'The nurses and PSWs were amazing, and the food wasn’t bad either'
The constant headlines decrying nurses are leaving Canada and emergency rooms are closing are anything but comforting as we live through these fearful times.
Staff shortages, political battles, confusion around vaccines, not to mention reports of poor senior care and others facing long waiting lists for life-saving surgeries — these are difficult days for health care.
But thankfully there’s Alliston’s Stevenson Memorial Hospital.
Built in 1964, the clunky old building leaves much to be desired. But inside is a different story where people helping people are lifelines for many.
Nurses, doctors, administrators, volunteers, and a host of others move things along despite the crowds of hurting people and physical obstacles, such as the emergency room (ER), which is about the size of three large living rooms.
On this night, after many visits to this ER with my 84-year-old mother, Beverly McKnight, the issue is serious.
For weeks, she’s been complaining about a sore side and fatigue. She knew intuitively something wasn’t right. But doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her.
Often elders’ complaints are put to, ‘old age aches and pains.’ But a doctor at the walk-in clinic ordered blood work. The results went to her family doctor, who called Bev the next day with the news her hemoglobin had dropped from 137 to 79 — an immediate blood transfusion was necessary.
But why? No one knew.
Back to the ER we went, and 17 hours later, she emerged after three blood transfusions.
She got better, then she got worse.
Bev was referred to a tall, gentle general surgeon with soulful eyes, who, after reading the results of a battery of tests, told us, “It’s cancer. They think it’s cancer.”
We sat silent and stunned.
The doctor treated my mother the way she would have treated a newborn who was in trouble. While immediate surgery was needed to remove the cancer, it was risky given Bev’s age, let alone her other medical issues.
But we bet on this doctor. And the doctor bet on Bev’s resilience.
“We need to get the cancer out,” she told us.
Three weeks later, my mother was in surgery.
I walked through the neighbourhood surrounding the hospital on a warm October day and prepared for the worst.
But, a few hours later, the doctor tells me, “We got it all out. Nothing spread.”
And so, the long road to healing began.
Three days later: hospital-acquired C-difficile infection set in.
It sounded like the worst possible postsurgery scenario, but I found out it’s very common for older adults.
And so, here’s my mother, who survived the surgery, facing the fight of her life.
I’ve watched this woman overcome a lot.
From getting her high school diploma at 35 and going with her to evening social work classes at York University because she couldn’t afford a babysitter — to having life-altering spinal and other surgeries.
I was sure this was too big for her to overcome. I was wrong.
Shoulder to shoulder, the nurses gather at the Med Surge station. Some work in the narrow hallways on tiny tables directly outside patient rooms. Still, the nurses and PSWs give my mother — professionally — everything they have.
The tired and grumpy ones having a tough day. Despite their own dramas and life difficulties going on, they didn’t give up on her.
My mother’s now in quarantine and the nurses are coming in regularly to help her. At one point she’s so sick I ask the nurse, “Is my mother going to make it?” To which she responds, “Of course, she is!”
She says it so joyfully, I almost believe her.
Sitting on the chair at my mother’s bedside, suddenly, a flood of shock comes over her face. She says my name unlike any other time she’s said it, “Susan …”
We frantically reach for the call button. A nurse comes in to help.
Like my mother, octogenarians Buffy Sainte Marie and Jane Fonda have cancer. Buffy, who’s Bev’s hero, recently told CBC, “It looked iffy for a while … but I’m totally back.”
And Jane Fonda, who Bev resembled in her youth (truly!) shares her fierce journey on Instagram.
When I ask Bev what she’s taken from this whole ordeal, she tells me, “Whatever you survive makes you stronger. I have a strong life wish. Doctor O’Malley believed in me. Not easy when you get older. The wild card was C-dif, but I survived and I’m grateful. Having you there made all the difference, too. The nurses and PSWs were amazing, and the food wasn’t bad either.”
Food wasn’t bad? One night Bev wrote a note to the chef, “The croissant rolls are divine.”
We’ve heard it many times during this dastardly pandemic: we’ve shouted it from the rooftops, banged on drums, pots and pans: “Thank you health care workers!”
Like Buffy, Beverly’s back in her own home now.
