Page 64 - 07_Sept-2025

Love Letters
ALL HEART
Eleven days in hospital reminded me
what real compassion looks like
by SHANNON KERNAGHAN
FOR SEVERAL MINUTES, I believed my husband
would die in my arms, the two of us alone in an under-
ground parkade. We were walking toward our car when
I heard the clatter of Paul’s cell phone and the thump of
his head on the concrete. I pressed my ear to his chest
for a heartbeat.
“Open your eyes, honey, please open your eyes,” I
pleaded. He moaned and came to moments before the
ambulance arrived. “My head hurts,” he said.
The thought of leaving him alone in the Misericordia
Community Hospital felt wrong. I begged the charge
nurse to let me stay in Paul’s room and promised to stay
out of their way.
After twisting inside my parka on a hard chair for several
nights, a nurse dragged a recliner from the visitor’s lounge
into his room. She covered me with a blanket as if I were
one of her patients. When she slipped a pillow under my
head, my lips trembled with gratitude.
Paul’s care never halted. His daily routine began with a
6 a.m. stomach needle and then a blood draw; a morning
checkup; one of three cardiologists suggesting possible
causes for his collapse (early blood work suggested a heart
problem); an evening checkup; a second stomach needle.
64 EDify. SEPTEMBER.25
On day four, EMTs took him by ambu-
lance to the University of Alberta Hospital
for an angiogram. Luckily, no artery block-
age. On day five, a scan to rule out a brain
bleed after hitting his head and an echo-
cardiogram to check his heart.
Finally, an answer on day seven: a
ventilation/perfusion scan found clots in
his lungs. Paul had no reason to be in the
cardiac intensive care unit after all, but
we were grateful for the medical team that
looked after us both.
“What compassionate people,” he said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Everyone who works in this hospital.”
It was true. Before Paul was even back
from his angiogram, one grinning nurse
raced into his room to give me the “all
clear” news. Another encouraged me to
climb into Paul’s bed to cuddle him while
he slept. And I’ll never forget the nurse
who was showing us pictures of her
beehives, promising to bring us a sample of
her honey, when a Code Blue sounded with
its chorus of running feet. The next time
we saw her, her eyes were filled with tears
— she was shaken by the loss of a patient
three rooms away. And yet, she remem-
bered to bring us honey the next day.
My own eyes filled with tears, awed by
our medical team who did their best to
keep patients alive and offer them hope.
But while in awe of their courage in the
face of life-and-death, I felt overwhelmed
by the revelation that my healthy, mid-
dle-aged husband had suffered multiple
pulmonary embolisms, and could suffer
another without warning.
A hospital pharmacist informed us
that Paul would be medicated for life
with an anticoagulant (“blood thinner”).
“This drug is for your liver,” she said before
explaining the organ’s crucial role in blood
clotting, which is vital if you’ve suffered an
injury. And with that, on day 11, Paul was
released.
For weeks, I lay awake at night, listening
to his rhythmic breathing, hopeful that his
body would find that needed balance. In
those long pauses between his breaths, I
found strength and optimism through the
dedication of our nurses and doctors. ED.
This is a new series of essays by Edmontonians reflecting
on human connection. Pitch your little love story to
[email protected].
illustration COLTON PONTO