by Craig Colby
It’s December 23, 2018 and we’re going to spend Christmas at Sick Kids Hospital. It’s inevitable.
On December 3, my 14-year-old son Shane had emergency brain surgery after a sinus infection leaked fluid into his brain cavity. After a scary couple of days, Shane is recovering well thanks to the angels on earth at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. The surgeons had removed a huge section of the left side of Shane’s skull, but despite his incredible progress, he won’t be able to leave the hospital until he can wear a helmet. For that to happen the swelling and fluid built up on his head needs to recede, he’ll have to be fitted for a helmet, and the helmet will have to be built. With Christmas just days away that won’t happen.
From Shane’s hospital room I text my wife Nancy, “All that matters is that we’re together. Christmas at Sick Kids will be great! We’re unstoppable!”
Her response is “call me”.
Nancy tells me our 10-year-old son Curtis has a fever and a headache; the same symptoms Shane had before his surgery. Obviously, Curtis needs to be checked and he won’t be able to come to Shane’s hospital room. Since Nancy is with Curtis, and she’s been exposed to some sort of virus, she’ll stay with him and I’ll stay at the hospital with Shane. We’re not going to be together at Christmas.
It gets worse.
Nancy takes Curtis to the local walk-in clinic. They say it looks like a normal seasonal virus but if the symptoms don’t improve in two days he’ll need to go back to the walk-in. Two days later, the symptoms persist, and we decide to skip the walk-in and bring Curtis to Sick Kids Emergency. Nancy and Curtis spend five hours there before being sent home. This is Christmas Day.
Our Own Christmas
A week later, on New Year’s Day, we’re finally able to celebrate our Christmas together. I’d been at the hospital 10 straight nights. Caregivers are only supposed to spend two nights, so they don’t get worn down, but there was no other option. Tonight, I’ll go home, and Nancy will stay with Shane. I’m looking forward to sleeping in my own bed.
During our Christmas dinner a piece of chicken gets stuck in my throat. This is nothing unusual for me. I’m very careful when I eat, but it still happens. I can almost always clear it eventually. I’m home and Curtis is in bed and it’s still there. So, I call Telehealth, our province’s medical telephone consultation service. I ask if I should go to a walk-in clinic or to emergency in the morning.
“You can’t even swallow saliva,” the nurse says. “You need to be in a hospital in half an hour. This is an emergency.”
It’s 12:30 at night. I wake up Curtis and take him to my brother’s house, all the way across the city of Toronto from our home. Then I drive to Toronto General Hospital because it’s right next to Sick Kids and I’d already paid for monthly parking there.
The next day at noon I’m rolled into an operating room and the doctor hauls a piece of chicken out of my throat. That night, Curtis develops a rash all over his body. We find out it’s a reaction to the antibiotic he was taking for the virus.
Curtis handles everything with good humour until the next night when the toilet overflows. That’s when the frustration finally overcomes him. As you can see, this was far from an ideal Christmas.
Our Isolated Christmas, or Worse.
The world is heading for a far from ideal Christmas this year. If we’re responsible, and I hope we all are, there won’t be big family gatherings. It’s going to be an isolated holiday. For many people it will be much worse.
A million and a half people across the world have been lost to COVID 19. The father of a close friend died this week from a different illness. A neighbour lost her husband to cancer in the spring. A colleague lost her brother, whom she also worked with, to cancer in the fall. I’ve been to two online funerals in the last month, both suicides.
I’ve had a Christmas like that too. In 2005, I lost my best friend, Dave, to depression.
Nothing will ease that pain. But in case it helps anyone, here’s what else I remember about my worst Christmas ever.
The Other Christmas Memories
On Christmas day Santa and Buddy the Elf visited Shane’s room. The plush Spider-Man blanket they gave him is on his bed now. We ate a full Christmas dinner off cafeteria trays in the main floor dining area. It was delicious. That night we watched Die Hard, something we couldn’t do at home because Curtis was still too young to see it. We decided watching Die Hard on Christmas night will be a new family tradition. This year, Curtis is old enough to watch too.
When we finally had our Christmas on January 1st, Shane and Curtis’s faces burst with joy when they ripped back the wrapping paper on the PS4 and Spider-Man game they had longed for. We spent the day taking turns being Spider-Man.
I remember spending time with my sons. I remember having fun. I remember moments of true happiness.
I also remember having time to think, to see what I could take away from this experience. I did a lot of that in 2005 when Dave died.
When I got back from the funeral, I went to see a psychologist. She told me “you’re a different person now.”
These experiences change us. They should. If you come out of 2020 the same person you were when you went in, all you’ll have is the memory of a bad year. You’ve wasted an opportunity.
My Changes
Dave’s death made me more empathetic to other people’s pain. I’m not just aware of it now. I feel it. Shane’s illness helped me to live more in the moment. While I was in the hospital, looking back was terrifying and looking ahead made me anxious. I learned that the only safe space is now.
No one can escape sorrow. Hard times will find you. This year, they’ve found everyone. Still, I hope two things for all of us this holiday season. First, I hope we use the extra space to reflect, to learn more about ourselves and to see how we can make the most of our changes. Second, I hope we find ways to feel love, to be happy, even for a little while.
That last point comes from a more qualified opinion than mine.
When Shane was out of the hospital, but still wearing a helmet to protect his brain, a friend of mine asked him how he dealt with this trauma. Shane said “I put up with the things I don’t like doing and I look forward to the things that I like doing. I do what makes me happy. Just…. be happy.”
As best you can in 2020, have a happy holiday.
Craig Colby is a television executive producer, producer, director, writer and story editor. He runs a storytelling consulting and production service for businesses. He can be reached at craig@colbyvision.net for consulting, training, writing or production.
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