ER Visit: Toronto General Hospital.

Another dead end…or is it?

Continuing my monthly routine of ER visits, I find myself in Toronto General Hospital this time around.

After my visit at North York General, my last time in the ER was at Scarborough Hospital.

And despite the long wait time there, it actually turned out surprisingly more positive than I was expecting.

Shout out to Dr. Vincent Luong. I detest male doctors but he was very attentive to my condition and went further in treating me than the previous ER doctors I experienced at the time.

But will I get that same experience at Toronto General Hospital?

Uh…

Death by Snu- I mean, pizza!

Disclaimer: Just so we’re clear so I don’t get sued, Pizza Hut’s pizza did not put me in the ER lol It was actually really cute and yums.

However, eating it knowing my lactose intolerance probably didn’t help my situation, haha.

Some minutes after leaving the restaurant, my lower abdomen starts hurting until it affects my regular movement.

I decided I should call the paramedics (once again, the cost is covered by ODSP, whereas a taxi wouldn’t be unless it was pre-approved by ODSP themselves).

The ambulance had a little trouble finding me at first as I was on a random street in Downtown Toronto (and considering how shit I am at giving directions, I’m not surprised either). I even had to wave them down when I could barely even stand.

But they do find me and I’m already familiar with this routine by now, so I just hand them my purse with my health card in it.

I’m in the ambulance now and I feel awful.

I go over what started happening and also that I’m trans and I had bottom surgery done months ago.

The situation with my post-op care wasn’t my top concern at the moment, but it helps to mention it so I can make notes for documentation.

We get to the hospital but I’m in too much pain to walk so I’m wheeled into the Emergency Room to the RAC (Rapid Assessment Clinic) to get all triaged in.

Easy enough. But oh my god, the waiting.

TGH’s ER Infamous Wait Times.

I thought my wait at the Scarborough Hospital was long but this was insane.

I called the paramedics around 9 PM and I didn’t get seen in the waiting room until the morning the next day.

That’s right, I waited practically 12 hours.

During that time I was in and out of sleeping, of course. This was during the time I was actually in the least amount of pain (it got worse) and I even got up despite my state to ask the nurses if my name was called, just to make sure I didn’t accidentally sleep through it.

But no, my name hadn’t been called yet.

It got so bad that I’m sure two arguments broke out because of the waiting times.

The first one I don’t remember the precursor to what happened because I was barely awake, but I know the security guard was trying to calm people down. Unsuccessfully.

The second one I was more awake for so I remember it far more clearly, and oh boy.

This one guy decides to make an inappropriately rude comment to the nurses asking, “Are you testing the blood of all the zoo animals?“, to my best recollection.

Basically, he’s asking why has the wait time been so long by insinuating that that the reason they’re taking so long, in a very snide remark, is that they’re testing the blood of all the zoo animals in Toronto, in addition to the patients in the ER.

Of course, the nurses aren’t having any of his bullshit so they promptly call security.

The guy says he’s not doing anything wrong (as they always do) and security escorts him out.

Like, dude. Don’t be a cunt to people just trying to do their job.

Everyone is rightfully upset with the wait times, but taking it out on the nurses who can’t do anything about it is just absolutely shitty.

Moving on from that guy though, do you want to know how infamous the wait times are in Toronto General?

A friend was letting me stay at their place for a couple of days and they came to the hospital to pick me up (Love you, Rachel). I told her to look around the room and tell me if she notices something peculiar.

The posters. The entire waiting room has posters in every direction addressing the wait times.

It starts getting more concerning because there’s now also a lady in a wheelchair across from me, in worse pain than I am.

Pain so bad that her husband is begging for the nurses to help.

They even had to get her a PSW (Personal Support Worker) because of how bad her pain was.

And speaking of pain.

The longer I’m in the ER, the worse my pain gets. And by the next day, I feel like death.

The entire time, I’m brought from room to room in a wheelchair. From my examination to the ultrasound.

And just to be sure that my stomach or intestines wanted to tell me they were not having a good time, my first bowel movement in the hospital looked like a shitted-out strawberry shake..if the milk of the shake was liquid excrement and the strawberries was my blood (I apologize for that visual in your head).

In other words, I had bloody diarrhea.

Also this is the second time I’m having to pee in the cup with my new parts, so I’m uncomfortable and trying to play a game of ‘piss-in-the-cup-without-aim-assist‘ this time around.

After I got seen by the doctor, I was laying in bed in pain but I had to go back to the ER waiting room since a higher priority case needed the bed (sadly, it would seem a lady was dealing with a miscarriage. My deepest condolences).

But I also wanted to mention that to highlight that even in the ER, bed space is kind of a premium.

Well, this sucks.

That morning the nurse got me to do some walking exercises because of how difficult it is for me to walk.

I’m also not drinking enough water, so I’m put on an IV due to losing liquids because of the diarrhea.

I have a new doctor now and she’s using the information she got from the previous doctor, but unfortunately, she tells me she can’t find anything wrong.

Besides some higher-than-normal protein in my urine, I look fine on paper. And it’s not COVID either.

But obviously, I don’t feel fine. She briefly asks about my housing situation and I mentioned that a friend offered to let me stay at their place for two nights.

I didn’t think much about it at the time, but it will come up later.

I’m put on more fluids, the IV bag hanging from my wheelchair.

I’m having a grand ol’ time when later the nurse comes back and removes my IV and tells me…

…”You’re being discharged.”

I almost thought I heard wrong.

I feel like I’m on death’s door, but I’m being discharged?

I rightfully tell her that I really don’t think that I should be getting discharged with the state I’m in.

Not even because I’m homeless, but because I know damn well if I didn’t have a place to go that night, I would have been calling the ambulance as soon as I left the ER.

I’m told the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me, which makes me wonder if I’m being discharged just because I so happen to mention that I had a place to go to, even if temporary.

Of course, my friend is very accommodating of my sudden ER visit. But as someone who knows what it’s like when people only see you as an extra burden when you come into their living space, I did have my concerns, even if my predicament was no problem at all for my friend.

In other words, I can see someone else considering it as ‘pushing my sick body onto another person to deal with‘. (Can you tell I’ve been traumatized, haha?)

My friend from Rainbow Railroad who I was messaging on my phone suggested advocating for myself about the situation.

And I’m all for advocacy. I do it to the best of my ability with this website.

But this is the reality at that moment: I have no energy this time around.

I can barely think, much less argue why discharging me is a bad idea to a doctor.

Now imagine that for other people who aren’t me, who aren’t as fortunate enough to have their voice heard.

I’m actually one of the lucky few.

Social Worker Time!

The doctor offers to let the hospital’s social worker see me (just like with North York General).

Hmm, fine. Let’s see where this goes.

When he’s here, he greets me politely and starts off with a one-on-one counselling approach, which, having someone to talk always helps.

Obviously we talk about my homelessness and I mentioned that I do have somewhere to go tonight, which he mentions how lucky I am for that.

Not in a condescending way, but I know what he means.

The homelessness issue here in Ontario is fucking ridiculous.

The fact that no one can do anything to help me besides close friends who shouldn’t have to, is utterly frustrating.

But of course, now is the time where I show off a bit by showing him what I’ve been up to: Using my homelessness as a jumping board for advocacy of youth homelessness and survival.

He’s impressed (rightfully so, *anime smirk*).

On the plus side though, he’s not going to leave me completely empty-handed.

He comes back with a resource list, pretty much similar but slightly different from every other one I’ve seen so far.

But also, he gives me PRESTO tickets and…two $5 Timmies gift cards?!

FUCKING SCORE!! *fist pump* (Even if I’m a Starbucks girl lol)

That’s making me think though: What other community resource gives tokens and gift cards out?

I have some homework to do.

Staying At My Friend/Former co-worker.

Well, that ER was shit. I felt like shit.

My friend strolls me to the hospital entrance and I get a ride share to her place because I was in no condition to be able to do public transit.

I’m told to make myself at home and it comes to my realization that this is probably a sign from the universe telling me to slow down from all the moving around I’ve been doing.

I decided to use that chance to rest.

Now the question I’m sure my adoptive dad in Barbados is asking as he’s reading this right now:

Did I actually rest?

Not really, haha (I’m sorry).

I did move the least out of the last seven days though. And the welcoming atmosphere from my friend and her partner made me able to relax a lot.

They were great.

My intestines though? Not so great.

Oh yeah, I was literally shitting blood the next day.

…Want to see my bloody diarrhea?

“Wait, you’re not actually going to show your bloody diarrhea for the world to see, are you?”

YOU BET YOUR ASS I AM! THAT’S HOW “I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND” I AM RIGHT NOW!

(OBVIOUS WARNING) [Image #1] [Image #2]

Google not allowing me to put ads on this website is now 100% justified.

You know, even if the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me, you would think they would want to keep me close by to make sure I don’t suddenly become catatonic or something.

What I’m trying to say is: The unknown should be a scarier reality for a doctor than the known.

The Next Day.

I get a phone call from the hospital.

I have bacterial vaginosis.

*Start sarcasm*

Oh wow, I’m sooooo shocked. Who would have seen that coming?

It’s not like being homeless would put me at a higher risk of infections or anything.

*End sarcasm*

Yeah at this point, it’s hard to defend my ex, but that’s a glass house that will eventually come.

And I still don’t know if that’s even related to my bloody diarrhea, but I’m guessing no or the doctor probably would have said something about it.

Oh, I was prescribed medicine for it, but never received it. Which led to…

My Second Visit to the Toronto General ER.

Luckily, by the time I was leaving my friend’s place, I was able to move around normally again.

The diarrhea got less bloody, but the diarrhea itself was still there.

And this time around, either my vagina or my ass is sore (or both).

And not in a good way.

In fact, it’s hard for me to walk. I’m walking uncomfortably, and truth be told, I shouldn’t be moving around at all and be resting instead, but I have no choice.

I admit myself once again to Toronto General (while snapping some good photos).

This time around though, it’s far less busy. It’s practically unrecognizable from when I was there last.

Unfortunately, this means I can’t use the long wait times this time to rest up as I did last time.

This is further apparent by how much faster I’m seen this time around.

My mind is focused on my butt/vagina pain, but just like before, doctor examines me and everything checks out a-okay, if not somewhat better.

I wanted to tell the new doctor about my post-surgery concern but my brain is slowing down due to lack of sleep, even with taking my ADHD meds at 6 PM.

However, I decided to confide in one of the nurses about my situation.

I explained my circumstances and she was very empathetic. And I’m sure she would help more if she could.

She tells me that the hospital unfortunately isn’t built/equipped to properly accommodate my situation.

Actually, it made me realize why there’s a convalescent home for bottom surgery patients after the surgery: Regular hospitals won’t have the facilities needed for the full post-op recovery.

All the more reason why my homelessness is so high risk.

However, there is one thing that came to her mind: Mount Sinai Hospital. They would have gynecologists there, but if they could actually help is very uncertain.

Doesn’t matter, because I am desperate right now.

I’ll be talking more about that lovely nurse in my next article.

That’s right, this saga has a Part 2:

ER Visit: Mount Sinai Hospital.

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