Opening My Heart by Tilda Shalof Read Free Book Online Page B

over!
    “That never happens,” Mary scoffs, “but if it does, they’ll put in a pacemaker. Tillie, you’re going to make it. It’s not your time to go. God has a plan for you.”
    Many people automatically utter such pious phrases, but Mary actually means them. She is sincerely religious, a devout Catholic who doesn’t mess with the Third Commandment – or any of them, for that matter.
    “At least you don’t have to worry about medical coverage,” she says on a more practical note. Living in the United States, it’s new for Mary to have to think about health insurance. Yes, it’s true. There are lots of things to worry about when you’re facing open-heart surgery, but how I was going to pay for it wasn’t one of them.
    The next morning, Mary calls back.
    “Tillie, I just got home from night shift. My patient was a seventy-two-year-old woman, twenty-four hours post – aortic valve replacement. As soon as we extubated her she was raring to go, practically jumping out of bed. She told me, ‘You call your friend, dearie, and tell her not to worry. She’ll be okay.’ ”
    Up until now, nothing has cheered me, except this, a little.
    * Other celebrity heart valve patients include actor Robin Williams, former First Lady of the United States Barbara Bush, and journalist Barbara Walters. I’m in good company.

3

FEARLESS NURSES
    Night shift.
    I have to be a nurse again, one last time before going off to camp, and then who knows when I’ll be back at work?
    “Should you be doing this?” Ivan asks as he watches me getting ready. He seems worried about me – or maybe about the patients who will be in my care – but, as I tell him, I need to do this. I leave the house around 6:30 in the evening – or 1830 hours – and drive downtown for my shift, which starts at precisely 1915 hours. On the way, I turn on the
Saturday Evening Golden Oldies
and listen to the Four Seasons sing “Big Girls Don’t Cry” and Elvis croon “It’s Now or Never.”
    Welcome to Toronto General Hospital, my world. Affectionately called “The Big House” by insiders, this huge, venerable medical centre is a mecca of world-class research, academic teaching, and exemplary patient care (according to the corporate mission statement) that specializes in cardiac surgery, organ transplantation, thetreatment of eating disorders, and stem cell research (among other things). It has also been my place of work for eons and I have always felt proud to work here. But now, entering the revolving front door and standing for a moment in the main lobby, I see it with new eyes and am reminded that most people don’t like hospitals. (I guess I forgot.) Not too much
hospital-ity
around here or many friendly faces or smiles, especially this late in the day when everyone who doesn’t have to be here is scurrying off in the opposite direction, heading home. People coming in are reluctant and frightened; those leaving are eager and relieved.
No one wants to be here!
    In the hospital, everything and anything can happen – and frequently does. Nothing that goes on here surprises me. I’ve seen it all – birth, life, and death – in all its variations – not to mention sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. Every human emotion and activity takes place here: fainting, yelling, joking, sobbing, laughing, doctors crying, nurses dancing; gentle folk raise their fists, the cheerful become melancholy, and the timid learn to be outspoken. A patient gets married moments before dying. A son donates a lobe of his liver that saves his mother’s life. A woman swallows the contents of her medicine bottles and we race to rescue the life she’s tried to escape. A man breathes easy for the first time, now with new healthy lungs, a gift from an unknown family. No, it’s not an episode from a television show, it’s any day – or night – in a big-city hospital.
    If you walk these halls and take a peek into the rooms you will see grim, ghastly sights. You’ll smell