A Nurse’s Spring Start in London on a Skilled Worker Visa

When I stepped off the plane at Heathrow with two suitcases and a Trust offer letter in my backpack, the first thing I noticed wasn’t the cold—it was the daffodils. They lined the road like little suns. Back home in the Philippines, April is mango season. Here, spring is a promise: blossoms, longer light, and second chances. I held onto that on the train into central London, wondering if I’d made the bravest or the most reckless decision of my late twenties.

How I Got Here: Recruitment, Tests, and the Visa Maze

I started this journey in a Facebook group for Filipino nurses where a post about NHS recruitment popped up. I applied directly to a London NHS Trust rather than going through an agency. It wasn’t glamorous: a Teams interview at 2 a.m. Manila time, me whispering in the kitchen so I wouldn’t wake my parents. The panel asked clinical scenarios and “what would you do if” questions. I used SBAR for structure and tried to be honest: what I knew, when I’d escalate, where I’d double-check policy.

Before the UK, I sat the NMC’s CBT (computer-based test) at a Pearson center in Manila and took the OET because it felt more clinically relevant for me than IELTS. I submitted my NMC application, police clearance, and verifications from PRC. Waiting for the NMC to assess credentials felt like a long ferry in rough water—quiet, anxious, no control.

Once the Trust sent the Certificate of Sponsorship, the visa piece moved fast. My route is the Health and Care Worker visa (under the Skilled Worker category), which meant my fees were lower and I didn’t have to pay the Immigration Health Surcharge. I did my biometrics, uploaded documents, and refreshed my email obsessively. When the approval came, I cried into my adobo. Relief and terror taste the same.

The Trust promised to reimburse my flight and covered my OSCE training and exam once I got to the UK. If you’re still in the planning stage, ask these questions early: What costs are covered? Is accommodation provided on arrival? How soon will OSCE training start? Policies vary by Trust.

First Weeks: Induction and Finding My Feet in the NHS

I landed in London at the tail-end of a cold snap, but the air smelled like rain and blossoms. The Trust booked me into a hospital accommodation for the first month—basic but clean, shared kitchen, a ten-minute walk to work. I learned to make tea properly that week. In Britain, tea is a care plan.

Induction was a blur: e-learning modules, hand hygiene audits, manual handling refresher, safeguarding, and a tour where I got lost twice and pretended I meant to. The ward sisters emphasized “bare below the elbows,” double-checking controlled drugs, and documenting like the CQC might read every entry (because they might). The e-rostering app became my new weather app: I checked it morning and night.

The biggest shift from my previous hospital was how multidisciplinary the day felt. On a typical day on my medical ward, I join handover at 7:30 a.m., get my “bleep,” and review obs. We use SBAR for everything—handover, calling the on-call reg, even sometimes in the WhatsApp group (“Situation: kettle empty”). Meds are scanned into the eMAR; two nurses check high-risk meds, and we incident-report via Datix more than I was used to. It’s not punitive—more like “how do we teach the system to be safer.” That takes getting used to.

I’m a Band 5, with London weighting bumping the salary a bit. Enhancements for nights and weekends help, but London is still London. My preceptorship lead set up weekly check-ins and paired me with a senior nurse who has the driest British humor and the kindest eyes. When I apologized for apologizing too much, she grinned and said, “You’ll fit right in.”

The OSCE prep started in week two. Our educators ran mock stations—admissions, wound care, medication administration, professional values. I practiced saying out loud what I was doing and why, like narrating my own brain. The day I passed, the cherry blossoms were exploding over the hospital car park. I called my mom from beneath them, petals sticking to my scrubs.

Hunting for a Home: London Rents and Right-to-Rent

The second hardest part, after the NMC paperwork, was housing. London is competitive, fast, and expensive. I viewed flats after shifts with mascara smudged under my eyes and a backpack full of snacks. I focused on Zones 2–3 for a balance of cost and commute, using SpareRoom and OpenRent. I learned quickly:

• Landlords will ask for a Right to Rent “share code.” With my eVisa, it took five minutes online to generate.
• Deposits are usually five weeks’ rent and must be protected in a government-approved scheme. Ask for proof.
• Council tax is separate. As a single adult, I applied for the 25% discount.
• Utilities aren’t small here. My share of gas/electric/water averages £120 a month, more in winter.
• Check for mold, drafty windows, and the energy rating. An “EPC D” in an old terrace can feel like Antarctica in January.

I ended up in a bright room in a Zone 3 terrace with two other women—one Lithuanian nurse, one British PA. We have a “no-one-cooks-fish-at-2 a.m.” house rule and a rota for bins. It’s ten minutes to the Overground, twenty-five to the hospital with a change, and safe enough that I walk home after late shifts with my keys in my fist and my mother’s voice in my head.

If you’re tempted to rent unseen before arrival, I understand. To hedge the risk, I booked a month in hospital accommodation, then did in-person viewings. Scammers love urgency. If something feels off, it probably is.

Day-to-Day Life: Commutes, Groceries, and Little Joys

My Oyster card is my lifeline. I tap on the bus in the morning and off at night without thinking, grateful for the daily cap so I don’t overspend. On night shifts, I’ve come to appreciate the night bus: quiet, slightly surreal, like the city is loaning itself only to the people who need it.

Groceries are a mix of needs and comfort: Tesco meal deals on duty days, Filipino shops in Earl’s Court or a quick pilgrimage to Hounslow for calamansi and Mama Sita. A friend introduced me to a Saturday market where wonky vegetables cost less, and I learned the holiness of yellow-sticker reductions. My favorite thing this spring: hot cross buns toasted with butter after a long shift, and the first picnic in the park by the daffodils.

Healthcare feels strange when you’re suddenly the patient. I registered with a GP near home with my proof of address, and got my NHS number soon after. Dental care is trickier; NHS dentists can be like unicorns. My tip: join a waitlist early, and budget for private check-ups if needed.

On days off, I walk. The city softens in spring. I’ve stood on Westminster Bridge at sunset, wandered free museums, watched kites over Primrose Hill, and cheered strangers running a 10K in preparation for the London Marathon later this month. The Blue Light Card paid for itself in one discounted pair of trainers.

Cultural Adjustments: The Music of “You Alright?”

British politeness is its own dialect. “You alright?” is hello. “Not bad” means good. “I might” can mean no. In the ward kitchen, someone will ask, “Tea?” and make a round with a series of mugs that look like a family reunion. I learned to take my tea strong, splash of milk, no sugar, and to laugh at jokes that are 70% sarcasm and 30% affection.

Professional language is different too. It’s A&E, not ER. The OR is “theatre.” “Obs,” “nil by mouth,” “bleep the reg,” “bank shifts,” “sister,” “matron.” I adopted a fob watch because wristwatches aren’t allowed, and now my wrist feels naked outside of work. I made mistakes—like using an American drug brand name in handover and drawing blank looks—but colleagues corrected me gently. Humility travels well.

Finding My People

I found community faster than I expected. The Trust’s Filipino Nurses Network meets monthly—potluck style—and someone always brings pancit. There’s a BME staff group and a women’s health WhatsApp chat that somehow knows everything from where to buy affordable scrubs to who’s selling a second-hand hoover. I joined a church choir near my flat and a badminton group on Sundays, and I’ve had tea with my neighbor, who rescued me with a screwdriver when my IKEA wardrobe defeated me.

London can be lonely, but it rewards showing up. I say yes to coffee invites. I linger after study days. I sit with patients’ families and talk about food. This spring, friends celebrated Easter, others Eid—dates shifting with the lunar calendar—and the ward felt like a tapestry: different colors, same thread.

Costs, Pay, and Being Honest About Money

People ask about money a lot, so here’s the shape of it without pretending it’s the same for everyone. As a Band 5 with London weighting, my base pay lands in the high twenties to low thirties before tax, plus enhancements for nights and weekends. Rent for my room is just under four figures. After council tax, utilities, a phone plan, and a travel card, I budget carefully. I cook. I track expenses. I buy coats second-hand because spring here can be four seasons in a day.

If your Trust offers extra shifts (bank), take care. The temptation to work every available hour is strong, especially when you’re sending money home. But I felt burnout tugging at my sleeves by month two. Now I aim for one rest day that isn’t just laundry and meal prep. It makes me a safer nurse.

What I Wish I’d Known

• Start your NMC paperwork early. Keep digital copies of everything. Expect follow-up emails for clarifications and don’t panic; it’s normal.
• Ask your Trust specific questions about OSCE training timelines, exam fees, and what happens if you fail a station. The support plan matters.
• For housing, verify deposit protection and use your Right to Rent share code confidently. Walk the area at night if you can. Check water pressure.
• Bring a good waterproof jacket, a small umbrella you won’t mourn when you lose it, and comfortable shoes you can stand in for 12 hours.
• Learn the bus routes to your hospital. When the Tube strikes or engineering works happen (they will), buses save the day.
• Find one community early: a faith group, a sport, a cultural association. It makes the city smaller and kinder.
• Give yourself a season. Spring has been a gentle teacher—it reminds me that change takes time, and growth can look like small green shoots at first.

Closing Reflections

Some nights on the ward are loud with alarms; some mornings in London are soft as mist. I have stood in both and felt grateful. I wasn’t sure I’d belong here. Belonging, I’ve learned, isn’t a place; it’s a rhythm you fall into: the bleep on your hip, the doors you push with your shoulder, the kindness of a colleague who makes you tea the way you like it, the blossom confetti on your walk home.

If you’re a nurse thinking about the UK, especially the NHS in London, know this: you can be both scared and capable at the same time. Ask the questions. Do the work. Pack the snacks. Spring will meet you at the gate with daffodils, and the rest you’ll build day by day—handover by handover, patient by patient, friend by friend.

With hope for your journey,