Oh Shit, Guys… I’m Alive. Well…

I’m alive.

It’s Tuesday night. About 8:50 p.m.

Roughly thirty-six hours ago I was being wheeled into surgery.

Now I’m home.

I’ve had a real shower.

I’m wearing my own pajamas.

And yes…

I’m currently higher than a kite on hydromorphone.

Exactly as prescribed.

So if this post takes a few unexpected turns…

Blame modern medicine.

Part of this post is simply to let all of you know that I’m alive.

The other part?

To remind you what a tenacious motherfucker I am.

Because apparently sitting still isn’t part of my DNA.

Now, before anyone gets their blood pressure up…

Yes.

I listened to my surgeon.

Gravity is officially my enemy.

I’m supposed to spend most of my time lying down so I don’t destroy everything they just spent hours repairing.

At the same time…

They also told me to get up and walk.

Ten minutes.

Three or four times a day.

Because blood clots don’t care how good your stitches look.

That advice hit home.

Hard.

Back in 2024, my mom almost died.

She had pneumonia and spent weeks trying to recover. Somewhere along the way she developed a pulmonary embolism—a blood clot in her lung.

I still remember watching her cough up blood after being repeatedly told it was probably just the pneumonia.

She survived.

But our family came frighteningly close to a very different ending.

At almost the same time, my dad was losing weight at an unbelievable rate.

Forty pounds.

Doctors couldn’t figure it out.

Eventually they discovered a parasite had been destroying his health from the inside.

Then, because apparently my family pissed off the universe…

2025 rolled around.

My mom ended up hospitalized again with a massive infection.

My dad’s retina decided it wanted to detach.

Last summer I got pneumonia myself.

After everything I’d watched happen…

You better believe blood clots became one of my biggest fears.

So after surgery, every chance I got, I got up.

The nurses would look at me like…

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Yep.

I’m okay.

Do I feel like absolute garbage?

Of course I do.

My abdomen feels like it lost a fight with a truck.

But I’d rather feel like garbage while following the recovery plan than lie there convincing myself I couldn’t move.

One thing I’ve learned over the past few years is this.

Recovery is as much mental as it is physical.

Yes, there are days when you genuinely can’t do something.

Yes, there are injuries and illnesses that force you to slow down.

But there’s also a point where you have to stop waiting for someone else to rescue you.

Nobody is coming to save you.

Your job is to do the next thing your body safely allows you to do.

Today, that was walking.

Tomorrow, it’ll probably be another ten-minute walk.

Next week…

Who knows.

In the meantime, what do you honestly think my ADHD brain is going to do while I’m lying in bed?

I’ve got a stack of novels waiting.

A pile of self-improvement books.

I’m even looking at taking a Lean Six Sigma course or getting a head start on some project management education.

My surgeon told me I can’t go back to work yet.

Fine.

Healing is my full-time job now.

And when I’m not healing…

I’ll be learning.

As for the investigation…

The evidence box isn’t going anywhere.

The laptop is sitting there.

I’ve looked at it more than once.

But if certain people still haven’t heard from me…

Don’t get too excited.

I’m not disappearing.

I’m simply waiting.

Sometimes the smartest move isn’t making the next one immediately.

Sometimes it’s giving people enough goodwill and enough rope to decide what they’re going to do.

That’s all I’m going to say about that.

So…

For anyone wondering…

Yes.

I’m alive.

Yes.

I’m very, very medicated.

And yes…

I’m probably still a little too mentally busy for my own good.

Finally, I want to say thank you to the incredible staff at Queensway Carleton Hospital.

You took amazing care of me.

Every single time I stood up, somebody seemed to appear out of nowhere asking if I was sure I was okay.

You were patient.

You were kind.

You worked unbelievably hard.

If anything, my biggest takeaway wasn’t how hard the staff worked.

It was how obvious it is that they need more support.

The people caring for us deserve a healthcare system that cares for them, too.

One more thing before I disappear for a little while.

I want to talk about Ontario.

Not politics.

Not parties.

People.

If you’ve followed my work over the last couple of months, you already know I’ve spent a lot of time digging into Ontario’s regulated gambling market, offshore operators, payment processors, and everything that connects them.

I’m not going to pretend people have been asking me why I care so much.

They haven’t.

But I can’t help it.

My brain keeps going there.

Why does regulated matter to Ontario?

Why does properly reported tax revenue matter?

Why does fighting offshore operators matter?

This week reminded me exactly why.

Go sit in a hospital.

Part of the revenue generated through Ontario’s regulated gaming market is intended to support public priorities through provincial revenues. Healthcare is funded through the province’s overall budget, and gaming revenue contributes to that broader fiscal picture alongside many other sources.

After spending time in hospital, I walked away thinking less about gambling…

…and more about the people who keep this province running.

I’m an observant person.

I’ve always been a humanist first.

I notice things.

I notice the nurse who should be using her education and clinical judgment but instead is making me toast because the breakfast tray arrived missing half the meal.

I notice the computer monitor that’s clearly seen better days as in busted, pixelated and bricking.

I notice medical equipment that has to be repositioned or repeated because it doesn’t seem to cooperate the first time, second or third. Blood pressure cuff malfunctions too many times to count.

I notice staff who barely have time to sit down and have a lunch break. I notice people eating lunch while standing up because they don’t actually get a proper lunch break.

I notice that before they’ve even swallowed the first bite…

someone needs them again and then someone asks them to extend their shift another 4 hrs when they have been there for 12 already.

I notice the smiles they somehow still manage to give patients even though they’re clearly exhausted.

I notice the patience.

The kindness.

The professionalism.

And I notice that there simply aren’t enough of them.

Last summer, when I had pneumonia, I remember looking at the emergency department board.

When I arrived…

The estimated wait was nine hours.

Before I left…

It had climbed to sixteen.

Think about that for a second.

Sixteen hours.

That’s not because nurses don’t care.

That’s not because doctors aren’t working hard enough.

It’s because demand keeps growing while the people on the front lines are being asked to do more with less.

Ontario…

We can do better.

We have to do better.

If we want world-class healthcare, then we have to invest in it.

If we want hospitals that have enough nurses, enough equipment, enough beds, and enough support staff, then we need to protect the public revenue that helps fund the services we all depend on.

That’s why I keep coming back to offshore gambling.

When money leaves Ontario’s regulated economy and flows elsewhere, it’s not just about gambling.

It’s about the broader economic ecosystem.

It’s about making sure Ontario has the resources to invest in the things that matter.

Hospitals.

Mental health.

Addiction treatment.

Community services.

Education.

Infrastructure.

Those aren’t abstract ideas.

They’re the places and people who show up when your life suddenly falls apart.

I also learned something else during my stay.

Recovery is a partnership.

The doctors and nurses can do incredible work.

But patients have responsibilities too.

My surgeon told me to rest.

He also told me to walk.

Both things mattered.

Every few hours I got up and did my ten-minute lap around the hallway because that’s what my recovery required.

Meanwhile, my roommate spent most of her time complaining about the food.

To be fair…

Hospital food isn’t winning any Michelin stars.

But every few hours the nursing staff came in and gently encouraged her to get out of bed because they were worried about blood clots.

They weren’t nagging.

They were trying to protect her.

The compassion they showed never changed.

Neither did their patience.

Watching that reminded me that healthcare isn’t just about medicine.

It’s teamwork.

Patients.

Families.

Nurses.

Doctors.

Support staff.

Everyone has a role.

So before I disappear for a few weeks to heal, I just want to say thank you.

Thank you to every nurse who answered my call bell.

Thank you to every doctor who treated me with respect.

Thank you to every porter, cleaner, dietary worker, unit clerk, technician, and support staff member who made an incredibly vulnerable day a little easier.

And thank you to QCC Hospital.

You took great care of me.

Now let’s take better care of you.

Ontario owes you that much.

Anyway…

I’m going to take my medically approved drugs, read a book, behave myself for once or at least a day and continue working toward Sara 2.0.