Illustration by Alex Chen
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Recently, while our four children and their families enjoyed their winter holidays – some sailing the British Virgin Islands, others skiing Whistler, some building a bunkie on Galiano Island or exploring Peru – I enjoyed a six-day winter break in Toronto’s Sunnybrook Hospital.
It is reasonable to question the pairing of “hospital” and “enjoy,” but consider my perspective. My stay included all the elements of a good holiday: new experiences, excitement, exercise, entertainment, meeting interesting people, busy days and unlimited leisure time.
Unlike some travel tales, my arrival proceeded smoothly with no delays. Following the advice of my son-in-law (who did part of his medical training at this hospital) if you can choose a time to arrive at emergency, aim between five and seven a.m. It’s the least likely busy period.
He was right. I was admitted, speeded through triage and comfortably lying on a gurney in the Green Zone of the ER in less than an hour. I could now relax and watch the events unfold around me.
My first consultation was with a young resident at the end of his 24-hour shift. He confessed that he had read my case notes and concluded that my situation was not urgent. Therefore, he chose to have a much-needed half-hour nap. I lauded his decision. He then proceeded articulately to explain the next steps for a confirmed diagnosis.
Next to arrive was my hospitalist. This doctor explained that he was a General Practitioner, who worked solely to oversee folks like me as long as they were in the hospital. He carefully explained the four options for treatment starting with the least invasive, drugs and diet, and escalating to surgery.
Shortly thereafter, Sam, a retired IBM programmer and volunteer, appeared at my bedside. He had observed that I was working on a sudoku puzzle. Identifying himself as a fellow addict, he then asked me if I would like a warm blanket. He returned shortly and tucked a cozy blanket around me as gently as a mother tucking in her child for the night. The warmth was sheer bliss! I asked him where he had accessed the blanket. He joked, “I ripped it off another old lady. She was sound asleep; she won’t miss it!”
About an hour later, he returned to my bedside to announce, “Last call from the bar before I end my shift!” Two minutes later he was back with my apple juice night cap. Humour is good medicine.
After nearly two days in the ER I was admitted and a young porter wheeled me to a different floor. I asked him if he enjoyed his job. He explained that he had two jobs at the hospital, his full-time job at Tim Hortons on another floor and his part-time job as a porter. I asked him which one he preferred. Without hesitation he responded, “The porter’s job. It is varied, satisfying and rewarding. Much better than listening to people complaining all day that their coffee is too hot!”
My night nurse settled me in. I learned that she was from the Philippines and had an eight-year-old daughter. As her husband worked on international freighters and was away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, she was, for the most part, a single mom, juggling caring for her daughter and home and constant shift changes. A lot of stress. But she loves her job and gives her whole heart to her patients. Her actions verified her words.
Three times a day, I excitedly lifted the lids on my meal to see what the kitchen had prepared. I have always been the planner, shopper, cooker, baker and server who has prepared meals for a growing family for 60 years (including a vegan, several vegetarians, a carnivore and a fussy nine year old). To have meals delivered with absolutely no effort on my part, was a joy! You have not lived until you have tasted pureed carrot cake!
As a former teacher, I found immense pleasure in observing the interaction between experienced doctors and students in the teaching hospital. After introducing themselves, the mentors quietly stepped back and allowed the student to question or examine, offering suggestions and advice where appropriate.
I admired the patience and persistence of the nutritionist attempting to communicate with the elderly Cantonese gentleman behind the curtain beside me. She was trying to establish the location and extent of his pain, but without the assistance of his daughter and translator who was present at his bedside most of the day, she was unsuccessful. I could hear a hint of frustration in her voice, but her compassion never waned.
I left the hospital with the most overwhelming sense of gratitude for the expert and compassionate care that I received from everyone on staff. Now back at home, I am enjoying the care of my family as I hear all their winter break stories.
Catherine Ross lives in Toronto.