Missing Babcia ...

It's been exactly a year since I last saw Babcia. I miss her terribly.

After having lost all my grandparents when I was in my early 20's, I was lucky enough to have been given the gift of Babcia. K introduced us back in 2011 on one of his visits to Montreal; soon after, I began visiting her on my own. The visits were never a chore - we would sit for hours while she shared stories of her past, stories of K's childhood. We would hold hands while she asked me about my kids and Jack. She always asked about Jack. I would bring her up to speed on my kids and on K's kids. Later, I would call K and share with him everything the nurses had told me about her health, as well as everything Babcia had told me. Well, everything 'cept the things she had asked me to keep secret, that is. Many times, K would be surprised to learn something about his own past (or Babcia's) that he had never known. Finally, I would send him that visit's video. Before leaving Babcia each time, I would record a video for K (or his kids) ... Babcia sending him (or them) a brief message, her blessing, and her love. She became quite the video star.

K and I would often marvel at Babcia's memory. Never was there a time when she would repeat herself when telling us stories. Sometimes, she would refer to something that she had already told me, reminding me that I already knew such and such before continuing the new story. But rehashing anything? Babcia never did. A woman in her 90's and her memory was better than K's and mine combined.

Babcia didn't do a lot of complaining, despite being bedridden, and in pain a lot of the time. Something she didn't appreciate too much was the food at the home, to the point where she wouldn't eat a lot and would subsequently lose weight. Trying to prevent this, I started bringing her meals when I would visit, in hopes of finding something that would get her to eat. Borscht was one of those things. She would tuck in to the bowl and not look up again until swallowing the last spoonful. Other times, she would make special requests - cold cuts and rye bread from Zytynsky's, Ginger Ale, or a pasta dish that she asked me for several times. As I prepped the plate for her, she would ask the inevitable (inevitable for her!) question ... "Did you put in a lot of onions?" Ahhhh, Babcia and her onions!

At this time last year, I had received a call from the Polish Home telling me that she had been brought to the hospital. Not an uncommon event, given her age, her frail health, and the fact that I was her emergency contact here in town. After giving K a quick call, I raced to the hospital. Babcia was worse than I had ever seen her. She was non-reactive, her breathing was laboured, her hands were ice cold, and she needed assistance to breathe. As luck would have it, the pneumologist had just examined her and was able to fill me in on her condition. He didn't make it sound good. I decided then to tell K to hop on a flight and get here as quickly as he could. Then I went back to Babcia's room and begged her to hold on. Unsure of whether or not she could hear me, I told her that K was coming to see her and that she had to stay until he got there. After picking him up at the airport the following day, we headed back to the hospital. I tried as best I could to prepare K for how sick Babcia looked, for how un-Babcia she seemed. We donned gowns and pulled on gloves before heading into Babcia's room. K leaned over and spoke to his grandmother and this woman, who hadn't opened her eyes, who hadn't taken a breath without the aide of a respirator, who hadn't moved a muscle ... slowly and just barely moved her hand. I was shocked.  But then again, why wouldn't she have made the effort for her beloved K? He spoke to her for a while and then he and I sat down. We stayed there all afternoon, the hiss of the respirator as our soundtrack, and watched as the staff came and went. Luck was on our side again, because the pneumologist came by again and K got to speak to him about Babcia's prognosis. The doctor brought up the question of not resuscitating Babcia should she deteriorate to that point, a subject that I also tried to discuss with K. Yeah, it was that serious. The doctor left and we sat back down. As evening approached, we decided to leave and get some dinner. K walked over the side of Babcia's bed and leaned over. Taking her hand, he told Babcia that we were going to eat and that we'd be back in the morning. Babcia slowly and just barely nodded, surprising us both.

Babcia passed away before dawn, before we returned to the hospital. I'm convinced that this wonderful woman had held on for her treasured K, but then made sure to spare him having to see her pass away. This woman, who had lived a very hard life without complaints, who had sacrificed much to raise her only grandson, this woman whom I had come to love as much as my own grandmothers, was gone.

I miss hearing Babcia's voice calling me 'Elainey'. I miss how she could never quite grasp what K does for a living, despite him explaining it to her on several occasions. I miss hearing her talk about her dog, Skippy ... the white one or the brown one. I miss the tales about St-Calixte. I will miss spending Christmas with her, as I done for her last two Christmases. I miss the way she would smile at me, which was nothing like the million watt smile she would wear when her K would come to visit. I miss so many things about Babcia and our visits. But I'll always be grateful that K shared his Babcia with me.

Agnes Bimbi-Kovacs, MD

Dr Kovacs. It's a name that I have known all my life, a name that has been respected and revered in my family for as far back as my memory takes me. Dr Kovacs wasn't just the family doctor, she was as close to actual family as any person could be. The story is that after my older sister's birth, my mother was given a list of paediatricians and chose a woman, thinking of the comfort level for her daughter. Dr Kovacs has known me my whole life, apart for the 20 minutes that it took for her to reach the hospital nursery after my birth. Visits to Dr Kovacs' office were always a high point, no matter the reason for the visit or how sick we may have been. The wait was long - I don't mean long in the sense that you might expect a wait in a doctor's office may be - these waits were looong. I can remember times when we sat for 3 hours or more before being called into one of her offices, where we would sit and wait while she finished examining the patient in the adjoining office. There was the odd parent who might have voiced a complaint in the waiting room, but the vast majority of parents just sat ... and waited. Everyone knew the time spent was worth it. No other doctor doled out the attention that Dr Kovacs did and once you entered her office, your appointment wasn't over until every question had been answered, every ailment addressed and every concern alleviated. Dr Kovacs could easily spend 30-45 minutes on every child who walked through her office door, despite the ticking clock, despite the crying children in the waiting room, despite the odd exasperated parent. Our appointments always ended the same way - a hug, a kiss, and an exchange of "I love you's". Then, she would open the drawer beneath the examining table where she stored the Laura Secord lollipops, of which she insisted you take 2-3 before leaving. 

It was normal to see moms and dads waiting with their kids to be seen but often, you would see a grandmother subbing for the dad, who probably had to work and couldn't be there. I seem to have a vague memory of one of my grandmothers coming along for a visit or two, but years later, my mom explained to me once that Dr Kovacs had uttered the f-word in my grandmother's presence and that my grandmother swore that she would never return there again. But that's Dr Kovacs. If she thought you were full of shit, she would tell you that you were full of shit. And she never made any kind of apology about it either. 

As a patient of Dr Kovacs’, you learned never to make an appointment on a Monday morning. If, for some reason, you forgot and did, you were sure to wait, most probably until well after the noon hour. You see, any mom who had a child come down with something over the weekend would call the office first thing on Monday morning when they opened at 9. And Dr Kovacs being the paediatrician that she was, would tell them to come straight in. I’m sure some didn’t even call and just showed up, knowing that they would not be sent home without a thorough going over. But that was just Dr Kovacs’ way. She turned no one away, even taking on new patients as recently as last year when I asked Cathy, one of her daughters who served as Dr Kovacs' receptionist/secretary and constant teapot refiller. A doctor in Quebec who is taking on new patients - what an anomaly! And on top of that, this doctor was seeing patients every day of the week, from 9am sharp until 7pm some evenings, Cathy told me. Imagine! Approaching her mid-80’s and still a full-time doctor. It’s almost unheard of these days!

Walking into Dr Kovacs’ examination room was a surreal experience. In all my years of frequenting her office, I’m still unable to tell you what colour her walls were. From the tops of any piece of furniture in her office to the ceiling, her walls were plastered with pictures of her patients or with drawings that her patients had drawn for her ... one overlapping the other and all held up with bits of Scotch Tape. Every time I was in either of those two rooms, I would see familiar faces; children who were complete strangers to me but whose faces I recognized from years of seeing them looking down on me from the walls. Eventually, my own children’s pictures were taped up as well and every visit, we would make a game of trying to find those pictures. Hundreds of pictures of hundreds of children … if Dr Spock had ever done acid, this is the vision I think he might have had.

Dr Kovacs shared her office space with her husband, whose patients were, for the most part, elderly. The waiting room always had both ends of the spectrum – babies and toddlers playing on the floor and geriatric patients sitting and smiling as they watched them play. I don’t ever remember having a conversation with Dr Kovacs, the husband (he would smile and say hello whenever he passed us in the waiting room), but from what I was able to observe, his patients were as loyal to him as my Dr Kovacs’ patients were to her.

I have a distinct memory of Dr Kovacs coming to my home when I was a child. I was very sick, apparently too sick to get downtown to her office, and suddenly, there she was by my bedside. I’m sure I was in awe at the time … I mean, Dr Kovacs was in MY home! It was the same kind of feeling one gets when they encounter their teacher outside of school. You just don’t expect that they ever venture out from the space from which you know them! And Dr Kovacs actually showed up with a dark doctor’s bag, like doctors have in the movies! She ministered to me that way she always did and left a prescription for the cough medicine that tasted like what I imagine Mary Poppins doled out to the Banks children when they were ill. It was grape and simply delicious! But I digress. The point being that Dr Kovacs didn’t confine her caring for children to the four walls of her office. She came to my house, she came to the hospital when I had a tonsillectomy, she came to see Kevin when he underwent eye surgery, and she came to see Julia when she had back surgery. Dr Kovacs was our doctor and she came when we weren’t well, no matter where that was.

When I was 15, I developed migraines. After seeing me in such pain, my father suddenly decided he was taking me to see a doctor. He meant well and not wanting to wait, he hustled me off to the neighbourhood clinic. There I saw a doctor, whose French was terrible and English was non-existent; unfortunately, my Spanish was also non-existent, so upon seeing my hands shake, he immediately prescribed Valium for me and sent me away. For the next few weeks, I can remember feeling as though I was floating through the halls of Rosemount High, up near the ceiling and above all my classmates. Friends would tell me that they had spoken to me but I had no recollection of those encounters. It seemed that just when I would be coming down from one high, it was time to pop another lil pill and start floating again. When Dr Kovacs eventually heard about the drugs I had been given, she became angry. “Fucking GP’s!”, I remember her muttering. “Who gives a 15 year old baby Valium?!?” I learned from that day forward to consult with her before allowing an unknown doctor to prescribe medication for me!

I continued to be followed by Dr Kovacs long after a time when I could have been going to see an "adult" doctor. I once asked her when I would have to stop seeing her. She smiled gently, cupped my cheek and in her slight Hungarian accent replied, "When you're no longer comfortable coming to see me, darling." That day never came but I did finally make the cross over after seeing Dr Kovacs for the last time as her patient when I was 22 or 23. I would still pop my head into her waiting room when I was in the vicinity; I'd catch up with Cathy, and if I was lucky, I would get waved in between patients to grab a quick hug and kiss and quickly fill the doctor in on my family's news.

It had been a while since I had seen either Dr Kovacs or Cathy but as chance would have it, I bumped into them both as they were leaving their building and I was heading down the street to the metro. They both stopped and she beamed at my tummy swollen with my first child. Patting it gently, she smiled and said, "Call me as soon as the baby is born", before hugging me and walking away. Up until that moment, I had not yet made a decision about a paediatrician but suddenly, it was obvious. When I told the children's dad that Dr Kovacs would be looking after our child, he reminded me of how far downtown was from where we were living. I countered with the fact that I was comfortable with and trusted Dr Kovacs over any other paediatrician. I gave Dr Kovacs' name when I was admitted for my delivery and shortly after they whisked Kevin away to the nursery, she came into my room. Handing me the tape measure where she had noted his length, she assured me that he was well and healthy and "simply beautiful!" Kevin's birth was followed by Jordan's birth 21 months later. Although she marvelled at how relaxed we were as first-time parents, she could see the stress that Jordan's colic was causing as soon she entered her examination room a month after Jordan was born. I told her how we were at wit's end, how we had tried everything and how he cried incessantly nonetheless. Taking him from my arms, she proceeded to try to calm him. After 40 minutes of attempting different things, she handed him back and told me that this was one of THE worst cases of colic that she had ever seen. I was somehow comforted, knowing that her career to that point was rather extensive and that it wasn't something that I was doing wrong. Julia was born 2 years after that but it being August, Dr Kovacs wasn't able to make it to the hospital, since August was always spent at the cottage with her family. I showed up a month later for Julia's first inoculation and as Dr Kovacs looked down at my squirming daughter on the exam table, the doctor wrapped her arm around my shoulder. "I hope that it doesn't upset you, my saying so, but she looks exactly like your mother!" "Why would that upset me? My mother was beautiful! You couldn't give me a higher compliment about my daughter!" We looked up at each other and smiled, both of us teary eyed at the thought of my mom, who had not lived long enough to see her beautiful grandchildren. 

My children grew older, past the point where I would accompany them into the exam room, but I was always allowed in after the appointment was over to claim my hug and kiss and bring the doctor up to speed on my father and my sisters. The kids always knew they could have gone to see another doctor, an "adult" doctor, yet even though they were old enough to schedule their own appointments for their own reasons, they always went back to see Dr Kovacs when they were all in their 20's. I have often told people that it speaks volumes when two grown men are still willing to go see a female paediatrician. And we were far from being the only second generation family amongst her patients. Many a time, I would learn that one of the other moms in the waiting room was also an ex-patient who was now bringing her own kids to be seen by Dr Kovacs.

Within days of my father’s passing a couple of years ago, I received two messages on my answering machine. First, a lovely call from Cathy, who expressed sympathies on behalf of the Kovacs family. The next message on the machine was one from Dr Kovacs. The message went on for over 3 minutes, and left me in tears. I have never known of a doctor who took the time to make such a personal gesture and I was truly touched.

This past fall, Julia texted me from work and asked me to make her an appointment with Dr Kovacs. After playing catch up with Cathy, I was informed that her mom was finally going to retire. It was a bittersweet moment; I was happy for Dr Kovacs - she deserved to retire after such a long career, yet it made me sad - it was truly an end of an era. Cathy assured me that she will call me from time to time to update me on her mom, although she did say that she could not be entirely sure that the retirement would occur. I immediately called the kids and told them the news and they all shared my bittersweet sentiment. On the day of Julia's appointment, I waited outside in the waiting room and bided my time with Cathy. When I was finally called in, Dr Kovacs motioned me to sit down. She asked about my health, my love life, the boys, and as always, asked if I was happy. When we were done talking, this tiny, formidable woman rose up from behind her massive desk and opened her arms. It is a strange feeling when you know you are saying goodbye to someone for the last time. We hugged, we kissed, we exchanged "I love you's" ... the same way we have been doing for 51 years. And then, I walked out of her office for the very last time. 

I dialled a number that I know by heart a month after that visit, wondering if Dr Kovacs had followed through with her idea of retiring. The answering machine picked up and instead of Cathy's voice, I heard a recording of Dr Kovacs' soft accent announcing her retirement. I listened the whole way through the message to this woman who has known me longer than any other living person, this woman who loved me and took care of my health and then did the same for my own children ... and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of other children.

Thank you, Dr Kovacs. May your well-deserved retirement be a long and very happy one.

Julia and Dr Kovacs - 28/02/2012