Yes, another hockey story that will end badly … or not.
St-Louis is Olivier St-Louis, 23 years old on February 23. His friends had given him a big pat on the back wishing him a lucky year. But last week, his father contacted me to ask me if I was okay with accompanying his end of life at home, even if it meant administering medical assistance in dying if his suffering was beyond comprehension. I met Olivier 18 months ago, in the emergency department of LeGardeur hospital, where he came for a fever and bruises. Unfortunately, I discovered nasty blasts in his blood, a sign of acute leukemia.
He was then three days away from a hockey tournament, where he was playing as a defender for the Olympiques de Repentigny. I quickly transferred him to a colleague in a tertiary center where I knew he would receive the best treatments. Hockey is over for a long time. I had promised him two difficult years to come but with the hope of putting the disease behind him and getting back to normal with his life. But it didn’t go as planned. He had every possible complication, as if the blasts in his blood had read the possible menu of routs and feints and imposed them all.
Leukemia came back, every time we put it on the back burner, stronger than ever, more vicious and devious. Until a blurry vision two weeks ago gave us a glimpse of the home stretch: an infiltration of the central nervous system. The end of hope. Medicine has its limits. What to say to a young man for whom Science has nothing more to offer, than a dignified and painless end? How to explain to Olivier’s parents that despite all the love in the world they were able to give their son, death would come looking for him?
In parallel there were the series. The Canadians had miraculously resuscitated and carried with them the whole of Quebec in a fever that no doctor would have dared to treat. Against all expectations, they made their place until the final with exciting matches. Even the hospitalized patients, sometimes dying, that I met during my last shift, proudly showed me the colors of the French and hoped to live until the next game.
Because Hockey heals, Hockey treats, Hockey is good. Even people like me who understand absolutely nothing about it. All rejoice in the collective jubilation, a welcome relief after this global suffocation.
And then there was Tampa. This is the link with the leukemia blasts that attack Olivier. Tampa is the battle we may not win. According to what we define as battle won. Because basically, do we need a cup to say that the Canadiens have won? If the battle was to wake up a people who hardly believed in it anymore, then the battle is already won, regardless of the outcome of the playoffs.
That of Olivier also since until the end, he will have survived each attack of the opponent, each check. And even if leukemia takes all the place in his body, he will have won by deciding what is best for him, in accordance with his values. Die at home, surrounded by his family, by those who will love him beyond his life. If he ever has to reach out to me with the arm that once grasped his hockey stick so skillfully so that I can administer the final care, I know it will be with the same courage he has to live to the end.
I’m not asking the Canadiens to win this final for Olivier. I say thank you to them for rekindling our flame. I would only like if a goal was scored by the Habs, we could offer it to Olivier. Because if St-Louis had been on the ice for a final game, I’m sure he would have given everything to instill in us the desire to continue.
For Olivier and for all the patients who are fighting and who have already won, even if the disease goes away with the cut.
Marie-Anne Archambault-G.
Hemato-oncologist, LeGardeur Hospital
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