I got a frantic call one day in the fall of 2009 from my mom telling me that dad had to be rushed to hospital. He wasn’t making any sense and being a controlled diabetic with no issues to speak of, this was unusual. After calling the doctor, he advised that he go to hospital. It turned out he’d had suffered a mild heart attack and some undetermined something. I got in the car and made my way to Toronto from Ottawa.
When he got to hospital, they didn’t know what was going on and placed him in isolation. After the whole Sars outbreak in 2003, hospitals were all a little more suspicious of undetermined health issues and what they might be. They later determined that he had a bacterial infection in his bowel and really didn’t need to be in isolation, but there were no other beds.
Never experiencing this before, upon arriving, mom and I realized what isolation actually meant: mask, boots, gown, hat, basically a hazmat suit. Dad had been pretty sedated but awoke when we entered the room. He looked at both of us and said “What the hell?”, not realizing he was in isolation. It was pretty funny.
As a bed became available, dad was moved into a semi private room. He was in hospital about 3 weeks, with mom going up daily and me going back and forth from Ottawa and Toronto.
The care dad received during his stay at Etobicoke General Hospital was ok. Staff was often rushed, seemed stressed out, spending little time to connect with the patients in their care, not because they didn’t want to, but simply because they didn’t have time. I have to say that in my experience visiting, what I remember most about dad’s care givers were the people that organize patient care and the cleaning staff. There was one British gal that came in to pickup towels, dispense clean ones, clean the bathroom and empty the garbage. She’d enter the room and lead with, “How the heck are you doing today George?” Then off they’d go discussing England, food, planes and so on. Then in another few days she’d be back again and dad’s spirits would again lift. She was absolutely wonderful, present, embodying her real self. Whether she realized it or not, not only did she benefit, but so did the many other lives she touched. She was pretty outstanding. To me, that was spirit in action, spreading healing energy wherever she went.
I believe, as many of us do, that there is more that needs to shift in this environment. It’s a complex issue, but I not impossible to adjust. Doctors coming in, not even a hello, I’m so and so. Just basically a look at the chart, a quick look at dad, then finishing up with, “You’ll probably be going home next week George” then walking out of the room not to be seen for another few days. I’m not a doctor, but in my mind, clearly that would not be the case. In My dad had a herniated disk that gave him years of aggravation. He never really complained about it, but he was in a lot of pain, all the time. What kept things at bay was being mobile and to date in hospital, there was not enough support to help him do that on a daily basis. They just wanted him to rest, not thinking that him leaving would also be determined by him able to get around.
Eventually, dad was discharged after about a month in hospital, mostly horizontal during his stay, to a rehabilitation center at Kipling Acres in Etobicoke, Ontario. It was great because it was within walking distance from mom’s house, so easy for her to get too . The program, if I recall was 9 weeks. They are on you hard core, getting you up and mobile, encouraging you to engage in your healing and exercise routine.
At first dad did pretty well. A bit of time each day with the physiotherapist and then on his own the rest of the time, with exercises and homework each day. About a month in, he began to slow down and when on his own, wasn’t as motivated. I think that he realized that the amount of time and effort needed to bring him back to pre-hospital condition was going to take a lot. Once a few years prior, he said, “I have more money than I’ve ever had in my whole life, but what I would really like is to walk to the bathroom and the car without any pain”. That was the first time he had ever revealed his inner thoughts on this situation he found himself in.
I had made my way back to Ottawa planning on returning in a week or so when I received a call from mom to come to Toronto as dad was not doing to well, but didn’t and couldn’t, really say what that meant.
So, we through some stuff in a bag for myself and my youngest daughter, left some instructions with my husband as to what was needed for our other two kids, notes about the pets needs, and I got in the car and headed to Toronto. On the way there just outside of Peterborough, almost at 401, mom called. All she said was, “So where are you at, almost here?”. I said, “a little bit yet.” She was quiet, then said, “oh you won’t be here for a while then?” She said nothing of the fact that my dad had actually passed away. I didn’t know for sure, but had a feeling. Perhaps she didn’t want to tell me while I was driving. In hindsight, it was probably the right thing to do.
It was around midnight when we arrived. I dropped my daughter off at the house and headed over to the center. When I went in there was of course, no one at the front desk or lobby, no one to ask or get directions to his room. Eventually, four nurses got off the elevator, probably leaving after their shifts. One asked me if they could help. I replied, “my father is in the rehab section of the building, I think on the 3rd floor, my mother is with him”. One of the nurses looked at another and said, “didn’t a Mr. Brammer pass away on the 3rd floor today?” I looked in shock, just as she and all the other nurses realized what she had said, realizing that was my father they were talking about. I guess she thought she was using her inside the head voice. For god’s sake. They all went silent, with one of the them eventually offering to take me upstairs to my mother. Honestly, it was the most awkward elevator ride of my life. What was I to say, I could lose it or focus on myself and my family and then perhaps at a later date have a conversation with the staff at the centre. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Dad was gone.
Apparently, there was no warning for dad’s passing, no apparent illness. I believe that my dad had just decided it was his time to go. He was not sick, he just decided it was time and honestly, I think he was fed up with pain in his back that he lived with for so long. I think sometimes, that a hip replacement might have helped, but back then, there wasn’t as many older folks on the surgery list for that. And, of course now, it is a very common surgery at any age.
My focus now was to support my mom. Helping her with the funeral arrangements, dealing with the bank and all the paperwork. Organizing his celebration of lifel. He always used to say to me, “When I go, don’t worry about a headstone, two sticks will do.” He was like that, so practical, so straight up and to the point. I miss him so very much.
It was astounding the people that showed up that day, sharing their thoughts about dad. He worked at Air Canada for over 40 years. To experience the kind words and hear the stories and the unique relationships each had with my dad, brought a smile to my face for a life well lived. He loved planes and new what plane was flying overhead by just the sound of it. He would take me to his office on his days off to visit and back then you could go into the freight hanger, which also held the warm room where animals would be kept if they were waiting for a flight. I got see the many of the animals first hand when they were being transported to various places including the Toronto Zoo when it was just built.
I am so grateful for the relationship I had and all the things I learned from him. What cut of meat to buy, his family were butchers in England, how to roll pennies, the importance of polishing your shoes and connecting to people, he could talk to anyone and he talked to everyone.
He was himself with no apologies and his passing served to awaken my consciousness just a little more. He would be glad of that.
Bev Hille, The Practical Empath 