Laying It Out: Be careful out there, our safety net is gone

By Scott Schmidt on October 1, 2021.

On Sept. 17 the COVID crisis at Medicine Hat Regional Hospital was so bad surgeons were on standby to assist with intubations, and patients in desperate need of an ICU bed were waiting for one to come available (likely after a previous patient died).

Someone close to the situation told me it was so dire, anyone who might need hospital care that day could very well find none available.

“Keep your family at home this weekend,” they told me in a private message. Not just because COVID was spreading like never before but because the hospital crisis we’ve worried about for 19 months was officially here, and now anyone in need of urgent care was at serious risk, virus or not.

I’ll admit, I felt a little like an overbearing parent telling people the world was too dangerous — obviously most of us don’t leave our homes in fear of getting into a freak accident. Nonetheless, at about 1 p.m. I went on Twitter, updated people on the situation at MHRH and suggested everyone stay home.

Almost exactly two hours later, my mom and dad were driving south on B.C.’s Highway 5 heading into Kamloops in a rainstorm when their vehicle lost control. They slammed into the guard rail, slid across the centre line and oncoming lane, smashed into a mountain wall and then flipped onto the passenger side.

We don’t know how long they were trapped in their vehicle, but it was 9 p.m. Alberta time when I got the call.

“This is Erin, I am a social worker at Royal Inland Hospital in Kamloops. I have your mom and dad here with me. They’re OK, but they were in a serious accident.”

A lot went through my mind in those first moments as I processed the information, and I’m sure I was unfairly curt when I cut her off and demanded to know their injuries. But as Erin filled me in on the seriousness of their situation and my body filled with worry for my parents’ wellbeing, I distinctly remember feeling an odd sense of relief as well.

Not relief that they were lucky to be alive (because that did come, and boy, were they ever) but relief they weren’t home here in Medicine Hat. My parents were in a terrible car crash and I was actually relieved they were 1,000 kilometres away.

It’s important to note that despite their injuries and a long road ahead, they are surrounded by a support system second to none. I don’t tell you about their crash for sympathy; there is plenty of love in our family and our story pales in comparison to so many others in this province. Your concerns belong with kids contracting COVID, or cancer patients not getting crucial life-saving surgeries. I’m only telling our story to drive home an important point.

This pandemic has intertwined our individual stories like never before. Our own choices, our own experiences and even our own freak accidents are having an effect on, and are being affected by, the choices, experiences and freak accidents of everyone else.

We yearn for privacy and work hard to live our own personal lives, but whether we like it or not, COVID has stolen that away. My parents’ car crash isn’t supposed to mean a whole lot in your world beyond hoping for their best, as most of us always do for each other, but strangely enough it does.

Every hospital bed counts right now. Every nurse, every doctor, every set of health-care hands.

I kid you not, I heard on the radio this week that someone with a broken leg in need of surgical repair in Medicine Hat would likely have to wait in pain for several days. My mom had a surgically repaired leg in Kamloops within 44 hours of her accident and every second ahead of it was agony.

Not only was her wait time reasonable, she had people who could see her and she’ll eventually make a full recovery from all her injuries. What if something similar happens in Medicine Hat to someone you love?

Can you imagine them suffering for days? Can you imagine them doing it almost entirely alone? What about those whose loved ones are going in and not coming out? What’s their suffering like? What’s it like to die scared and alone?

These are the questions that fill my head since Sept. 17. If I feel this terrible about my own family’s sad story when I know the ending will be a happy one, how do the families of the 348 Albertans who died of COVID in just September alone handle it?

I know what it’s like to sit at home while my mom awaits surgery. What’s it like to sit at home while your mom dies alone?

These are awful questions to ask, and normally it would be inexcusable for me to make you ponder the death of someone you hold dear. But this is where we are at.

This is happening to hundreds of families in Alberta as I type, and has already happened to thousands of families since the start of the pandemic. People who die of this are not dying peacefully. It’s painful, it’s tortuous and it’s shockingly inhumane.

Normally I’m here to criticize the premier for his handling of COVID, but when it comes to basic humanity, why bother with that guy anymore? This is about us now. We’re the ones suffering because of this, and it’s clear by cancelled surgeries, health-care staff shortages and a complete lack of resources for incoming patients, you do not need to have COVID to suffer consequences from it.

Health care in Alberta, Canada is now officially a finite resource. Don’t wait for a 9 p.m. phone call to let that sink in. I hate to be that overbearing parent once again, but please, save our hospitals so they can get back to saving you.

Stay home.

Scott Schmidt is the layout editor for the Medicine Hat News. He can be reached by email at sschmidt@medicinehatnews.com

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