In the spring of 2024, my then-nine-year-old daughter, Orla, had emergency neurosurgery in Toronto—twice—for a sudden brain infection. She received months of world-class hospital care that included teams of neurosurgery and infectious-disease specialists, round-the-clock observation and nursing, high-tech MRIs and custom prosthetics, and we never received a bill. That’s what Canadian health care is known for. 

But just as important was the social care that helped Orla regain her love of life after losing—and then working to regain—control over the left side of her body. She got access to therapeutic clowns, an accessible garden, therapy dogs, music, playtime with friends and an in-hospital school. Some of her inpatient friends even received help with essentials like food, housing, counselling and family income. In their hospital rooms, each child had a whiteboard where they and their families wrote and drew under the prompt, “What matters to me?” This helped them turn the page from “What’s the matter with me?”—the question that dominated their acute care. Almost invariably, family, friends and fun topped the lists, laying the groundwork for the rehabilitation team to deliver personalized, holistic care. For Orla, the team helped her set—and meet—goals that were beyond our wildest dreams when she was at her sickest; participate in a “MasterChef” food fundraiser with other patients; play ball hockey with Toronto’s pro women’s hockey team, the Sceptres; and take a family visit to the Haliburton wolf sanctuary. I’ve been a health science and policy researcher for two decades, but it was Orla’s experience that showed me the importance of integrating social care into our health outcomes.