Bienvenue à Montréal!
Before the warm heat of the Barbados sun had time to cool off on my skin – I was plunged into the crisp Fall weather.
I struggled to find my bearings. I was in a small aircraft, lying on a cot with several tubes connected to the top of my wrist. The effects of the pain medication were starting to wear off.
I slowly woke up on the tarmac of Montréal- Pierre Elliott Trudeau airport in Montreal, Quebec, Canada.
– Bonsoir, said the Urgence Santé paramedic. Bienvenue à Montréal.
I hear rumbling of cars on the nearby highway and soon realized that we are at the far end of the tarmac where the little planes, the private jets usually land. (I remember looking at them curiously on my way to the YUL departure lounge in the past and I often wondered to myself who were the privileged people able to travel this way.)
– From now on I am only travelling on private jets whilst high on Ativan and Fentanyl! I laugh to myself.
I vividly remember my second ambulance ride in less than 24 hours (back in September 2024.) I lay flat in the stretcher and could see out the rear doors of the ambulance -but everything was backwards. We took the elevated highway 40 Metropolitan through the city. I caught glimpses of the new luxury mall through the back windows of the yellow paramedic ambulance. I noticed the faded signs for Guzzo cinema which has since closed. No sirens called out this time – as we slowly crawled along in the highway traffic- I watched the familiar world of Montreal parade backwards before my eyes.
We finally arrive at Jean Talon hospital in the center of town. I was brought through triage on a gurney by the paramedics who handed me over to the hospital emergency staff. Here, they asked a lot of questions, and I was finally deposited in a small room with a sparse hospital bed surrounded by a flimsy curtain. It was well past 11pm in Barbados. I was confused and exhausted. Nurses milled about in a glass enclosed interior rectangular section in the middle of the room. Before they left, I asked the airplane paramedic if I could to borrow a cell phone to call my husband (in Barbados) and tell him I had arrived (in Canada.)
My husband swiftly arranged for a friend who lived nearby to come in and check-up on me in the emergency room at the hospital. (Montreal hospitals are notorious for long wait times.) I asked to use the bathroom and I was directed to a shared toilet down the hall. Upon my return, I was informed that I was switching beds (because my white blood cell count was very low, I was neutropenic, and I needed to stay in isolation and avoid catching an infection.) I was escorted to a private walled-in room in the middle of the emergency department. Because of my low white blood cell count and high risk of infection, I was immediately attended to and given a private hospital room.
My parents showed up the next morning all smiles and bright cheer. I had planned to travel back to Montreal for a conference in October. I had simply brought forward my trip by a month. My mum demonstrated how they had to don special masks and gowns before entering my room through and antechamber. We laughed about it together! They were instructed to wash their hands and leave their belongings outside. That’s when I noticed that there were double doors to enter my room. I was getting VIP treatment in a notoriously understaffed overcrowded ER. Strange. Maybe my husband had pulled some strings? It did not dawn on my that I might be in isolation to protect myself or that I was in the hospital for something serious (like cancer…)
As I lay on a hospital bed, I took stake of my surroundings. There was a small sink and toilet in one corner of the room. There was no door for privacy. I was instructed to wear a pale blue star checkered hospital gown that did not cover very much. I don’t remember the food. I was not very hungry anyway. I tried my best to hold down water and stay awake when the resident, nurse, doctor, and/or specialists (there were many) came to ask me their series of questions. Please show them the results of the scans in Barbados I insisted to my parents. Why were there so many questions? I wondered. What did they really want to know? What if I gave the wrong answer? (The perfect student-teacher in me ruminated inwardly.) They are taking my health status so seriously. I wont be here for long, just give me some pills and I’ll be on my way back home to Barbados…
Great writing as always, Amy.. You portrayed the events (plane/aircraft trip: ambulance trip: hospital experience, I could almost smell the hospital)Ha, ha, hospital wait times !!I sat for more than an hour for my appointment last Tuesday, I think it was, and a lady asked if I had checked in. I thought I had, though they did not take my Medicare card.They did not say to check in at another point, but luckily I decided to ask at this other point, and she had my name and took it off as having not shown up. Damn, damn, damn!But she did re-install me, and my name was called about 10 minutes later, so only only one and a half hours of David’s time wasted. Now, and hospital appointment I willl check and re-check that I am registered.. However, my pulmonary report was excellent, so it settled my mind a lot.
Yes that was quite the surprise for us , you turning up so unexpectedly . Jean Talon hospital quite an eye opener experience ! You write beautifully as always with such gusto .How do you remember so vividly ? Love you lots mum
Vivid memories indeed. So much has happened since! Thanks for sharing your beautiful writing! 🥰
I really feel like you’ve taken this back in time with you. The beginning of it all before you knew what was to come. Hard to believe how much time has passed since then. But clearly, the memory are still vivid for you.