Letter sent to The Right Honourable Stephen J. Harper Prime Minister of Canada August 6, 2013 Honourable Prime Minister, Re: Where is my Canada? I greatly thank you for taking the time to read this letter. It truly is an honour. Permit me first to introduce myself. I was born in Toronto, at the Toronto General Hospital, in the heyday of the 1960s. I spent most of my life in this country, which has been very good to me. It fed me, educated me, and took care of me when I was sick. I’ve been very lucky. One of my uncles fought on the battlefields of Europe in WWII so that I would have the quality of life, and freedoms, including the ability to write to your Office and be heard, that I have today. After living and working overseas and in many different countries, I came to realize many years ago that being born here is like winning the birth lottery. I love this country, as I know you do too. It truly is a magical place. This year has been a bit of a doozie for me. It’s shaken my beliefs in Canada and what I thought it represents. Do you remember, when we were children, we used to play with kaleidoscopes – those long cylindrical objects with coloured pieces inside? We would shake them around, and look in through the opening at one end, and the picture would have changed. That’s what I’ve felt recently about Canada. I can still recognize all the pieces individually, but together they’re not familiar any more. The picture they shape is different. Something’s changed, and I can’t quite figure out what. It’s unsettling to me, because I wasn’t expecting things to be different, and I wonder if my vision has been off the whole time. I like my old vision of Canada, and I want it back. I learned in October of last year that I had recently come down with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Given your interactions with our armed forces, you’re likely familiar with it. PTSD, in my own words, is a state of heightened anxiety. It’s insidious, it’s pervasive, and is aggravated/triggered significantly by unexpected or large negative events. It’s like living in a constant state of war, 24/7. About four months into it, I was talking with a friend, and telling him how I was still struggling with it, how I was still trying to figure out a way to conquer it, and that I was afraid that I was losing the battle. He was shocked. I’ve always been able to find a way out of any problem. I am usually the type that thrives on challenges. But this beast – I feel like I haven’t gained an inch. I’ve been using all of my energy and wits just to stay afloat. The good news is that, with proper medical care, it’s completely curable. The bad news is that, while dealing with PTSD, I’ve had to battle the cruelty and mean-spiritedness of many. The year started off a little rocky. As my time on disability continued and emergency funds became drained, I started seeking short-term financing, only to discover my credit had been ruined by an unimaginable 21 credit inquiries, many of which were due to computer and human error, in just eight months. Weeks away from bankruptcy, the folks at CIBC’s Ombudsman’s Office were kind enough to listen to my story and find the truth, and made an introduction that saved my hide. Then, to use a cliché, all hell broke loose. Following closely on the heels of my credit bureau debacle, I woke up the morning of March 1 to find my bank account cleared of funds as a result of one company’s sneaky attempt to circumvent an agreed-upon payment arrangement. The additional financial stress led to an unfortunate incident at my doctor’s office later that morning, and I soon thereafter discovered that I was not allowed to seek medical care from my physician of 18 years. My relationship with my family doctor was a fundamental source of strength and stability in my life. One day, in the middle of a cancer scare upon discovering a lump in my right lung, my doctor came into the examination room and said “I don’t usually take this much emotional interest in my patients, but I do with you.” I was raised to have the utmost respect for doctors, that their combination of intellect and compassion somehow elevated them to a status in society above the ordinary citizen. I carried this respect through my life. My doctor was an excellent physician, wise and caring, and a friend and confidant. I trusted my doctor without hesitation, and respected him greatly. He fought hard for me to remain his patient, but, unfortunately, 15 doctors in the clinic, most of whom I couldn’t put a face to a name, decided they were “afraid” of me. After five weeks, my doctor threw in the towel, and I was no longer his patient. It was a crippling blow. I fought a very hard battle to maintain my physician. Even as I write this letter to you, I still get choked up when I’m reminded of the loss. The most frustrating part was that I never had a chance to defend myself, to explain the events leading up to that day, or my regret and attempts at atonement. I was convicted, tried, and judged all without a chance to meet with the 15 doctors, not even once. I submitted a complaint with the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario for the sole purpose of maintaining medical care from my doctor. It didn’t go well. Less than half-way through the investigation, the Head Physician at the clinic informed me that “the doctors at the College are behind me.” There could not have been more ominous words spoken. I soon discovered that the investigation was biased against me, and withdrew my complaint and any participation in it, and requested that a new investigator start from scratch. My request was ignored, and the investigation went ahead without me. The findings were as the Head Physician predicted. It resembled more a Kangaroo Court than a judicious proceeding. There were countless facts that were omitted or misconstrued, and others that appeared out of nowhere, without my knowledge. So with three weeks’ notice, I was dumped as a patient, provided no assistance in locating another doctor, and received little medical care to speak of. All of this despite an existing medical condition for which I had previously received treatment, on average, every ten days. When I tried to get the College to listen to any of my concerns, and outlined them in detail in a seven page letter, I was hung up on repeatedly and blatantly ignored. The Regulated Health Professions Act, 1991, and the Medicine Act, 1991, dictate that the College is responsible for ensuring its members provide health care services in a professional and ethical manner. I’m not sure which surprises me more, the lack of government oversight, or that the College is so blatantly ignoring the fact that a citizen of this country was allowed to be dumped without adequate medical care in the middle of treatment. It seems like the proverbial fox guarding the hen house. Moreover, the Hippocratic Oath, “Do No Harm”, seems to be notable for its complete absence by a union of doctors and a self-regulating College. To date, my concerns have not been seriously addressed by anyone. Unbelievably, things went further south. After six months on disability, I returned to work full-time at Bell Canada on May 2. Just shy of two weeks later, I was fired on May 15. While I expected an adjustment period, my return-to-work, and what’s happened since, has been tortuous beyond imagine. I’m proud of my education and accomplishments, but suddenly, despite 10 years’ employment and excellent performance reviews, I was viewed as lazy and incompetent. It appeared to everyone that my IQ had suddenly dropped by double digits. In the words of one manager, who couldn’t scrape together an ounce of compassion, I was “taking a spot in the employee numbers but not producing anything.” I hadn’t even finished my return-to-work training, had a chance to prove myself or get my groove back, before I was fired. However, I saw reality when one lawyer told me “So they just wanted to get rid of you.” There was little support or accommodation at Bell Canada, and it reached a crescendo in the final days. The same Manager who fired me on May 15 sent the police to my home a week earlier. On another occasion, I was awoken from a nap to discover two police officers at my doorstep because I didn’t answer the phone when a woman at Bell Canada’s EAP provider phoned me. Yet she decided to cut off my one remaining medical support, my psychologist, that same day. In my experience, the stigma against mental health has deep roots and is flourishing at Bell Canada. Since May 15, I’ve had to be at the top of my game or I would have been slaughtered. Despite repeated pleas, again on the advice of a lawyer, not to send me unannounced ultimatums, they kept coming. Yet July 22 was one Pearl Harbour too many. After returning from a doctor’s appointment, prescription in hand, I learned that all medical benefits were cut off effective immediately. That was going too far. So I was fired with no severance or medical coverage, and just last Friday I learned that I was dismissed “due to misconduct”, according to Service Canada, which precludes me from collecting EI. My MP (Andrew Cash) and MPP (Jonah Schein) have been advocating for me through much of this, for which I am grateful. It’s quite a story. I have but an ounce of hope left, but sometimes an ounce of hope is plenty. Through much of this year, Winston Churchill’s words stayed with me: “When you’re going through hell, just keep going!” Today, thanks to my uncle, and countless Canadians like him, we don’t live in a Nazi state. Whereas some have acted like the laws of gravity don’t apply to them, in a thriving democracy, like Canada’s, no one escapes accountability. Despite being one man, with few resources, I’m seeking advocacy to deal with these rascals. Mr. Prime Minister, as we did when we were children, I’d like you to help me shake that kaleidoscope just once more. I want to get those coloured pieces back in order, or at least reasonably close. Perhaps, when I look back at the idealism of my early ‘20s, my vision was a little off to begin with. Maybe reasonably close is exactly where they should be. That reality of Canada would suit me just fine. Once again, I truly appreciate your time and that of your Office. Writing to you is indeed one of the brighter moments of this year. Respectfully yours, David Sullivan-Nesbitt
Posted on: Wed, 07 Aug 2013 13:23:33 +0000
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