Returning to My Health Journals: What the Last Two Years Have Taught Me

I

t's 5:00 in the morning, and we are already awake.

The surgery we had been preparing for over the previous weeks has finally arrived.

The night before, we had set an alarm to remind my loved one to have their final drink of water before the fasting period began. No food. No drinks. Nothing after midnight.

In truth, we didn't need the alarm.

Neither of us was sleeping.

The house was quiet.

The dogs were settled.

And time seemed to move more slowly than usual.

At one point, trying to break the tension, we found ourselves wondering what our surgeon might be doing at that exact moment.

Was she asleep?

Reviewing charts?

Preparing for the day ahead?

The thought made us laugh.

For a brief moment, the worry lifted.

Then the laughter faded, the house grew quiet again, and we returned to waiting for morning.

As the sun began to rise, we got ready to leave.

My loved one was busy sharing stories, memories, and reflections from their life while we prepared for the day ahead. The dogs circled our feet, confused about why we were awake so early and moving around the house before sunrise.

The drive to the hospital was quiet.

As we entered the surgical area, I looked around and saw so many faces.

Patients.

Caregivers.

Loved ones.

Everyone waiting for their turn.

Names were called one after another.

Next.

Next.

Next.

Each family carrying their own hopes, fears, and private worries.

We believed we knew what would happen next.

We were wrong.

What followed was not a recovery measured in weeks.

It became a healthcare journey measured in months and now years.

For nearly two years, I stepped away from My Health Journals.

Not because the work no longer mattered.

But because life required my attention elsewhere.

I became a caregiver.

As a nurse, I understood healthcare from a professional perspective.

As a caregiver, I experienced it differently.

I sat beside hospital beds.

I waited for test results.

I learned the language of disease I had never encountered before.

I met specialists whose entire careers had been dedicated to a condition most people will never hear about.

I learned what it feels like to wait for answers.

To hope.

To worry.

To advocate.

To celebrate small victories.

And to navigate setbacks that no one saw coming.

Along the way, I met healthcare professionals I will never forget.

I watched ICU nurses care for critically ill patients while supporting frightened families.

I observed ICU physicians leading teams through complex situations where every decision mattered.

I watched surgeons, respiratory therapists, physiotherapists, pharmacists, healthcare aides, nurses, community paramedics, day medicine nurses, porters, housekeepers, unit clerks, and countless others work together to help patients heal.

I also saw a healthcare system under tremendous strain.

Yet despite those challenges, I witnessed extraordinary compassion.

One lesson stood out above all others.

Communication matters.

I watched healthcare professionals explain difficult situations with honesty and compassion.

I watched families struggle to absorb information they never expected to hear.

I learned that asking the right question can change everything.

I learned that listening is just as important as speaking.

And I learned that effective advocacy often begins with understanding.

There were days when I had to set my emotions aside and focus on the next problem that needed solving.

The tears came later.

Sometimes alone.

Sometimes beside my loved one.

Sometimes in the car before driving home.

Through it all, we learned to ask each other a simple question:

"How are you really doing?"

One moment has stayed with me.

I invited a spiritual care provider to visit our family.

As they began speaking, one of my family members gently interrupted and shared who we were, what mattered to us, and how we viewed the situation.

The spiritual care provider was not wrong.

They simply did not know us.

That moment reinforced something I have come to believe deeply.

Every patient has a story.

Every family has a story.

And every healthcare journey is unique.

Ironically, during the period when I was least involved with My Health Journals, I found myself relying on the very principles that inspired its creation.

Keeping information organized.

Preparing questions.

Tracking changes.

Communicating clearly.

Advocating for someone I loved.

Before this experience, I believed organization was important.

Today, I understand it differently.

I have sat in meetings with multiple specialists while trying to remember test results, medication changes, treatment plans, and questions that seemed urgent only hours before.

I have listened to healthcare teams discuss complex situations while knowing that important decisions would need to be made based on the information being shared.

I have learned that information is not simply paperwork.

It is the foundation for informed decisions, effective communication, meaningful advocacy, and sometimes peace of mind during uncertain moments.

When emotions are high and circumstances are changing quickly, having accurate information in one place can make all the difference.

The last two years reminded me why this work matters.

Not because healthcare is simple.

But because sometimes it isn't.

Today, I return to My Health Journals with a deeper understanding of what patients, families, and caregivers experience every day.

The nurse in me understands the healthcare system.

The caregiver in me understands what it feels like to live it.

Both perspectives have shaped the person I am becoming.

What I Have Learned

Healthcare journeys rarely follow the path we expect.

Sometimes there is no roadmap.

Sometimes there is no neat ending.

There is simply the next appointment, the next conversation, the next decision, and the next opportunity to show up for someone we love.

Our journey is still unfolding.

But if the last two years have taught me anything, it is that information matters, communication matters, and the people who walk beside us matter.

That is why I am returning to My Health Journals.

With gratitude.

With humility.

And with a deeper appreciation for the patients, caregivers, families, and healthcare professionals who travel these roads every day.

Warmly,

Shelley McLellan, LPN
Executive Director & Co-Creator
My Health Journals