough to engage, social media became a lifeline. It helped ease the loneliness of being confined to a hospital bay and reconnected me to the world beyond those walls.
To the occupational therapy community, I owe a special thank you. When I began to interact on social media, they welcomed me with open arms, offering encouragement and support that helped me take the next steps in my recovery. Their messages of hope and understanding reminded me of the strength within our profession and the kindness of the people who make it so special.
To my colleagues at ABLEOTUK and RCOT, thank you for giving me purpose and focus during my time off work. You kept my brain engaged, offered opportunities to stay connected with the profession I love, and gave me a sense of belonging when I needed it most. The work we did together reminded me of my value within occupational therapy and kept me tethered to the community and profession that means so much to me.
Most of all, I want to thank my husband and my mother for their unwavering strength during my hospital admission. For them, navigating life without me at home must have been unimaginably hard. I know there were moments when hope must have felt out of reach, but on the rare occasions they were allowed to visit, they brought it with them. Their presence gave me the strength to make it through each day.
Their role only grew harder once I was discharged home. Unable to walk or stand, I required hoisting and constant care. Yet, their determination never wavered. They talked me out of giving up countless times, insisted I did my physio, and gave me structure and purpose when I felt like I had none. My recovery is a testament to their love, patience, and resilience.
To the Tees Neuro Physiotherapy team, who took on the challenge of supporting me when it felt like others had given up, I want to say thank you. Your commitment, expertise, and partnership in my recovery made all the difference. I would not be where I am today without the hard work we put in together.
To Unison, who had my back when I reached the one-year mark of my hospitalisation and my NHS Trust sought to end my employment with them, I am profoundly grateful. While I can understand their perspective in some ways, it felt like yet another moment of being written off. Unison stepped in and fought for my job to remain open, showing belief in my ability to beat this and return to the work I love. Without their intervention, I’m not sure I would have ever made it back to work.
To Tees Valley Combined Authority, and my local MP Andy McDonald and his staff, I owe my deepest thanks. I know they worked closely with my mother on my behalf, pushing to change a system that couldn’t find me a suitable placement in rehabilitation. Without their intervention, I doubt I would have had the opportunity to recover fully and return to work, where I can now give back to the system that supported me.
And finally, to my niece Lyra, a very special thank you. I cannot have children of my own, which only deepens the bond I share with the children in my life. After I was discharged from hospital, while my brother and sister-in-law—both working in the NHS—went to work, Lyra would often accompany my mum, who acted as my carer on the days my husband was working.
At just three and four years old, her humility, kindness, and curiosity were truly humbling. Lyra brought light into some of my darkest days. She would chat with the carers who visited and eagerly looked for ways to help. I’ll never forget the video she sent me, using string under her bottom to demonstrate how she thought I could help myself move. Her thoughtfulness and creativity were remarkable, even at such a young age.
We spent so much time together, and, without even realising it, she became my motivation to keep going. In the afternoons, she would sit with me in my specialist chair, and together we would draw, read, or bake. Those moments weren’t just precious—they were therapeutic.
Looking back, I know my occupational therapy skills were at work during those times. By engaging in meaningful activities, I worked on improving my physical movement and stimulating my cognitive functioning. But it was Lyra’s presence, her company, and her love that gave me the strength to try.
Lyra, you may not know how much you helped me, but you gave me hope, purpose, and joy when I needed it most. Thank you for being the bright light that guided me through.
Final Reflections
COVID-19 taught us lessons about fragility, resilience, and the need for kindness. Let us never forget the importance of valuing each other.
Leave a Reply