Over my time at the physical rehab center at Foothills Medical Centre(PCU58, thanks to Elli for her special permission so that a 16-year-old-kid like me can be a visitation volunteer), I met Mr. Greene or Steven. Steven is an astonishing 20-something, who had been through 20+ surgeries for his birth defect that severely limited the growth of his lumbar spine, which stops him from ever being able to walk on his own; and the fact that he is still alive and thriving is still somewhat of a local medical topic. He was the happiest sad person I met; playing his acoustic guitar as I walked into my weekly shift of visitation.
I was immediately drawn to him, partly because he had also cleverly situated his bed right in front of the station, located in the center of our unit where sound travels the best.
"A true musician, huh?" I said to him with a grin.
"HAHA, of some sort I guess..." Steven laughed historically, almost shaking loose the safety lock on one of his bed support poles—discordantly dramatic for the somber environment that we were in since everyone here has lost something that they had grown accustomed to for their entire life.
"So what are you playing?" I carried on the conversation.
"Just something I've been working on." He said as he continues to stroke his guitar; I was excited, I love music: "Show me what you've got so far!" So he played as everyone in the ward listened. It was a beautiful song; I couldn't help but notice that he didn't have lyrics and that the chord progression is slightly odd, missing some excitement.
I asked politely: "It's a shame that a beautiful song like this doesn't have a climax or lyrics! Can I join?" Little did I know, that marked the start of our short-lived musical journey:
Steven's parents and siblings lived 4 hours away from FMC; as explained by Steven, they all have their own lives so they don't visit very often, so I made sure to stop by his ward every-weekend and make music with him until he got sent back home. He was a truly sentimental and infectiously positive guy, this is made evident by the theme he picked for one of our songs, the only one we got to finish: a romance piece that he wanted to write for a girl at the hospital. Link to our song is listed in the end if you're interested.
I was sad to hear about his forced departure due to lack of available wards and other higher priority patients; because we had planned for a mini-concert at the hospital to show our works, and now the girl might never hear how much he cared: I then realized that this utopia was not as fair as it seemed.
I also met my visitation partner, Kyle over my time at PCU-58, who joined a bit later on. Kyle was a true Russian doll, the more I knew him the more interesting he seemed: he is happily married; he started with a science degree in undergrad, but ended up graduating with the class of drama in fine arts; he had taught little kids all over rural and metro-Alberta with his husband's theatre company, and when he came volunteering with me he was about to take his MCAT to pursue a career in pediatrics, by the end of it his passion for medicine made me want to be a doctor, too.
It made sense, it's a job that allows interaction with people; it's intellectually challenging on a daily basis and most importantly, it would guarantee my stay and freedom in Canada. I was among the top of my class in math, biology, and chemistry; I started singing more and picked up Dancing since everything else that I was taking was meant for me to get into a good Kinesiology program, which according to my research is the safest bet for a career even if you don't get into medical school; and volunteering at the FMC made me feel like I had an advantage.
To be continued...
