An ode to our health care workers: Tails of a broken man in a not so broken system

I have just stumbled in the door to my house after several days in the hospital, greeted by a hysterical mother and a howling dog – both who probably assumed they would never see me again (they are prone to theatrics).

While the specifics of why aren’t particularly important, for anyone that knows me, this outcome wouldn’t come as a major surprise. Almost two decades as a competitive bodybuilder and powerlifter has lead to several “poor life choices”, mortgaging future health for an extra inch on my biceps, or 45lbs on the bar. I have no regrets, but I also no longer have a fully functional spine, so take my bravado with a generous heaping of salt.

I normally reserve my LinkedIn posts to all things garbage related, but I felt compelled to write a post expressing my gratitude for a system and sector that I have personally taken for granted – Ontario's health care system. I am not a particularly political person, and I’m not about to become one – my experiences are strictly my own, and one that I share with you merely because I don’t have Facebook/Twitter/TickTock or whatever all the other cool kids are using these days (although I do have a woefully out of date instagram: Feel free to slide into the Garbage Doctor’s DMs)

I wish I could tell you the names of everyone I came into contact with – from the EMTs who talked to me about anything and everything to keep me awake during the ambulance ride, to the very kind orderlies who helped wheel me to a litany of tests, everyone (and I mean everyone) exuded compassion and care. Despite the circumstances, I could appreciate the humor of having a small elderly woman push a 240lbs tattooed bodybuilder in a wheelchair – her soft voice asking if she was “going too fast”.

Being in an acute care section of a hospital was a surreal experience, exacerbated by the fact that I was in too much pain to sleep. I spent my hours staring at a ceiling and trying not to move, listening and observing the scenes that unfolded around me. I have never been on “this end” of the bed – being cared for (and watching others being cared for) is a truly humbling experience. I’m sure we have all heard the stories of how overworked our nurses/health care providers are, and that there are too many patients, with too few beds. All of these things were true - the hallways were lined with people and various alarm bells and chimes went off with an unsettling frequency.

But what is lost in that description, or at the very least, what had been lost on me – is just how good our health care workers are given both the circumstances they are under and resources they have access to. This was not just about doing a job competently – this was about doing a job exceptionally well, by people who genuinely cared about the patients that were under their care, even when it came at their own expense. In my short few days in the hospital, I quite literally observed dozens of instances of health care workers going the extra mile – whether that meant enduring verbal and physical abuse, but responding with kindness and patience, or being a sympathetic ear to people who were scared and lonely without their family. The most memorable moment for me personally was watching the nurse shift change in the morning – tired faces were replaced with fresh smiling ones, as they carefully reviewed patient charts and did final check-ins before switching over. What struck me about that scene is that each and every one of them wanted to be there (as far as I could tell)   – to care for broken people in hopes of making them better again.

I consider myself a strong man and am no stranger to hard work or adversity. But with every ounce of sincerity in my soul, there is no way I could do what those nurses, health care workers and doctors do – I simply lack the physical/emotional reserves and the patience that is required of the profession. I am genuinely dumbfounded that there are people in this world that get up and do this job every day, and do it so well.

I cannot adequately express the gratitude I have for the team that cared for me during what was a really difficult time (William Osler in Brampton, Ontario). If I get the chance, I would want the chance to thank them for treating me like a person they genuinely cared about, and not just a patient number. This may seem inconsequential to some, but when the doctor gave me my diagnosis, he sat with me as I cried. Keep in mind that I wasn’t being given a life threatening diagnosis, I was essentially being told that my bodybuilding career was over, and that I would need to undergo major spinal surgery. Scary and painful perhaps, but I would still be able to go onto have a seemingly normal life, but with a new and improved semi-bionic lower spine. In retrospect my response seems pretty silly, but in that moment, I was losing a big part of my life and the doctor could recognize that what I needed was sympathy and reassurance. He gave that to me in spades, and for that, I am grateful.

As noted at the beginning of this post, this is not intended to be political or a commentary on the state of Canadian health care. Yes there are problems that can’t be ignored, and issues that demand the public’s attention, but in this instance, I just want to let to know (all) healthcare workers how appreciative and grateful I am for what they do. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and for trying to help put this humpty dumpty back together again – my dog is particularly grateful that forest walks will continue in his near future.  

PS: While I may never compete in bodybuilding again, I am forever a self avowed gym bro - as the saying goes, "You can take the boy out of the gym, but you can fuse composite plastic/metal spinal disks into the boy".... maybe that's just an expression among my circle of friends (One last memory: On the left, I am 293lbs, and on the right, 226lbs).