My name is David Rolfe. I live with primary progressive multiple sclerosis and significant physical disabilities. My body may be limited, but my ability to understand, decide, advocate, and speak for myself remains central to who I am.
During my care at Western Memorial Regional Hospital, seven health professionals with codes of ethics were hell-bent on saying that I had a “hole” in the frontal lobe of my brain and that I could not make choices or decisions for myself. Those were their exact words.
I called my sister and told her what had happened. While I was speaking with her, a nurse listened from outside my door and reported what she heard.
Then, late that night—between approximately 11:30 p.m. and midnight—the psychiatrist involved in my care returned to my room. She sat on the edge of my bed crying and told me that she could not be part of “this lie” anymore.
I told her that I already knew.
She said she had written to the medical board to say that she could not be part of what was happening. She also recommended that I contact a lawyer she knew in St. John’s. At the time, I did not make that call. Looking back, I wish I had.
Before 8:00 the next morning, a nurse discharged me and sent me home by ambulance. I did not see a doctor before I was discharged. The psychiatrist who had come to my room that night was the doctor I understood would have been able to authorize my discharge.
During the ambulance ride, a social worker from Community Supports called me. She told me that Community Supports staff had been speaking until approximately 12:30 the previous night with a judge—whom she identified as Judge Noble—trying to have me ordered to remain in hospital.
I was alarmed by what I had been told. I felt that people were trying to take control of my life and silence me by treating me as incapable of making my own decisions.
But I was not going to remain silent.
An open-line radio program was playing in the ambulance. Because of my physical disability, a paramedic placed my cellphone on my chest so I could make the call. I went on air and told the host what had happened. He was stunned. He told me that people needed a voice and a champion—someone willing to stand up.
After that first call, the program contacted me several times and invited me back to speak about what was really happening in home care and about the gap between the promise of “Home First” and the reality people were living.
“Home First” may be a slogan, but the system was not set up to make it a reality for me.
I am sharing this story because silence protects a failing system, not the people depending on it.
Serious statements about a person’s brain, capacity, or right to decide must never be made casually. They require evidence, clear explanation, proper review, and respect for the person affected.
Disabled people are not problems to be managed. We are citizens with voices, rights, histories, and the ability to participate in decisions about our own lives.
If I can speak openly about an experience this serious, I hope other seniors, disabled people, caregivers, families, and workers will know that they can speak too.
Your story does not have to be dramatic to matter. It only has to be true to your experience.
Newfoundland Care Hub will review every story before publication, protect identifying details where needed, and never publish someone’s story without their approval.
This is David Rolfe’s firsthand account and recollection. Statements attributed to other people describe what David recalls being told. Names, dates, quotations, and other details will be checked against available records before publication.
