Young retiree born in Montreal, professional life in Quebec, two central cities, I arrive in a regional hospital with my “normal” share of prejudices.
Tuesday, May 18, 2021, 9 a.m., it’s my turn to go under the knife! Although minor, this surgical intervention with general anesthesia is for me… major. My anxiety level is at its peak.
Then the magic happens. On admission, the receptionist jokes about the fact that I am unable to find the room for my preoperative EKG on my own despite its very precise indications and the presence of all those little colored circles and arrows on the surface of the corridor floor. Then here I am at the fifth, for the moment of truth. It is at this moment that I discover a particular universe where everything is regulated to the quarter of turn.
I am talking here about the registration, the instructions to get to the room for “jackets”, two, one behind, the other in front and the locked locker to deposit the plastic bag with personal effects. The wait is not long before someone calls me. Retrace our steps, but it is only a meeting with the nurse in the operating room. Response to a questionnaire, illnesses, intolerances, allergies etc., signature of 2 consents, one for surgery, the other for anesthesia, then return to the waiting room.
Another call brings me back to the operating room. Meeting with the anesthesia technician, detailed explanation of the procedure, entry into the operating room, installation of the solution and electrodes, a little hello to the surgeon whom I recognize despite her mask and to the anesthesiologist, then “sleep” .
In the recovery room… no heartache. Well done! After a little wee and a phone call, return home.
I remember the huge number of people needed for this small surgery. The one on admission, the two for the electro cardiogram, the two for the recording in the fifth, the nurse of the operating room, the anesthesia technician and inside the operating room, 2 or 3 others who assist the surgeon and the anesthetist, the recovery room attendant, the attendant who brought me back in a wheelchair to the car. A dozen people who work in symbiosis, in such a coordinated and harmonious way.
I have experienced other surgeries in reputable hospitals. But I have never been treated with so much dignity, respect, humanity as in this regional hospital. As a bonus, all of the staff seemed to love their jobs. Good humor reigned everywhere. And all this during a pandemic!
Those who sometimes have fun denigrating our health system did not know the staff of the Magog hospital.
A big, big thank you… to all of you.
PS Really amazing! The surgeon has the same name as my mother, Marie Sauvé. What are the odds?
Pierre Chatillon
Orford
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