Dave's ICU days and administrative details (Part 6)
It was 6:03 AM. I had just been discharged from the ER and stepped outside, hoping to reconnect with Dave. The sun was beginning to rise, the air was cool, and the moment felt unexpectedly beautiful, all of it amplifying my sense of relief and gratitude that I was able to walk out essentially unharmed after what had happened fourteen hours earlier.
As I turned right and started walking, I realized I couldn’t see any other entrance and decided it would be wiser to head back through the emergency walk‑in door and ask for directions. I stopped at the security guard desk I had somehow missed on my way out. The guard told me I could reach the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) easily from here. I also asked about food, ready to break my sixteen‑plus hours of fasting. He mentioned that only the Second Cup was open at this hour; I had no intention of being picky.
As I walked toward the ICU block, a text came in from Dave. He was awake and asking whether I had been discharged. I replied yes and told him I was on my way. He insisted I stop for food first — no argument here.
From the food court on the main floor, C5‑59 (Dave’s room) was easy to find. Dave was in a standard three‑person room, occupying the back‑left bed by a window that looked out onto a hospital wall. This time, our reunion unfolded more like I had imagined. The first thing he said was, “I think my motorcycle days are behind me.” I welcomed that comment, relieved that he seemed to have come to his senses.
Nothing particularly noteworthy happened that morning. We were told Dave would remain in the ICU for two to three days for observation and further tests. He was visibly unwell, unable to shift left or right or raise or lower himself in the bed without excruciating pain. Needless to say, he couldn’t get up to pee and was given one of those cardboard urine‑absorbing cups, a game changer, in Dave’s words.
The ICU staff were compassionate and consistently willing to help. The same was true of the paramedics and ER staff. Dave and I were genuinely impressed by every medical professional we encountered throughout this ordeal. If the Ontario medical system is broken, it certainly didn’t show during our stay. Did I wait in the ER far longer than I would have liked? Of course, but I had no idea who else needed care that night. Could I wait hours for a CT scan, with oozing wounds and no food? Yes, especially if it meant freeing up personnel for someone whose life was in danger. All this to say: we were deeply impressed with our care and never so happy to be taxpayers.
Back to Dave’s first morning in the ICU, which was largely uneventful. He could barely move and was taking painkillers (including morphine) every four hours. He also still had a bloody chin that I not been cleaned. I would end up cleaning it myslef the next morning.
That morning, I took the time to reach out to the two B&Bs we had booked in the Niagara region to let them know we wouldn’t make it. Both had been booked last‑minute under a no‑cancellation policy, so I assumed we wouldn’t get our money back. Fortunately, I had booked using our VISA Infinite card, which includes travel cancellation coverage, so I am hopeful we might recover some of the cost. (The claim is now submitted, and I’ll share the outcome when I know more.)
After contacting the B&Bs, I reached out to the Shaw Festival box office. Their cancellation policy is fairly lenient: they allow cancellations for a same‑season credit as long as you contact them twenty‑four hours before the performance. I explained our situation, and they were incredibly understanding. Given the circumstances, they offered to place a credit on our file with no time limit (meaning we didn’t have to use it this season and could apply it to any future production). That made me genuinely happy, as I wasn’t optimistic about our ability to attend before the season ended on October 4th.
With Dave expected to remain in the ICU for two to three days, I needed to find a place to stay. My daughter Ann has a place in Toronto for the summer, but she was away for the weekend, and her apartment was at least an hour from the hospital. It’s also quite small, with two very young roommates. I decided it would be my plan B and started searching for nearby hotels. None were within walking distance, and anything relatively close was outrageously expensive. Granted, I was looking for last‑minute accommodations in Toronto on the Saturday of a long weekend. There were options, if I was willing to pay $600+ per night. That’s when I turned to my favourite platform: Home Exchange. Those who read my blog on the Olympics will remember how it saved me thousands of dollars in Milan. Now it was time to see if HE could rescue me once again.
I was so last‑minute that I didn’t bother contacting people offering their entire home. I needed a place that day, and most hosts wouldn’t be ready to vacate immediately. So I reached out to two people offering a private room (HE calls this the “hospitality formula”). I explained the situation and hoped for the best. Within a few hours, an incredible woman in East York accepted my request, replying: “I would love to host you; I just need a bit of time to tidy up since it’s very last‑minute. You’re okay with having a dog in the house, right?” I love dogs; so it was a go! I told her I’d arrive only after dinner, giving her plenty of time to prepare. (Not that I needed it. With two hours of sleep, I could have passed out anywhere!)
With accommodations sorted, my next priority was clothing. I was still wearing Dave`s oversized rain pants (which looked more like snow pants on me) and a shoe with torn‑out laces. Add to that a Harley‑Davidson shirt that only reminded me of the accident; it was definitely time to go shopping.
Before I get to the shopping trip, I want to share with you my 2026 New Year’s resolution and how it came to be. My resolution: to buy no clothes for the entirety of 2026. Why? Because in the final days of 2025, while cleaning out my wardrobe, I realized I owned far too many clothes. As I sorted items into a donation pile, I was transported back to my walk from Porto to Santiago de Compostela a couple of months earlier, when I lived for two weeks out of a backpack containing two pairs of pants and three tops. I truly didn’t need more clothes. The irony is that when Dave and I stopped for our picnic in Napanee, just hours before the accident, I told him I was proud of myself, it was almost August and I hadn’t bought a single piece of clothing all year. And yet, twenty‑four hours later, I was in an Uber heading to a strip mall with a Winners.
Before going to Winners, I tried to locate the bike so I could retrieve my clothes from the saddlebag. I called the Toronto Police first, only to be told that anything on the 401 fell under OPP jurisdiction. When I called the OPP to ask where the Harley had been towed, the receptionist said the officer handling my file was off duty and someone would call me shortly. No one called, so off I went, breaking my New Year’s resolution for the first time. I’m still proud I kept it for seven months; I did far better with that resolution than my second one: staying off Facebook for the year! lol.
I bought three tops, one pair of pants, one pair of shoes, and returned to the hospital with a pint of blueberries (Dave’s favourite) from Farm Boy. When I reached Dave’s bed, it was empty. “They brought him in for X‑rays,” his roommate told me. So I waited…
To be continued.
Comments