PHOTO: KAREN TEMPLE
NCC series by Michael R. Bussière
Anatomy of an accident A first-person account of patient-centred care at The Ottawa Hospital a cour Jeanne-d’Arc Court is a LByWard charming place tucked away in the market.There are two entrance
alleys off of York Street and one off Clarence. The site was renovated in 2006 according to a National Capital Commission call for tenders. A stone block the size of a shoebox was installed in the middle of the narrow alleys, 7.5 feet in from the York Street sidewalk. I was feeling like a million bucks one sunny August morning in 2016 when I walked into the alley from the east. Within 3 paces, 1.3 seconds, I tripped on the block and slammed onto the stone surface. The right side of my body from my shoulder to my foot was immobilized with pain. I yelled for help and struggled to access my cell. I called 911 while a passer-by stayed with me until a paramedic arrived by bike within 2 minutes and an ambulance pulled up moments later. The passer-by returned with the phone number of the property manager. He conveyed that the store where he retrieved the number reported that people tripped over the block all the time and that walking tours warn tourists about it. Two men lifted me onto a gurney and into the ambulance. They were good-natured professionals who took my vital signs and administered pain medication. I asked them to remove my shoes. We proceeded to the Civic emergency ward with
no siren and arrived within about 10 minutes. The ward was packed. By this time, my arm and hand were swollen and my right side from my ribs to my ankle was very tender. I was examined within minutes and was wheeled to the medical imaging department. Early that afternoon, a team sedated me and performed what they called a reduction, a procedure meant to put things back into place to reduce trauma to the bones and tissue. They were thorough in explaining what they were doing and what was going to happen next. It took about 30 minutes, after which I was admitted to the orthopedic ward and placed in a
s The alley entrance as seen approaching from the east.
room with two other men. My teeth started to chatter and I broke into a shivering sweat as I was helped on to the bed. I was wrapped in blankets and the waiting began. Each day started with a visit by an orthopedic team of kind, goodnatured professionals including interns; impressive individuals, each and every one of them. They assured me that I would undergo surgery to repair what was described as “a bloody mess” in my right arm, meaning multiple breaks, a dislocation, and a torn ligament. There was to be no treatment to the bruised ribs or sprained ankle. Waiting for surgery means no food or liquids. An excellent team on the ward floor checked in with me regularly and demonstrated the kindness of a saint and the patience of Job. The problem, I was told every morning, was a shortage of operating rooms. Emergencies in which there was a threat to life or limb got priority. All I could do was lie there and wait. I discouraged visitors not knowing what would happen hour to hour. The guy in one of the beds behind a curtain had a voice that would have passed for John Goodman. He had been flown in from a construction job in Perth prior to my arrival. Scaffolding had collapsed underneath him and he broke both of his legs in multiple locations. During my 9 OTTAWALIFE SPRING 2020
