Is there?

The private room was nice, and I was really starting to like the student nurse that had been assigned to me, but something wasn’t right. I had been admitted a few weeks before to the respiratory rehab program. My condition was such that I wasn’t breathing properly at night anymore, and the doctors at this hospital in Toronto were experts in this field and were figuring the best way to resolve my situation.

I was expected to be there for at least 5 weeks. Since my coverage at the time allowed for a private room, I got one of only two on that floor. Also, as I was considered a high maintenance patient, they brought on a student nurse for the whole time I was there as an almost exclusive care-giver. This pleased me greatly. I also had my own TV, I arranged for a phone, I had my radio, and I even had a friend in Windsor record hours of local radio stations, as the Toronto stations play mostly garbage. (At least they did in the early 90’s)

Then it started to happen. My ability to sleep got worse and worse. Over the span of a few days, I could barely sleep at all anymore. Even worse, my breathing during the day was becoming more laboured. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought that I was looking a bit puffy. I knew it wasn’t good, but I felt I was in good hands, and even though my doctor was away for the next week, we’d get this figured out. That was on a Saturday. By Monday, things had not improved; in fact they had gotten worse.

My doctor’s associate, having been briefed on my downward turn over the weekend, came into my room and sat down across from me. She looked at me, and with a very serious and cold look on her face, declared “You may be dying”.

My disbelief must have been quite evident. She decided I’d like an explanation, so she went on to tell me my heart was weakening and that they couldn’t help me at this hospital as it was not an acute care facility. They had arranged for an ambulance to take me to the best emergency/trauma hospital in the area, SunnyBrook hospital. All I could think to ask was if I could keep the private room. She looked at me puzzled. “For when I come back” I said. Again, she looked at me surprised as though she thought I had not understood that I was about to die. She stood up, looked around, and said, “three days. We will hold your room for three days. After that we have to give it to someone else.” She patted me on the head and she was gone.

The ambulance ride was scary, and a hoot, all at the same time. The guys had been warned by the well meaning doctor that my heart could fail at any moment, and I suppose they wanted no part of that. No sir, not on their bus. So with full lights and sirens we dashed through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic and even jumping boulevards a few times. It was somewhere along the way that I started to get scared. What the hell? I don’t feel that bad, but hey, this seems pretty serious here. I was puzzled.

Once at SunnyBrook, I was wheeled directly into what is likely one of the most frightening places I have ever been.

It was very large bright white and green room. Loud. Stretchers lined the walls and on each was a human, or what was left of one, fighting for life. Teams of doctors and nurses moved from one patient to another in a frantic semi-organized chaos. Instructions and requests were being hollered back and forth from one team to another, and machines squealed demanding attention. By then I was terrified. My sister who rode in the ambulance with me, had been separated from me in rush. I knew my mother was out there too, somewhere down the hall. But I was alone. I tried to get someone’s attention. I just wanted some human contact. Someone to tell me what was going to happen next maybe. But they were all too busy caring for those that needed it immediately. I knew this room was all about life and death situations, and at the moment, from the looks of those around me, death was in the lead.

After some time, a nurse came to within arms length of me, and I took the opportunity.

I reached out and tugged on her uniform. She wheeled around and looked at me startled; surprised that I was conscious. I was trying to talk, but I was weak and scared. She leaned in close so she could hear me over all the noise.

The words that came out of my mouth have always stuck with me.

With fear in my voice, I blurted out “Is there somewhere else I could be?”

She looked at me with understanding and compassion. I could feel the energy of her understanding. She held my hand for a second and assured me she would take care of it.

Within 15 minutes or so, I was in a dimly lit part of the ICU, down the hall from all the commotion. Quiet, calm, and surrounded by stable patients.

A team of doctors came to see me hours later. The head doctor was handed the chart and looked at it briefly. All the young interns around him eager to prove themselves.

He dropped the chart down on foot of the bed. “So whats going on?”

I started to regurgitate what I had been told about my heart, and he stopped me.

“No, I want you to tell me what YOU think is wrong.”

Oh. Ok

So I told him. They had been messing with my meds at the other hospital. Made some adjustments on the Thursday, and that’s when all the trouble started. Also I don’t breathe well when I sleep.

“Ok, that we can fix”

So in the interest of making this long story shorter, they adjust my meds, I peed like a horse, and they started me on a machine to help me breathe at night.

I was back at the other hospital within two days and got my room back to continue with their treatments. Oh and my heart if fine too.

All of this came to mind as I was out for my walk last night. I had gone past the local marina where there was much commotion. I was certain it was a drowning. (confirmed in the news this morning)

It brought to mind the fragility of life. This always makes me wonder if I am doing everything I can with mine.

Am I doing enough?

Am I following the right path?

Is there somewhere else I could be?