Bay of Fundy
Marjorie stood in her backyard, looking at that handmade picnic table at the end of the property, in Nova Scotia. That was Richard’s favourite place to sit. During the calmest of days, they could enjoy her view and watch as the seagulls sunbathed on the exposed rocks.
How ironic that when they had finally retired and moved to their dream home by the bay, Richard only had two years to enjoy it. Every afternoon, when the weather allowed, she walked to the end of her property with her glass of wine. Richard would watch her from the kitchen window, making sure that he didn’t miss one moment. Her face clearly read fulfillment. It beamed through the kitchen window every summer morning. Her expression reflected with aid from the bay. It lit up every square foot of that house.
Memories now overpowered the smell of that salty water, the taste of its fresh bounty, and even her ability to enjoy sitting at that table ever again.
The last six months had been rough, no less than the water on a stormy day. Initially, the doctors had diagnosed his illness incorrectly and Richard didn’t get the care he needed. Proper healthcare was hard to find in this part of the world… By the time she found a specialist, before they received a proper diagnosis, it was too late to save her husband. It was hard for her to comprehend that, after fifty years of marriage—she would be alone.
Her daughter, Emma, had arranged for the sale of the house. She insisted she come to live with her and her family in British Columbia. She said she needed “looking after.” The movers had arrived, and she had to say goodbye to the bay, the seagulls, and her independent life.
Marjorie picked up her drink one last time and walked out into her backyard. The picnic table had a layer of salt on it. She rubbed her fingertips along it, anyway. She looked back at the house and cried.
Do you currently have a family doctor?
Yes
no
This setting of this takes place in Nova Scotia as a piece of creative nonfiction. I rarely do stories based on these kinds of issues, but I've felt the personal pull to speak on the current state of healthcare there for quite some time. This story is an acclimation of several real-life stories I've read about over the last three years. The shutting down of clinics and hospitals for days at a time. Folks dying on their own driveways, waiting hours for an ambulance to arrive. No family doctors. Being sent home to wait on specialist appointments, not knowing what is wrong with you.
My father walked into a Doctor's office a few years ago in Annapolis, clearly in need of healthcare. He was told to wait months until his next appointment. He later learned of the bowel cancer.
One day, I'd like to move back home. With my former health issues I have had, I'm not sure if I had fared as well as I have here. One would have to be certain they were in the clear long term before considered.
I worry about my mother living in the very rural corner of Nova Scotia. I worry about my sisters and my niece. I worry about my friends, their families. I won't sit here and pretend to know what it would take to fix it all. I am not here to bash any party or 'guy'. I have no suggestions, I just know for a tiny province of 980,000 they have the third-highest rate of cancer in all of Canada. Something needs to get moving here.
Stats now tell us that there are six-million Canadians without a family doctor currently. And that those without are more likely to not follow cancer screening guidelines.
Now, I need to say thank you. That goes out to my second-oldest sister for providing this picture taken. You're a working-class hero, you picked that healthcare field; it hasn't been easy these last few years, but I love you for it. Thank you, that goes out to ALL nurses, All doctors, ALL psw's, ALL care workers, ALL healthcare workers that helped us get through the pandemic; that looked after our families. You ALL are superheroes in my books!
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