Sick. Cash. Health. Care.

Well, look at that. What language can do.
And what Healthcare made in Canada means in practice.

This week I discovered, the hard way, how warmth of the heart can turn into a crisis of the heart. 
A cosy, restful sleep turned, at four in the morning, into a restless, painful awakening. 
My heart was muttering its complaints about something or other, my shoulder blade decided to weigh in, and I became breathlessly dizzy.

At six in the morning, I crept toward Southlake Health in Newmarket. 
Oh yes, Southlake is a hospital — but someone at some point decided that Southlake “Health” sounds more hopeful and better than just Southlake “Hospital.” 
Fair enough.

Shortly after checking in with the friendly woman at reception, she handed me a few documents along with a bright red slip of paper. That slip was the express ticket for my visit. 
And the red signal colour for danger made perfectly good sense. 
Then began the four-hour procedure: blood pressure readings, ECG, blood work, and X-ray. Every walk through Southlake — guided by those coloured lines along the floor — was neither stressful (which would have been fatal in my condition) nor tedious. 
I don’t know how the team of Southlake Health manage that restore health can remain so friendly and attentive through their long shifts. 
But they can.

After the Southlake odyssey, the friendly doctor said, first of all: “You don’t look even close to be seventy.” 
And then, after a glance at the hospital file, I heard the redemptive sentence: “You’re free to go, Christian. We haven’t found anything concerning.”

Wonderful. So was this just a false alarm from an older hippie who can’t cope with a little heartache?

Oh no. I rejoiced too soon.

The doctor smiled and suggested I drop by the next morning for further tests. 
The Southlake team wanted to stress-test me. 
Specifically, to provoke my heart into revealing what it’s made of.

Fair enough.

My mood was … well, in an excellent mood. 
The doctors hadn’t found any visible defect — no explanation for the painful night — but not finding something isn’t, for them, the end of the road. Scientists are never satisfied with not knowing. 
They’re too curious for that. 
And that realization pushed my pain politely to the back row.

The following day was just as warm as the one visit before. 
First, I was invited to lie on the examination table, and I was wired up. 
Then the cold gel and the scanner came into play, methodically mapping the neighbourhood of my heart. 
Much like the way expectant parents get to check in on how their baby is coming along.

Then the announced stress test: new wiring, followed by a march on the treadmill. 
Easy, I thought.

Two hours later, I met another Southlake Health doctor who questioned me again about the details that had led me to push open the Southlake Emergency doors in the first place.

He mentioned a small something that had briefly flickered up during the examination, but without showing a clear outline. 
As a reward, I received a clip-on holter monitor and triple wiring across the heart region. 
I was to wear this contraption for seventy-two hours and note any notable changes in how I felt. Right. 
I have now been promoted to Cable Guy.

And now I’ll allow myself to gush. 
A full, unrestrained word of praise for the clinic with the lovely name Southlake Health in Newmarket. 
Anyone who has to go to a clinic because their health has come apart at the seams is already stressed, inherently. 
But that stress fades quickly once the Southlake team gets to work. 
Why? 
Because when professionalism and kindness shake hands, there is every reason to be handled with care.

When I return the monitor tomorrow, I will do so with the firm conviction that the team at Southlake will once again attend thoroughly to my health and its restoration.

I don’t take this commitment for granted — not when people pour themselves into their work so that I, and thousands of other patients, can feel well again.

I live in the North and I’m grateful for the warmth of the South — Southlake Health.
Thank you.