Our Story
BEFORE YOU CONTINUE:
Finlay’s story is heartbreaking and may be emotionally challenging to read. We share it because understanding what happened is essential to preventing it from ever happening again.
A Mother's account of what happened
February 7, 2024
At about 9:45pm I abandoned my car at the doors of ER, Finlay was in so much pain, his pleading eyes asking me to help. We stumbled into ER and I did the only thing that a Mother who is scared to death and knows something is seriously wrong with her child, I pressed the button that read emergency.
This was a real emergency.
I have never felt so put down and chastised and dismissed as I was at the moment. The disgusted looks I received and the harsh words that were said whilst Finlay stood doubled over. His words ‘Please help me'.
The people, so many people lining the hallways. Finlay is crying out in pain, not quietly but loudly. He is such a gentle giant; he does not like to make a fuss but his pain is too much. I went up to the desk a couple of times as we sat outside in that line of people along the wall because he was in so much pain, trying to get someone’s attention. The first time to tell them about his pain, the next to tell them about his difficulty breathing. This was early on. I felt some hope when a nurse told me to have Finlay lay down on a bed in the hallway. This must surely mean that they understand the severity of his situation. Surely.
Then comes the wait….the long hard wait. Hour after hour, after hour.
I keep going up to the desk to let them know Finlay is not doing well, that his breathing is labored. I go up again and again. Finlay has stopped pleading for help now, he just looks at me and then turns away disgusted because by now he knows I cannot help him, no one is helping him.
I keep going up, nothing.
I watched and I listened, the number of patients being called forward were becoming less and less. I sat there watching one doctor who moved so slowly, he spent almost all of his time at his mobile computer station making notes and more notes. He even walked like this was a doctor’s office with no emergency to any of this patients. I felt anger even then and frustration at the slow movements. Is this not ER. Is this not where people come for real emergencies?
At one point I was told that there was only one doctor left, but that at 4am another would come. 4am came and went and then there were no doctors. I kept going up because my boy was not doing well. I have never felt to useless as a mother or as a human being as I felt in those 8 hours.
Finally, someone paid attention to me when a doctor came in at 6am.
It would end up being too late as we would soon find out.
As a human being the place I trusted, the safe place I choose to come let me down.
You did not listen to me, you choose to ignore me.
You dismissed me as a Mother, a Mother who knew her Son, who knew that something was wrong, very wrong.
You accused me of over reacting by not paying attention to the patient
You held the care of my Son in your hands and you let him down. I am not a healthcare professional but what you did, or rather did not do will live with us for the rest of our lives. For us there is no second chances.
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“Sepsis/Pneumonia with hypoxia at high risk for acute deterioration” was written in Finlay’s notes when finally, a doctor assessed him.
Twenty‑one hours later, we had to make the most difficult decision of our lives: to take our son off life support.
Finlay never came home.
He never got to go back to school, to kid around with his brothers, to hang out with his friends and girlfriend. He never got to graduate high school or to go to university, to become a vet, to get married, to have children.
Our son died because the system meant to protect him failed him and us.
When we brought Finlay to the Emergency Room, we trusted that he would be seen, assessed, and treated with urgency. We trusted that the people and systems designed to protect children would do exactly that. Instead, we watched him deteriorate while we begged for help. His vital signs were taken repeatedly, each time showing a decline in his oxygen saturation (100%, 96%, 93%, 92%, 85%) while we waited, and still no one intervened.
We did not learn the full extent of this until later, when we read his medical file and saw the truth laid out in numbers—numbers that should have triggered action, numbers that should have saved him. His death was preventable. If only he had been seen in time. If only…
Finlay was triaged at the correct level. CTAS II (Canadian Triage and Acuity Scale) requires emergent care and rapid medical intervention. The guidelines state that patients triaged at this level need to be seen by a physician within 15 minutes. By assigning this CTAS level, staff are acknowledging that this is a patient who needs to be seen quickly.
We cannot sit by and do nothing. We cannot stay silent but we also cannot do this alone.
This is not a problem in just one hospital in Ontario. There are too many stories like ours across Canada.
It is time for change. Will you join us in spreading the need for change? Sign the federal petition today.