Tuesday arrives with a clear blue sky, which highlights the brilliantly coloured leaves in my neighbourhood. The high temperature forecast for the day is 25 degrees Celsius – bizarre for October 22nd in Toronto.
On Duty
By eight o’clock I’m standing just inside the front door at Sunnybrook Hospital, dressed in my volunteer uniform. Working in Courtesy Services once a week, I organize and clean wheelchairs in the front lobby, ready to transport outpatients to medical appointments. When approached by someone clutching a cellphone or paper, I disburse detailed directions, so my one-on-one interactions with the public are seldom more than one minute in length. Currently, there are four blue-vested volunteers on duty. Throngs of entrants pass by.
My watch reads 8:37. A nearby colleague Judy is answering a patient’s query when a young man hurries up to me, noticeably trembling.
“Excuse me,” he says. “My partner has just had a baby in our car. We need a wheelchair.” Good God! I think.
Part of my volunteer role is settling patients in wheelchairs and delivering them to appointments. The idea of my settling a woman who’s just given birth into such a contraption feels impossible. I interrupt Judy to tell her about the baby. She suggests that I get into the patient’s car and guide the couple to the Emergency Department on the back of the main building. This huge hospital with 10,000 employees boasts a confusing array of buildings, roads, and parking lots.
“The father is too full of adrenalin to follow our verbal instructions,” she says wisely. (In retrospect, I likely would have eventually arrived at the same conclusion, but in the moment, I bless Judy for making the right call.)
“Sir, I’ll come with you and show you how to get to Emergency,” I declare. Running, I follow the father out to the short-term parking in front of the building. The mother is in the front seat. He says, “The car seat is behind her,” so I climb in behind him.
To the Emergency Department
Her coat is closed and I see no baby, so I assume it is inside the coat at her breast. I direct him to take the many turns to the ED – thankfully traffic is minimal. After about 30 seconds driving, she says, “I’m worried that he’s not breathing!” Then she reaches into her lap and lifts the baby high enough for me to see. His head is misshapen from the birth canal; he’s covered in the whitish greasy substance I’ve seen in movies (called vernix caseosa) and he lets out a yell.
“There he goes! Welcome to the world; we all love you!” I gush. We all laugh. Having read my name tag, they keep repeating, “Thank you, Pat.” (I never learn their names.)
Outside the Emergency entrance, I tell the father to park facing an ambulance for easiest access. Jumping out, I rush inside to find a nurse. Having volunteered in Emergency for 10 years, I know my way around. The first triage office is empty. The second contains a nurse and no patient. I quickly explain the situation and ask her to come to the car.
As we walk together, she says, “What’s the patient’s name?” I answer, “I have no idea!” Just as we reach the door to the outside, a paramedic is walking in, whom I gather the father had flagged down from an ambulance.
Paramedic Takes Over
He says to the nurse, “The umbilical cord is still attached. Go to (I can’t recall where) and bring out some blankets…”
I turn and walk away - through the hospital, back to my post at the front door. After recounting the experience to several people, including the Volunteer Coordinator and the President of Sunnybrook, I’m confident that I did the right thing. To have called for an ambulance from the main entrance would have used up precious minutes.
After hearing my account of the incident, President Dr. Andy Smith pulls out his cell phone, takes a selfie of the two of us, gives me a fist-bump, and says, “Well done, Pat. You never know what incredible thing will happen next at a hospital!” For the first time, I realize the uniqueness of my minor contribution. The excitement of my helping with a birth stays with me for hours.
Due to hospital confidentiality protocols, I am not allowed to follow up and ask about that young family but how I’d love to know about their well-being. I imagine that little boy will hear about his expedited arrival over and over again.