Testimonial: Letting go will always surprise us!

A testimony by Lyne Cuillerier and Michel Ferland
This summer, I was really wondering what was going to happen to my husband Michel Ferland, who is suffering from cystic fibrosis. He was barely breathing at 20% and I could see his health deteriorating at first sight. I felt completely powerless in the face of this situation.

Between coming and going from the hospital to the house, Michel tried to do activities with us, despite his physical situation which prevented him from breathing normally. He never complained. He got tired quickly but still clung to his oxygen tank in his back, the tube in his nose! Socially, the situation was not always positive: it was not easy to walk around in this society full of judgments and sometimes inquisitive glances! I found it very sad and hard to see it that way. In everyday life, Michel never stops and we have been doing a lot of outings and activities together for a long time.

Throughout the summer, I asked myself what would be the best time for a short getaway with my big daughter to change our minds. The decision at the right time was quite difficult since we obviously did not know in advance when the transplant call would arrive!

On Thursday, August 18, my daughter and I finally left for Isle-aux-Coudres for our short getaway. Finding ourselves at the seaside, taking deep breaths and appreciating the beauty of the nature that would surround us, was going to do us the greatest good! Once on the island, we contemplated the beauty of the landscape which was spectacular. The sky was full of a thousand and one colors. It was a full moon evening, what more could you ask for? I decided to send photos to Michel so that he too could admire the beauties of nature.

That night I slept very badly. I felt guilty for leaving Michel at home.

The next morning, we had several excursion opportunities, which were highly recommended by the information center. As if we felt that something was going to happen, we decided to postpone everything until later.

We chose a short trip by train, on the water's edge. At the scene, we parked the car in a place where there was a network.

That's when we finally got the long awaited call!

What a relief I felt! Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I took the time to call a few close people to tell them the good news. I was so emotional!

At the same time, I raised my head to look at the sky, a cloud was in the shape of a bird, as if it had just brought me this wonderful message.

We decided to continue our excursion, in order to reduce the tension and to get back on the road calmly afterwards. A thousand and one positive images flashed through my head.

The operation was scheduled for 8 pm. So I was not in a position to come back in time to see him go for his transplant. But a twist of fate and a few delays allowed us to arrive on time. We were able to hug him before the long awaited big departure!

That night, I never thought negatively. I was confident that everything would be fine. Just like Michel, I only saw the positive side of life!

When we woke up in the hospital waiting room, the doctor was there with a big smile on his face. At that moment, I understood that everything had gone well. Letting go brings us very good things. You just have to believe in it and know how to stop in order to listen to the beautiful messages that life sends us. Today, we are regaining momentum on a new path in life.

A second chance for us.
A fresh start.
One day at a time!

Hang on, life has big surprises in store for us when we least expect them!

Michel Ferland

It is August 17. I go to the Hôtel-Dieu because my body no longer breathes! For a long time, 24/7, I've been exhausted at the slightest effort. Getting in and out of the car, taking a short walk and brushing my teeth are very difficult tasks for me.

Sometimes I even experience urinary incontinence. Often, at the end of my breath, my pigheaded mind takes over the logic of my body's limits. I am drowning trying to breathe. The picture is clear: I am at the bottom, I am rising to the surface to meet the breath of air that will free me, but a glass ceiling awaits me.

“Michel, with 20% breathing capacity, we have to keep you in the hospital until the surgeon calls you.”
I don't want that! Please, no I don't want that!

Wait forever for the surgeon to call. The word eternal is in my head. Yes, eternal. Other people have experienced a lot worse than me, but I couldn't imagine going through their situation. Until then I didn't want to believe it, but I would definitely get through this stage. My voice changes in front of the doctor. Tears flow down my cheeks in the presence of my mother sitting next to me. Lyne, my spouse, is not present because she left for a weekend of rest with our oldest daughter, Annabelle. A well-deserved rest! I don't want to tell them this news, I want them to relax. Anyway, they know what condition I am in. I have already spent the whole summer inside these walls. I can't see myself waiting for two, three, or six months yet.

“A person is in charge of giving you a bed for your stay here and will call you tomorrow morning to let you know when you can come back...”

I walk with my mom even slower than when I entered the hospital corridors. Shoulders completely on the ground, demolished. I keep thinking about Lyne who is outside. How can we tell him that she will have to wait, alone, at home, and take care of our two daughters? I decide not to tell her, I will let her finish her stay with Annabelle so that they can fully enjoy it. They will know it soon enough when they return.

The call

The next day I lay in bed with my mom. We are waiting for the call from the person who will assign me a hospital bed. This wait seems eternal to me! I really didn't want that option. I am a whimsical person and my thoughts are muddled. It is not going as I wanted and I find it difficult to accept it. My mom and my youngest daughter, Jessyca, surround me.

Lying down, BiPAP in my nose, chatting with my pretty duck voice, I go through the events of the last days, of the last years with them. I would never have believed, barely six months ago, that I would be waiting for this call today! A bed waiting for me to be transplanted. I was certain that I could have gone through this stage peacefully at home. It's almost 11 am and the admissions person should be calling soon. I know this because it is not the first time that I have to wait for his call for a hospital stay.

11 am: Dring dring! Unknown number and surprise, it's not the person from the Hôtel-Dieu!

“Hello Mr. Ferland, this is Dr. Ferraro! I tell you that we have magnificent lungs for you! ”

It is the transplant surgeon who surprises me like a mirage. He tells me that the surgery will take place tonight. They have brand new lungs for me! Lungs that are younger than me and in good health! Everything is bursting! I scream and cry for joy on the phone, I jump in my underwear on my bed! But where was this energy hiding a few minutes ago? BiPAP is coming off my face and I can't believe what's happening to me! The pressure is completely off.

“Be in the hospital at 3 pm. The operation will take place at 8 pm, if everything goes well with the donor,” he tells me, much quieter than me.

Jessyca, our youngest, has already called Lyne in Tadoussac. In a few moments, people are coming to the house to support me. We cry, we laugh! I don't know where to turn my head anymore and everything is going fast. Am I packing? No! Toothbrush, soap, shampoo, clothes That is all. I'll be spending most of my time in a jacket anyway. Inevitably, I think of Lyne. How does she feel in the distance? How is she dealing with the situation? Does she feel guilty for leaving or not? It is not necessary! She needed that break. She will be back anyway, and she will arrive just in time for my big departure! Its absence is only a matter of chance. The fact that she left may have even made things happen, who knows? For me, the adventure begins. The second I enter the hospital, everything becomes “true.”

From the reception to the intensive care floor, strangely enough, I am serene and incredibly calm. The care, the smiling people, it's as if I arrived in an all-inclusive, no joke! Here, the care is comprehensive. I am connected everywhere in 20 minutes: the saturometer, the electrocardiogram, the solute.

I am directed to the waiting room and my loved ones are allowed to come back to my side. I see them in chick costumes: jackets, gloves and above all, face masks! There, everything becomes true: no germs will enter here! From that moment on, I realize that I will not see any more smiles for the next two weeks, they will be hidden under these masks. I know that's going to be the hardest part of it psychologically. Soulless faces: doctors, nurses, visitors, only talking eyes that barely move. I am told that the operation will take place at midnight and not at 8 pm. I can't wait to leave to continue this adventure in a more concrete way. Lyne and Annabelle have finally arrived from Tadoussac and, before they take me to the operating room, I can hug them!

I am excited and very calm at the same time. I leave the room and pass by my friends with a strong cough: people laugh and point out that this is certainly the last time they will hear me cough like that!

Applause is heard. I go down the hall, I show a thumbs up. I back up in the elevator, I form a heart with my hands and the door closes with a “goodbye everyone”. The trip to the operating room is not very long. Everyone gets to work, very focused, without smiling. I am surprised because their attitude is very different from the one they have had since I arrived. But I understand that they have very serious tasks to do and that they need to be ready, as much as I am, for this big challenge. I talk to the nurse while the anesthesiologist installs the epidural. I admit to him that what I am currently experiencing is incredible, that at the moment I am the happiest man. She looks at me with her laughing eyes through her mask that hides, I guess, her smile. I am well settled, I am injected with the magic liquid that will put me to sleep.

“Good night, Mr. Ferland, see you later.”

I wish him a good night with a big smile that disappears in three seconds.
3, 2, 1.

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