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This First Person is the experience of Grace Elliott. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
It was past midnight and I had been in the Janeway’s emergency department with my two-year-old for four hours.
Thick puss and blood poured from Poppy’s ear. There was a CT scan, blood tests and several failed attempts at inserting an IV. All soundtracked by screams that will never leave me.
Finally, she was asleep in the carrier strapped to my body. We were waiting for the CT results to rule out mastoiditis, a dangerous infection in the mastoid bone behind the ear that can spread to the brain. The doctor warned me Poppy might need surgery.
I texted my friend who is a nurse, who’d seen us two days prior. “They have to rule that out. But I don’t think she’s nearly sick enough for that to be it,” he wrote back.
Then the doctor walked in. “It’s mastoiditis,” she said. I rested my cheek on my sleeping daughter’s head and cried.
I am from Newfoundland, but we live in Toronto. Over the summer, temperatures were as high as 40 degrees and the wildfire smoke was so thick it rendered the sky an apocalyptic yellow. My husband, Jon, was in Vancouver directing a movie.
I had just broken my ankle and was newly pregnant. The last place I wanted to be was solo parenting in Toronto. My solution: flee to salty air Newfoundland where my mom would take care of us. Less than 48 hours after landing, we were at the hospital.
Some folks may think it was an overzealous move to travel by myself with a toddler, a broken ankle and a case of morning sickness, and they would be right. But in hindsight, it might have been the best judgment call of my life.
Had we not been in Newfoundland, surrounded by islanders and their knack for care, the worst summer of our lives would have been much harder.
Beyond the nurses who ensured Poppy always had a blanket and a popsicle, strangers arrived on their white horses when we needed them most, corroborating a well-known fact.
Simply, Newfoundlanders will help you out.
Poppy and her mom, Grace Elliott, after being discharged from the hospital. Feeling much better! (Submitted by Grace Elliott)
After Poppy’s surgery, our trip was extended for several weeks while she recovered. I went to Walmart to stock up on supplies and the cashier must have intuited my feelings. She commented on my haul and I wound up telling her everything. But it was OK, I told her, I had my parents and sister for support.
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s all happening for a reason,” she said, knowing we were in the right place at the right time. I was so comforted, I cried in the car.
Then, after we were discharged, Poppy started having severe side effects (of the diaper nature) to her antibiotics. I called the pharmacist and he suggested calling the Janeway and asking if her medication could be adjusted.
The problem was, it was Sunday. All I could predict was an evening of calling number after number and being redirected and redirected until I finally reached the right person.
“You know what,” said the pharmacist, “I’ll call them myself.” Ten minutes later, he had the whole thing sorted out, with no effort on my part.
In a sticky situation, a stranger steps up with tape
When we finally arrived back in Toronto, I found our suitcase on the luggage carousel ripped in half. I looked down at our belongings, tossed in a bin by airport staff, in horror.
It was late, I had a cranky toddler and no way of getting our stuff home. Before I could completely spiral, another traveller saw the disaster I was facing and told me to wait. He would be right back. He returned with a roll of packing tape and taped my suitcase back together.
Grace Elliott’s suitcase after being taped back together at the airport by Richard Drake. (Submitted by Grace Elliott)
Then — and this really felt cosmic — I found out he was from Newfoundland. I was stunned. Even off the island, a Newfoundlander had come to my rescue. He asked me my name and he gave me his.
“Well, Grace Elliott, my parting gift to you,” said Richard Drake, placing the roll of tape in my palm.
On our cab ride home, I looked down at my present and couldn’t help but think about what it meant. That with a little bit of Newfoundland spirit, anything can be fixed.
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