I looked out for him.  That is what my best friend Brian said.
The photo studio had taken many photographs of the two of us.
Brian picked one out, and said: "This is the one to enlarge."  (We were allowed one.)
I said, "No, Brian, not this one; look--your eyes are closed."  Brian's bright brown eyes.
He replied: "But your eyes are open.  It shows that you are looking out for me."
Looking out for him.  Looking out for my lifetime's most loved, very best friend.
I tried. Mostly I succeeded.  But finally I failed.
I could not keep that hospital emergency room doctor from killing Brian.
I now know things I could have done, and should have done, to save him.
But it is too late now.  Brian is dead.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
So now there is this beautiful image--precious Brian with his beautiful smile,
And my arms around him, like a protector--his hand pressed on my chest--
An image of love perfectly showing.  Two straight guys who loved each other deeply.
Differences, few and complementary; in most ways, so many ways, two peas in a pod.
Now that photo is large and shows two living friends.  But it reminds me that I failed.
My eyes were open; and I was looking out for Brian; but I was stupefied
By the then-inexplicable hostility of the emergency room doctor.  His harsh reply,
When I told him I was Brian's care-taker and his closest friend: "That means zero here."
Later, he threatened to remove me for interfering--for giving Brian a low-sugar Gatorade,
Approved by his own nutritionist; I could not guess this doctor had the morals of Mengele,
And intended to make sure that the food and treatment Brian needed to live meant zero.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The doctor insisted that Brian was competent and wanted hospice; though I told him
Brian did not know the full meaning of the word.  I had wanted Brian not to fear hospice;
I had taken him to a provider.  I told him that, when the time came, I would make sure
He was well cared for.  Brian got Kool Aid and cookies; a pastor came to us and prayed.
Oh, many prayers we prayed!  The hospice visit had been good; Brian's day was made.
So Brian thought hospice just meant treats, and good people helping and praying with us.
I told the hospital doctor to ask Brian in plain English if he wanted to continue treatments;
And if he wanted to continue to live.  Brian will tell you he wants to live as long as he can.
A rude, insensitive doctor; but I did not suspect the truth.  Brian's emergency was over.
He should be sent home.  Why was an emergency room doctor talking about hospice? 
If the doctor had let us be, Brian and me--we would have found him real hospice, in time--
Where Brian could have enjoyed eating, relieved of ascites-fluid pain, and felt loved.
The doctor intimidated him so bad, that Brian was too afraid even to say he was hungry. 
So the doctor cold-bloodedly starved Brian to death, inflicting involuntary euthanasia;
And cruelly refused, all twelve days, to drain his ascites--painful, deadly fluid build-up.
Brian wanted to live as long as he could.  Only the week before--"Michael," he told me,
"Just the joy of breathing makes me glad to be alive."  But he was able to do a lot more;
He was walking and talking and driving; reading books and watching movies; thriving;
And he had finally begun to eat well again, with the Marinol giving him a good appetite.
Brian had at least several more months of good life left to live, and to love the light.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Brian's cancer didn't kill him; the hospital doctor decided ruthlessly to end his life.
The doctor put him on NPO: Nothing by mouth.  He had done that for the first three days.
Then, when Brian was allowed to eat and drink again, I spoon-fed and fork-fed him;
And he began to eat well, and with enjoyment, again.  For a few good days, we planned.
We talked.  Then suddenly, slam: the doctor shut the door on food and drink once more. 
Without discussion.  With Brian so thin and malnourished.  For a test Brian didn't need--
For minor bleeding we already knew all about, for more than a month before;
We'd been told by Brian's outside doctor what was causing it and it wasn't serious.
But Brian was forbidden to eat, and the doctor would not listen to either Brian or me.
Brian was forced to go without food or drink, supposedly waiting for a test he didn't need,
For a scandalously, negligently, deliberately long time.  A week without food or drink.
Each day we hoped the test would be done, to free him.  I could not really think
That he could be cut off from food and water for a whole week!  But the days went by.
I could see it then; I finally put it all together, and I could see why:
Ignorantly thinking Brian wanted hospice, the doctor wanted to cause Brian to die.
But this was not the comfort of hospice; this was pain and suffering, in sheer horror.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For a week, Brian was too afraid to say that he was hungry. 
Then Brian told visitors who asked him how he was:
"I haven't eaten in a week.  I'm really, really hungry.  Could you get me some food?"
I had thought that his appetite had mercifully gone away again.  
It grieved my heart to hear that he was hungry all that time.
Why, Brian, didn't you tell me you were hungry?  He feared I would raise a big fuss--
If I knew he was suffering from hunger--and that the doctor would take me from his side.
I had been begging nurses, and everyone, to help us get Brian some nourishment.
I kept begging: "Tell the doctor Brian needs food."  He wasn't even intravenously fed.
I wish I had yelled out: "My friend is hungry, he needs food!  Now! Get the doctor!" 
Brian was clearly malnourished when he arrived, and had just gotten back his appetite.
I wish I had yelled, loud and demanding!  In the hospital bed he lay, pitifully frail and thin.
Maybe I would have been removed--the doctor didn't care about me or Brian--about us--
He committed a horrible sin and terrible crime--or there is no such thing as crime or sin.
Finally, Brian's body couldn't take it anymore.  I stayed by his side, praying, until he died.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
I saw his eyes looking at me, eyes full of longing for life--dark with sadness and fear--
Pained with hunger and the pressure and pain of neglected ascites fluid build-up.
I looked at him, feeling for him so much compassion and love; and he was looking at me.
Brian did not die of cancer.  He died from the arrogance of a doctor who refused to listen,
Who ignored Brian's instructions to talk with me, and ignored Brian's requests to talk;
And so, ignorantly and deliberately, the doctor stopped Brian from eating and drinking,
Refusing repeated requests to have Brian's belly drained of the painful, deadly fluid--
Allowing ascites fluid to build up so long, his belly looked bursting--big as a beach ball. 
This fluid build-up, if neglected--it is well known--can cause congestive heart failure.
That killed him, too.  Instead of beg, I should've yelled: "Drain this poison from my friend!"
No eating or drinking--not even intravenous feeding--
His body weakened by chemotherapy, and by a month of barely eating before Marinol-- 
No draining--plus intimidation, negligence, and patient abuse--all stopped Brian's heart. 
I suffered to stay, weeping and grieving over his body, till they came to take him away.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
His cancer didn't kill Brian; he was murdered.
But my cancer, now active again, will probably kill me.
All I know is that I am not afraid anymore to die.
I have too much love turned loss; too much joy has become sorrow;
Too much gratitude is ground into regret; too much love is lacerated with grief.
Knowing that I failed Brian in this final trial tears my heart to pieces.
It is too hard for me to swallow.
Somewhere, or nowhere, my precious friend Brian waits for me.
Wait for me, my friend.  I will follow.


=====================
Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Wednesday, February 9, 2011 6:55 pm PST
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael L.P. All rights reserved