‘He begged me not to let him die’

Anthea Allen is a senior sister in Critical Care at St George’s Hospital, south London.

I always wanted to be a nurse. I joined St George’s Hospital ICU in 1996 and soon realised Critical Care was my true calling, working to help people at their most vulnerable moments.

And after almost 25 years as a nurse, I thought I’d seen it all. But when the first lockdown started in March 2020, we stepped into the unknown.

Faced with bed after bed of COVID-19 patients on ventilators, seemingly healthy adults were getting critically ill, sometimes dying in a matter of days.

WORRYING TIME

PPE was scarce, so we’d be stuck wearing heavy, sweaty masks and visors for hours on end, barely getting a break. But the worst part was seeing people die without their loved ones. It was hard to give the usual personal touches, as even a reassuring smile was hidden under PPE. I was so worried about my patients, but also my colleagues. Work consumed our lives and many were

isolated from their families.

When you’re a nurse, picking people up at their lowest moments is part of the job, so I knew I had to do something to raise my colleagues’ morale.

I sent out an email to a small group of friends and neighbours, telling them about the difficulties we were facing.

‘Some biscuits would mean the world,’ I said. But then, a tsunami of cakes, biscuits and fruit arrived at my door and at the hospital. My friends and neighbours had forwarded my email on.

I sent out a thank-you email, by which point we were getting messages and donations from all over the world. I’d reply to questions and even started telling stories in my now-weekly emails.

It wasn’t all doughnuts, though. One friend brought lettuce for a colleague’s rabbit, as she was struggling to find any. One nurse, away from family overseas, couldn’t see her boyfriend as he lived with his elderly parents, so a kind stranger found them a flat near the hospital to stay in together. My simple request for biscuits had become bigger than I had ever imagined.

But all the while, our patients were still afraid and dying of this new virus. I remember one critically ill man pleading, ‘Please don’t let me die.’ That moment struck me hard.

As the months wore on, we got better at treating COVID-19 patients. The situation was still horrendous, but

‘WE STEPPED INTO THE UNKNOWN’

figuring out treatments that worked gave us a glimmer of hope.

LIGHT IN THE DARK

On one hot summer day, the ward was sweltering, but all our COVID-19 patients were recovering. Some hadn’t eaten for days, so I bought them ice cream, which they gulped down with glee. I made sure I wrote down those happier moments in my newsletters, as well as the darker times, and I decided to compile my diaries into a book.

Two years on, we may be through the worst of the pandemic, but we still work on, and my colleagues continue to make me proud every day.

Life, Death and Biscuits by Anthea Allen (£11.99, Harper Collins) is out now. Instagram@lifedeathbiscuits