Bus Ticket
At 4:42 a.m., I called 911.
By that point, my regular medications had stopped controlling the pain. It had become so severe that simply getting from my bed to the shelter door was an ordeal. Every push on my manual wheelchair intensified the pain. Numbness, weakness, and loss of function had progressed to the point that I could no longer manage safely on my own.
Nearly ten hours later, at approximately 2:32 p.m., my emergency department visit was coming to an end.
In between, I arrived by ambulance, underwent a CT scan, and was diagnosed with arthritis in my neck with possible nerve involvement. I was instructed to follow up with my family physician and was referred to both a pain clinic and a physiatrist.
The pain was significant enough that I received two oral doses of hydromorphone.
After the first dose, I repeatedly told staff I was experiencing marked sedation, nausea, difficulty remaining awake, and that I did not believe I could safely return to the shelter independently.
As the medication wore off and the pain returned, a second dose was administered.
Before discharge, the emergency physician told me he would “talk to the nurses” about my transportation.
He also reminded me to “take it easy” and “be careful how you move.”
When the nurse returned, she handed me a small medication cup containing the tablet, a small plastic cup of water, and a bus ticket.
I again explained that I did not believe I could safely get back to the shelter.
She asked how I had arrived.
“Ambulance.”
“Well, you can wheel yourself around.”
I asked whether someone could at least help me get to the bus stop, explaining that hospital security had assisted me on a previous visit.
“We’re not doing that.”
When I mentioned that security had helped before, she replied,
“You’ll have to take that up with them.”
She walked away after I swallowed the tablet.
I was being discharged during an acute exacerbation of my condition while experiencing significant opioid-induced sedation, with a plan that required me to cross a busy roadway, board public transit, and propel my manual wheelchair back to the homeless shelter.
This wasn’t my first emergency department visit related to these symptoms.
Earlier this year, after I was not properly restrained while travelling on a Route 2 community shuttle, I attended Kelowna General Hospital with worsening head, neck, shoulder, and upper-extremity symptoms. During that visit, I was provided with a wheelchair-accessible taxi voucher. On another occasion, when I chose to take the bus instead, hospital security assisted me to the bus stop.
This time, after arriving by ambulance, undergoing a CT scan, receiving two doses of hydromorphone, being advised to “take it easy” and “be careful how you move,” and being referred to my family physician, a pain clinic, and a physiatrist…
I was handed a bus ticket.
A tiny medication cup.
A small plastic cup of water.
A $3.00 transit ticket.
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