March 27, 2025 Amy

From Now On, I Only Fly High On Private Jets

The Caribbean

My family doctor in Barbados is a lovely woman who messaged me daily on What’s App and requested regular updates of my symptoms. Despite her busy schedule, she came by the house to visit me in bed, at home, on a Saturday morning. I was surprised to see the doctor enter my bedroom dressed in a bright yellow swimsuit and golden cover up. Her arms were covered with bracelets and large hoop earrings adorned her earlobes. She wore intricate sandals that wound up her legs like an Egyptian princess. She was dressed for a Bajan beach party: “

– It’s my day off. I’m going to meet some friends at the beach right after this. 

– You look lovely! The kids are going to Dover Beach later. But I’m too tired to get out of bed.

– I suggest you arrange a return trip to Canada as soon as possible, she says.

– Why is that? I ask, confused.

– Your blood test results are positive for mononucleosis but your white blood cells are also alarmingly low. I asked my colleague, an expert hematologist in Barbados, to look at your blood work for a second opinion. We are concerned you may need a transfusion. He also suggested an emergency CT scan.

I just needed to rest I thought to myself. But I was touched by her gesture of concern. All the medical terms sounded foreign to me. And I did not process the urgency of her request; nor the possible magnitude of my illness.

– When I get better, I’ll come back to Barbados and we’ll go to the beach together, I promised.”

At first, they wanted to send me to Miami, Florida, USA.

– Jackson Memorial Hospital, one of the best in the world. You’ll be out of there in no time, the doctor from Health Canada assured my diplomat husband over the phone.

– But we don’t know anybody there! And I can’t travel in the MEDIVAC with her! We have no one to look after the kids, replied my husband.

– Ok. Let me see… We have a bed open at Hull Hospital in Gatineau, Québec. (Our home base before Barbados. This particular health center was rated one of the worst in Canada for emergency wait times.)

– No. That won’t do. I insist you find something in Montréal. That’s where her parents and friends are. Please.

– Ok. We have a bed at Jean Talon hospital. We need to arrange for the MEDIVAC. This should take 24-48 hours.”

Three days later, I’m lying on the narrow cot in the minuscule medical evacuation plane- a Lear Jet 500. My head is resting on the pillow I brought from home. Two red straps are strung across my waist to keep me snug on the gurney.

The American nurse and paramedic introduce themselves. They work together to take my vital signs (little did I know this would become a regular occurrence at the hospital, several times a day):pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. The nurse is looking at the veins on my arms as the plane taxies down the run way. Through the window, I glimpse my last view of the swaying palm trees and crystal blue ocean:”

-Goodbye Barbados! I’ll be back soon. 

– This is my year to enjoy the beach. I’m going to learn to surf and go snorkelling every day. I proclaim to the nurse who is listening distractedly.

She ruffles through the bags, luggage, and boxes in the back of the plane until she finds the one she is looking for. The paramedic leans over to inspect my veins.

– You have nice veins. (Little did I know that I’d hear that hundreds of time in the next coming months.) 

– We are going to insert an IV line so we can administer medicine more easily during the flight, explains the paramedic.

I’m squeamish at the slightest drop of blood. So I look away as she inserts a needle into the vein in my hand. 

– Now for the fun stuff! Where is my narcotic suitcase? Ah! Here it is. I have lots of goodies. What would you like?” I stare at her confused. 

The plane gains speed, takes off down the runway, and soon we are flying up in the air. I look out the window and I watch the beach getting smaller and the suddenly the ocean takes over the whole view.

My own private jet. This must be serious I think to myself. I start to silently cry again. I am overcome with emotion. Where are we going? I don’t want to leave! What about the kids! Why am I so tired all the time?

– We’re headed to Clearwater bay, Florida chimes in Jaime the pilot.

– Let’s give her Ativan and start with a small dose of Fentanyl. We can watch and adjust if we need to. Says the paramedic to the nurse as they consult the drugs in their supply of narcotics.

It feels like someone is snuggling me in a warm blanket. My mind goes blank. I promptly relax and fall into a deep sleep…

I wake up a bit groggy and confused. The nurse and paramedic are in the middle of a conversation about their respective dogs:

– We just got a Rottweiler, but its a puppy, he’s really nice. 

– A Rottweiler, those are big dogs! You should bring him to training school. 

– But its so expensive, I’m not sure he’ll need it, he’s such a cute little puppy!

– Look at the photo Amy! What do you think?

– So nice, I reply, while internally panicking. (I have a strong fear of dogs. And the meds aren’t working.)

– Welcome to Clearwater Bay! Announces Jaime the pilot.

– Down there is my Harley motorcyle, I can’t wait to ride home and see my dogs, the paramedic points out the window as the plane begins its descent.”

It’s hot and humid in Florida. Another pair of pilots is waiting on the tarmac. This time only one of them is called Jaime. A new nurse and burley paramedic dressed in grey one piece coveralls step forward: “

– Hello Ms Richardson. We are going to take you to Montréal. But first we need to refuel the plane.

– Ok. Can I go to the bathroom?

– Good idea. It’s a long flight, do you need a wheelchair?

– I can walk by myself, I insist quickly. I take in a deep breath and I start to wobble down the three stairs towards the washroom in the main airport building.

– Let’s get you a wheelchair, just in case.

– Stay at her side, whispers my first nurse, as she waves goodbye.

The plane takes off for a second time. We are now headed to our final destination: Montreal – Pierre Elliott International Airport.

– Do you fly often to Canada, I ask?

– Yes. More often than you think. Our clients are mostly Canadians on vacation in Florida, older, and usually sicker than you are right now.

– Ah! Yes. The famous snowbirds escaping the cold Canadian winter, I smile to myself.

– How long is the flight? 

– We should be there in less than three hours. Try and sleep a bit, suggests the paramedic with a side glance to the nurse.

– Yes. Get some rest. Now, where is my suitcase of goodies? The nurse rustles around her seat. Ah! Here it is. Now just relax Amy, we’re giving you some Fentanyl through the IV in the vein in your hand. Don’t you worry about a thing now.

I start to hum to myself, as I sway my arms back and forth above the bed; I picture to cerulean blue of the Bajan ocean, the kids splashing in the waves, as I wriggle my toes in the warm sand. This is how I fall into a blissful drug induced sleep, which thankfully lasts all the way to the airport in Montreal.

To be continued…