The Pain of Losing a Loved One
A heartbreaking story of a friend's passing and my personal loss
Wednesday, October 27
Room 26.
That's where it all ended.
The years of alcohol abuse that sent my friend into ER a few months ago. The repeated hospital appointments for check-ups and outpatient procedures and a string of recent ER visits are over.
My dearest friend Brad* has passed away.
I wrote about his initial plight when he was first hospitalized back in June.
He was doing so well!
He hadn't had a drop to drink since his liver disease was diagnosed, secondary to alcohol abuse. His condition was precarious but seemingly under control.
The issues had become wider than cirrhosis; esophageal varices, suspicious masses on both his kidney and pancreas and a severely stenosed aortic valve combined with a known heart murmur. Some of these comorbidities were due to his lifestyle; others were probably genetic.
Despite all of this, he had hope. He had turned his habits around.
He wanted to live.
We weren't partners or lovers, just best buddies for 23 years. He and his parents and siblings are not flesh and blood, nor the same skin colour. But we are family. We have been part of each other's lives for years; we care for each other immensely and will do anything to help, anytime. Brad brought us all together despite living miles from each other.
Since his initial diagnosis, Brad researched and studied ways of improving his liver function. I was subject to twice-weekly lectures on salt intake and the horrific contents in food if you really study the label. He was cooking some pretty yummy-looking meals and taking pictures of them to send to his family, who all lived miles away but were incredibly close — and concerned.
I'd even signed Brad up to become my weekly 'flyer' — telling me where to shop for grocery specials. Since he was stretched financially, he studied the flyers religiously to snag the best deals to save a few dollars. I didn't have the time to do so, and he was more than happy to help me out.
Yes, he still smoked; it was his only vice. Otherwise, he had ditched the booze, the salt and anything unhealthy. He had to take it easy on the exercise because of the valve issue, but otherwise, he was a changed man.
Thursday, October 14
My phone was ringing, but I was so tired, I ignored it. I had come home from work and laid down for a power nap. When my phone then buzzed with a string of text messages, I bolted upright and was immediately concerned.
It was Brad calling me. He was in Emergency after feeling dizzy at work. He had just started a new job, determined to earn money, aware he had relied on the family financially for some time.
He couldn't keep up with the job's demands within hours of starting and ended up in hospital. He had some changes on his ECG, which were indicative of heart damage. Clearly, his valve issues were beginning to rear their ugly head.
As a result, he was now — finally — scheduled to have the surgery that could turn his life around; a TAVI (transcatheter aortic valve implantation.) I'd never heard of the procedure and was quite amazed how technology had advanced since I worked in cardiology.
In the meantime, he was a timebomb. His heart was struggling to maintain normal function because an important valve was calcified and narrowed. Given the procedure was scheduled for the following Friday, he was discharged home; he had no further episodes during his 5-day stay in the cardiac unit.
Monday, October 25
I was sound asleep when the gentle vibration of my phone stirred me. I missed the call but saw it was Brad, so I called him straight back. He was perplexed he had woken up on the floor next to his bed. He had felt unwell, sat up, and the next minute had a gash on his head and a fat lip. He said he hadn't slept well the night before and decided he was so tired he had fallen asleep after sitting up.
I knew that this was not likely the case. His heart function was compromised, and this was a tell-tale sign that blood supply was significantly restricted, causing his momentary lapse in consciousness.
As I drove over to his place to take him to ER, I questioned my rationale for making that split-second decision. Perhaps I should've called an ambulance? ( but how were they going to get into the building?) What if he had collapsed between him calling me and arriving? ( well, I know how to do CPR — and he sounded convincing that he was okay but should have this checked out at the ER.)
An hour later, he was hooked up to every machine possible, and I breathed a sigh of relief that at least he was in the right place if something went wrong. I felt a sense of calm that he was going to have the surgery in four days despite being significantly concerned about the narrow pulse pressure he had and his ashen colour.
Two days later, something did go wrong, and it didn't make one helluva difference that he was in the right place and scheduled for life-saving surgery.
His heart stopped; the cardiac team witnessed it on the telemetry and responded within seconds and tried desperately to resuscitate him.
But they couldn't.
It's likely the valve was so narrowed that there was insufficient blood supply to maintain critical circulation despite CPR, and thus oxygen to the brain was depleted. The autopsy will reveal the truth.
57 years old.
My dear friend is gone.
Forever.
I have no words to express the horror of receiving that phone call, then having to call his family. In a split second, all our lives changed.
It has been impossible for me to actively participate in any of the things I love for the past week. I don't know which way is up, and my emotions are high. The only way I can navigate this is to talk — and write — about what happened to process his passing.
When I came home from the hospital that night Brad died, I started writing this story. It was wild, disjointed, repetitive and erratic. As the days have passed, it has been therapeutic to return to my draft and express my feelings in more legible and organized words. It's my way to try to make sense of it all.
There are many unanswered questions: Why did they stick to doing the procedure on Friday when he was clearly unwell? Was he denied earlier treatment because of his history of alcohol abuse? Did denying him having his much-loved cigarettes push his blood pressure through the roof and cause a sudden catastrophic system failure?
Being a nurse is not just a job; it's my being. When you're in the 'know,' you can't separate work from your everyday reality. You want to care for your family and friends like you would a patient. Brad knew I was a nurse and trusted me with my professional perspective. If I was in the room with him and a physician walked in, he would always introduce me as his private nurse. He loved that! And, he trusted me.
Wednesday, November 3
I'm not writing about Brad for sympathy; far from it. Some of my dear friends here may have noticed my absence; many others haven't. That's life! We all have our hiccups and challenges.
I've realized — even before this happened — the small stuff becomes insignificant, like MWC writing contests or that dude that cut you off on the highway. When the BIG stuff happens, you take a stance and reflect on life and its precarious nature that we all tend to take for granted.
Did it matter I couldn't fulfill my writing obligations? Was it the end of the world I failed on my photo-a-day challenge?
No.
I wrote this story to remind everyone of our guaranteed mortality. You don't know what is in the pipeline. Sure, Brad played Russian roulette living on the edge with an indulgent lifestyle. But, even if you live the cleanest life, your genes can get you. Simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time can too. Or just plain bad luck.
It's not the first time I've shared similar sentiments; they are even more pertinent now:
- Live each day like you have no tomorrow
- Don't sweat the small stuff
- Hold on tight to the people that have meaning in your life
- Tell people you love exactly how you feel
- Be mindful of your instincts; your subconscious plays a more significant part in your decisions than you may recognize
Rest in Peace, Brad.
*I have changed my friend's name to protect his privacy
