A day does not pass without me thinking about my brother John. It has been slightly over two months since he passed away under the second-rate care he received at the hospital. Suffice it to say, mistakes were made and have been documented. But that is not the point of this.
I just want to document my grief because I think it will help me with the healing process. Although, I don't believe I will ever be the same. I will forever have those images of my brother suffering in the hospital tattooed in my mind. I can hear him pleading to go home. And I remember my anger and feelings of helplessness as I tried to get nurses and caregivers to do something to help him. John's heart rate was 134 for the better part of an entire day and he had shortness of breath. I alerted the staff but they were unconcerned. Every workout I do, I am cognizant of my heart rate. Oftentimes, even after multiple hours of biking and climbing in the mountains, my average heart rate is well below 134. John was in his hospital bed for over a week. His heart rate should not have been so high.
No one seemed concerned but me. And John of course. He knew something was very wrong. In fact, in hindsight, John really seemed to know that he was very ill and truly I believe he knew he was close to death. And when the nurses put a tube down his nose in preparation for emergency surgery and he started throwing up dark red liquid as the tube simultaneously drained the red fluid at an alarming rate, his expression was one of fear but also of recognition. John knew things were bad. I will never forget that moment. He eyes said to me, "I have had enough!" He pleas to go home were one of insight. He did not want to die in the hospital. Who does? But when the fluid started spewing and his blood pressure dropped and the crash team was inefficiently summoned to his room, he was ready to give up. He had been through so much and dealt with such horrible care. He rolled his eyes and shook his head side to side as if to say, "I can't do this anymore."
I was so scared but I am also glad I was there. I was able to talk to the crash team and help them piece together his last day. I had spent all night in the room with John and I have a good memory. I knew everything that had been done or not been done. Typically in an emergency like this, family members are encouraged to leave so the nurses and doctors can quickly and efficiently share information and implement the appropriate procedures. The nurses let me do the talking. I asserted myself and grabbed the attention of the young crash team doctor. I answered his questions and the actions the team took stabilized John. He was still feeling so terrible and continued to look defeated. It was so unfair. John was kind and caring, never mean to anyone. Sure he squashed a few ants as a child but beyond that, he treated everyone with kindness and respect. John was an inspiration and did not deserve any of this.
There is more to the story and I plan to document it here. But for now, I want to talk about the sadness and grief that comes over me pretty much every day.
As I mentioned, I think of John every single day. I often get these waves of sadness that come out of nowhere. One minute I am laughing, the next I am weeping. The other day, I was in a movie theater watching Ted 2. You don't need to know much about the movie other than it is an irreverent and crass movie with juvenile jokes throughout. In the movie, one of the main characters is in the hospital. The others ask the doctor to do something to help the injured character. The doctor says, "we have done all we can, it is up to him now." When the doctor in the movie uttered this cliche I was suddenly reminded of John's last day in the hospital and I burst out in tears. I thought, "Damn doctors! They don't seem very helpful!" I tried to conceal it as well as I could. I did not want the other patrons to think I was weeping over the story line. It did not take me long to stifle my tears, take a deep breath, and calm down. Of all places to feel the grief and sadness, sitting in Ted 2 was the last place I would have thought I would suddenly feel that way.
There are some other examples and I plan to share them in the future. Poor John. He did not deserve the poor treatment he got. He did not deserve to die the way he did. It is just not right. I love you John and I miss you so much!
