I wake up, and now my first thought is: My friend Brian is gone.
Gone sooner than his cancer limited him to.  Losing the last time of life possible to him.
My heart shrivels up into a knot of anguished pain.  I feel helpless and hopeless.
I know I can never see or hear or touch him again.
He is gone.  His hospital doctor slowly, torturously wrenched his life from him.
Twelve days in the hospital; and for nine of them, Brian was forbidden
To eat anything or drink anything.  A doctor's order called NPO.  Even though
Brian's risk of infection meant he could not have intravenous feeding.
So-called NPO: Nothing by mouth.
Three days of NPO at the beginning; six days of NPO at the end.  And, in between,
Only three days he was allowed to eat, despite his famished frame,
Which was almost skeletally lean.
He also was forbidden to drink anything.  He wasn't even allowed to drink any water.
He had been malnourished and dehydrated when he arrived at the hospital.  He had just started to drink enough again.  He had only just begun,
With Marinol, to get back his appetite.
The Marinol was working just right.  He had celebrated getting his VA benefits with me,
And his restored ability to drink enough again, and again to eat right,
Just the previous night.  We celebrated, with hearts happy and light;
We celebrated with a feast of chicken, which Brian ate with gusto;
Yes, he had definitely gotten back his appetite.
Not a moment too soon, because for nearly a month he had eaten very little each day.
He had just begun to get a little more flesh on his frame, gaining instead of losing weight.
Brain was no longer wasting away.
The hospital doctor refused to drain him of his ascites, that fluid build-up in his belly,
Which can be deadly--which it is well known can cause congestive heart failure.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Well, Dr. Death, hippocratic hypocrite, this time you chose to be a killer, not a healer.
Brian signed documents that he wanted everything done to save and prolong his life.
But how helpful was it for the medical team to pound on his chest, in the end,
When you had left him still full of ascites,
That deadly fluid that should have been drained out of him?
Even his legs and feet had started to swell, you nelgected him so long.
When they pounded on him, they pounded on that fluid-filled emaciated body of his.
You thought he wanted hospice, Dr. Death?  That wasn't hospice. 
That was torture and totally inhumane.
Slow starvation, probably slow dehydration too,
And the poison of his ascites you deliberately left in him.
Then--after days and hours of suffering--one split second of time took him away. 
He had to go someday.
But he didn't have to go then.  And he didn't have to go that way.
If the hospital doctor's goal had been to allow
Brian to live, then Brian would be living now.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I have learned all my life long what it means for me when someone dies.
It was hard, heavy-hearted learning.  But I learned.  So I know what it means this time.
It means I'll never be able to look again in Brian's eyes.
I'll never again see his speciial half-laugh / half-smile, when something struck him funny.
He would look as if he were about to laugh; his eyes would crinkle and close;
And it would end up being a joyful smile,
Wide and beautiful,
Showcasing, in the joy of his smile, his bright white teeth.
Then, still smiling like that, his eyes would open, full of light, sparkling with delight.
He is gone now.  Buried too far for me to go to him, to lay down a wreath,
And weep my tears of grief upon his grave.  I knew he was going to die.
I knew the cancer would kill him by and by.
I knew, from the first day of his diagnosis, it was very likely
That he would be killed by his cancer before I was killed by mine.
But I know he had more time of life left.  Good life left to live.  I know he wanted that time. 
I know he was killed on purpose,
By an educated but ignorant cold-blooded doctor,
Who negligently got the false idea that Brian wanted to give up treatments--
And made no effort to correct his misconception, simply by asking Brian,
Not if he wanted hospice--which Brian thought of only as people helping him--
But if he wanted to stop treatments, or to continue them. 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Brian was the brother of my soul.
In some ways, too, he was like my son. 
He told me he was a babe in the woods, and needed help.
I helped him.  I protected him.  For years.  I loved and took care of him.  For years. 
Now, there is nothing here of him.  He is buried far away. 
My time is running out; my cancer is active again, and I am not likely to keep insurance.
But I feel less fear.  I am too full of grief for my precious Brian to feel much fear for me.
I have already lived seven years longer than he was allowed to live.
Before Brian got cancer,
I grieved over the decades of life that cancer was going to cut from me;
When he got cancer,
I grieved over the decades of life that cancer was going to cut from him.
Now I grieve over the death of my friend who said, "Michael, just breathing is a joy;
Just to be able to breathe makes me glad to be alive."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Well, Dr. Death, how are you this morning?  Feel like you did something good?
Yes, Dr. Vasquez?  You refused to talk with me, despite Brian telling you to;
Even despite his written instructions for you to to talk with me, about his treatment here.
You starved him to death, with a little help from his ascites which you refused to drain.
I saw him die, Dr. Death.  I saw the fear and despair in his eyes.  I saw the pain.
If you had seen that too,
Perhaps you would have thought maybe you should have listened to me,
And asked Brian if he wanted to stop or continue his treatments;
I told you he did not know what hospice meant. 
Brian wanted to live, you cold-blooded killer! 
He wanted to keep breathing.  He told me so, very often.  If you had let him live,
He had at least a few more good months left; and I had a lot of loving care for him to give.
He and and I, and our good friend Mike Z,
Would have gone again to the Grand Canyon, for the other rim;
He would have seen all of the episodes of The Twilight Zone that he had not yet seen.
He could have watched more of his Rocky and Bullwinkle. 
He would have gone to concerts and movies and restaurants and parks.
So many, many things I woud have made sure his precious lving time would have,
To make the most of whatever amount of time he had left to spend.
And in the end, I would have called hospice for him.  Real hospice, kind and caring--
Not your tormenting, murderous imposed death.  He could have died peacefully in bed,
With me constantly by his side, holding his hand,
And talking with him as only the two of us could.
But because you ignored me and also ignored Brian, now Brian is dead.
All those moments of precious life that he could have had, that he would have had,
You killed.  And in your smug cerebral insulated arrogance,
No doubt you lie to yourself, that you did a good thing.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
What you did was terribly evil, on a par with what some Nazi doctors once did,
To defame the name of their profession and even the name of humanity.
You killed us both, you murdering monster.  Brian you tortured by starvation and neglect,
Refusing to drain his belly of the deadly fluid build-up,
The fluid build-up that in the end became huge, hurting Brian with pain and pressure.
And me, too, you killed. 
My heart you grieved so much greater than his natural death would have grieved.
So now I not only am someone painfully bereaved,
Facing death myself as it comes for me;
But all my happy memories of Brian are blood-stained,
And marred with memories of his unnecessary pain and fear,
And his loss of good months of life.  All caused by you, Dr. Death.
I know you don't believe in God's retribution or even our society's justice, Dr. Death;
Or you would never have murdered my friend, in so slow and monstrous a way.
You laughed in my face,
And told me that my taking care of Brian meant zero at the hospital;
You abused your authority and power to do what only the most wretchedly evil people do.
I hope you will be brought to justice, somehow, some day. 
But I have lost my most precious friend,
And I face my own dying in greater grief, because of you, false doctor.
I have a few pictures of Brian that I can see.  But Brian will not come back to me.

==============================
Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Witten on Sunday, March 13, 2011  12:37 pm  PDT
70 degrees F. Humidity: 19%  Forecast: overcast
Copyright 2011 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved.