Embracing Life’s Challenges: My Continued Journey in Long-Term Care

A few nights ago, it was 2 a.m., and I was awake because my leg was “cranky” – my way of describing pain. Lying there in the dark got me thinking about how life can surprise us with unexpected challenges.

My journey began when serious health issues landed me in a long‑term care home (that’s what happens when you die and come back). I wanted to give more insight following my previous post, Reflections of a Lost Life — Mine. I had been grappling with severe complications after bleeding internally from ulcers, which took a serious toll on my kidneys, liver, and overall well‑being. The path to recovery has been anything but easy.

At first, my time in long‑term care felt overwhelming. I have always been extremely independent (just ask my parents), and suddenly having strangers provide the most intimate care imaginable brought anxiety, anger, and frustration. I don’t think anyone can truly imagine what that feels like unless they’ve lived it. Just dealing with that alone is enough.

Then came one of the most daunting experiences: a troublesome ulcer on my heel that caused excruciating pain. Let’s just say, the image of it would likely give anyone who saw it nightmares. It took staff a while to get used to my dark humour, but that’s how I was coping.

As treatment continued, I began losing sensation in my toes – something I repeatedly tried to raise with my doctors, but it went unaddressed. Eventually, things took a dramatic turn. I underwent bypass surgery, which led to the loss of my toes and later part of my lower leg. The emotional toll of losing such a significant part of who I am has been nothing short of profound.  In a year I was adjusting to life in long‑term care which was already mentally overwhelming, but add in losing my leg introduced an entirely new set of hurdles.

I was struggling. I felt like I was drowning and that’s when I learned just how difficult it can be to get mental health support in long‑term care. I found myself trying to navigate that system on my own during one of the darkest times of my life.

Thankfully, I connected with an incredible woman whose husband had gone through similar challenges. Our conversations became a warm refuge amid the uncertainty and fear surrounding my new reality. Sometimes, being truly heard is everything.

Living without a limb is life‑altering. Activities that were once part of my daily routine – running, walking everywhere to do errands – have been stripped away. Living in a rural area adds another layer of difficulty. Navigating a wheelchair over hills and poorly designed sidewalks can feel isolating.

Still, I’ve learned that finding new ways to challenge myself – mentally and physically – is essential. I’ve tried everything from physiotherapy in bed to chair yoga, though I’ll be the first to admit I’m no poster child for grace. These efforts help keep the darker thoughts at bay. The struggle is very real, but I face it with determination and the unwavering support of my family.

My dad, in particular, has been my rock. He often senses my darkness without needing a single word. I also have a privilege many don’t, access to a laptop  which eventually allowed me to connect with a mental health worker after significant searching and advocating outside the home for help.

Out of these experiences, I created LTC Unfiltered, an advocacy platform rooted in my perspective as a resident in long‑term care. Resident voices matter – whether the stories are good, bad, or ugly. The platform is still building, and every comment or piece of feedback reminds me that it’s working, that conversations are being started.

Connecting with other residents has also become a vital part of my coping. I affectionately call them “my girls.” We share stories, support one another, and lift each other’s spirits – especially when one of us passes (but that’s for another post down the road). I also spend a lot of time with another resident; we make quite an odd pair. But at the heart of it, it all comes down to leaving your room, seeking human connection, and fighting loneliness.

I know I’m not alone in facing these challenges. Writing or even just thinking things through can be cathartic. Despite everything, I continue to be surprised by my own resilience.

Even without a leg, I remain standing, navigating this new chapter one day at a time.

So there you have it, another glimpse into my life as a resident in long‑term care. I plan to expand this series to include other resident perspectives, because every experience matters. We all have stories that deserve to be told… and heard — especially if we want change.

If you or someone you know is struggling, support is available:

• Call or text 9-8-8 (Suicide Crisis Helpline) – available 24/7 across Canada, free, confidential, and answered by trained responders.  
• Call 9-1-1 if you or someone else is in immediate danger or needs urgent medical help.  
• Kids Help Phone (youth and young adults) – Call 1-800-668-6868 or text CONNECT to 686868 (24/7 support).  
• Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA) – Find local mental health programs, services, and support in your community.  
• Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) – Access mental health education, resources, and guidance.  

You are not alone. Reaching out—even just to talk—is a strong and important first step.