When the C Word Calls

When the C Word Comes a Callin’

 A Story of One Incredibly Misunderstood Hospital

While there are many great things about Texas, my biggest delight is pool season.  When I moved here in 2021, my lovely neighbours across the street made the southern hospitality mistake by saying “anytime you want to swim.”  They had no idea I would live in their pool for 5 months.  Never ever make that offer to a Canadian prairie girl who lived through five of the harshest months of every winter for most of her life.

That being said, this is where our small neighborhood group gathers to solve all the problems of the world, and hold court. In our minds we are doctors, lawyers, politicians, medical advisors, home decorators, journalists, accountants –and experts in all of the fields.

Last year about this time, the cohort consensus was that I needed to see an ENT. My blocked nasals were more than just “Texas allergies.” So off to the fancy ENT I went.

I had one successful surgery to open up my blocked nasal passages, but  it was also discovered that there was something a little more sinister lurking- chondrosarcoma, bone cancer–and surgery was needed to remove a malignant tumor hidden from view. This is my second round of cancer, but my first USA experience.

Let me be completely honest: when I first heard the name JPS Hospital, I had no thoughts at all. I assumed one hospital was as good as the other.   I come from Canada where universal health care is the norm.  I never ever thought about health care – it was just a part of the backdrop  as a Canadian, and all I have really known. 

I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 2006, and I could  not tell you how much that treatment cost. One billion? Two trillion? $24.50? $408,000?  Never saw a bill or invoice.  I had several rounds of radiation, surgery, all sorts of follow ups.  I was off work for a few months at two different times.  I was treated, it was over, and then went on with my merry life. Nary a bill. 

 It has only been my sojourn to the USA that I have been introduced to co-pays and  medical bills. There is a level of anxiety that I now have when it comes to seeing the mailman, and I immediately want to play hide and seek with him.

At appointments, my first question is “how much is that going to cost?” There is something very sad about that for me- my first question about my own health is whether I can afford it or not– and that I actually consider whether I will get that test, or can it wait… or can I get away with not taking it at all.

So the whispers around JPS went something like this:  “JPS? Go there if it’s your only option,” and “well it’s a public hospital.”

I was encouraged– quite loudly– to go to MD Anderson in Houston.  Houston?  With  the humidity?  Who would operate my business?  Who would pay for any of that?

So yes, I heard all of that. I also have no employer, and have MarketPlace health insurance, and JPS was where I was going with what insurance I had.

I shrugged my shoulders to all the worriers in my life, and just uttered my usual mantra, “just living the dream.” 

Everything I heard about JPS was very, very  wrong.

They were right about it not being fancy. Not flashy. But it was focused. Personal. Real. People from all walks of life with very real medical needs, waiting their turn to see the doctor, and hoping for the best possible outcome.  Me included.

I was introduced to Dr Nyguen, who was just the nicest otolaryngologist in the ENT ward for cancer cases and beyond. 

  When she walked in she said, “hello my friend,” and has had that same greeting with every follow up.  She didn’t just rattle off my diagnosis or my patient number—but talked to me like we were old friends. I just don’t think you can fake that kind of compassion.  She had already studied my case, possible outcomes, and what was needed. 

And, it wasn’t just one nurse or one doctor—it has been  every single person I encountered over my numerous appointments at JPS. From the front desk to the surgical team, they treated me with dignity, and kindness.  

Dr Nyguen was very confident that with a few inches out of my nose, she could get the tumor.  Without a facelift or a third eye. 

JPS is a public hospital that serves the community. They do it with heart, and skill–and  high level care for everyone—whether you’re insured, uninsured, rich, broke, or somewhere in between. And even the odd Canadian.

My care wasn’t just adequate—it was exceptional.

Let’s get to the real headline: my surgery was a success. And when I came out of that operating room, my nose was still attached to my face. It wasn’t dangling like eyeglasses on straps.

 Other than some really great painkillers, it was a  pretty normal week post surgery. I learned I could cook breakfast– and deliver it out  high as a kite on hydrocodone and no guest knew the difference. 

Surgery was December 30, because who doesn’t want to go to the New Years Eve party with a good pregame buzz of hydrocodone?  The date had to coincide with deductibles, and out of pocket. You know, important medical treatment decisions.

No black eyes, no gauze shoved up my nose. I looked fairly  normal much to the disappointment of my neighbor Susan. She still is unsure if I even have two inches less of a nose….

JPS is now my favorite place to visit.  I have even brought some of the staff in that office my famous sourdough bread.

I’ve been to hospitals before, and I’ve had great  care. But the JPS staff was as fantastic as any other hospital trip I have ever had. They’re skilled, yes—but they’re also real, and fiercely committed to  recovery.

JPS doesn’t have a marble lobby. The chairs in the waiting room aren’t made of Italian leather.  There isn’t a swim up bar. 

But here’s what it does have is genuinely kind staff, resources for folks like me who needed them most, and a mission that puts patients over profits.

So every two months I trundle off to JPS, another scan lined up, another look up into the ol’ snout. So far so good, no weird anything growing. 

JPS isn’t what you heard. It’s what you hope for when you’re in your hardest moment: people who care, who know what they’re doing, and who show up like your life matters—because it does. And for that I am grateful.