I was sitting next to Grandpa when he handed me a picture of Uncle Bill, taken when he was about 12 years old. With tears in his eyes, he said, "My boy is gone."
It's a sad, and angering, story that should not have happened and that I should not be able to tell. Unfortunately, it is all too real, and being mad, very VERY mad, for the past two weeks, I needed to tell this story.
Over the past few years, I've heard a bit about Uncle Bill's life, despite the efforts of the adults to keep some of the sordid details from us kids. From what I gathered from the bits and pieces I was able to put together, Uncle Bill was a nice normal child. Intelligent, polite, athletic, very well liked. He was a star in the local swim club. He had lots of friends, always together in activities such as playing football on the front lawn and sleigh riding down the hill in front of the house. I heard a story once, in a game of touch football on the front lawn of his own home, he broke his leg. He recovered fully after a month of traction, and a few more months of healing and physical therapy. He always had friends and family around him for support. He was good in school, receiving good grades all through school, and receiving a BS degree in Environmental Sciences.
In general, he was a great child and a joy to his parents, with great potential and a bright future.
There were a few incidents in his early years. At age 14, he was picked up by the local police, and instead of being charged with public intoxication the local police drove him home and handed over to his parents. There were other similar incidents through his high school years, but none as serious as that first police encounter.
Then, off to college he went. While keeping his grades up, he also fully participated in the college social experience. Promiscuity, alcohol, and occasional recreational pharmaceuticals were a full part of life through his college years. I heard mom talking about the annual spring bash, where the college would allow a major brewing company bring in tractor trailers set up with beer taps in the side of the truck. Tables along side the trucks would be covered with hundreds of cups filled with beer. Rapidly consumed, and just as rapidly replaced as workers kept a constant flow of beer from the numerous taps on the side of the truck trailers. Apparently, that was Uncle Bill's favorite day of the year, free beer, as much as you could drink, all day.
After four years of the college, Uncle Bill graduated and entered the real world, and the daily work grind as an Industrial Hygienist. He was responsible for ensuring proper environmental clean up in public buildings. He spent a lot of time ensuring asbestos was properly removed from schools, making sure us kids were safe. He was even involved in the clean up of the World Trade Center after the first bombing before I was even born. Still very bright, friendly, capable, he had a very promising career ahead of him, despite the demons he learned well during his college days. Promiscuity, alcohol, and occasional recreational pharmaceuticals were a still part of life through his early working career.
His declining work habits, and a declining economy, resulted in periods of unemployment. He received additional training and certifications for on site safety officer for environmental clean ups. He was responsible for ensuring the safety of other workers on contamination clean up and construction sites. If you weren't wearing your hard hat (and followed all other safety laws), you weren't allowed in the work area. Uncle Bill was there to keep you safe. Somewhere around this time, after many relationships and other miscellaneous encounters with the opposite sex, he met his future wife. They got married, and two weeks later my cousin was born. Yes that was two weeks, I thought it was supposed to take longer? And his wife came with two pre-existing daughters. The oldest of Uncle Bill's new step daughters was already in the workforce as an exotic dancer in a local drinking establishment, a career I believe some men who may read this may be very familiar with.
At this point in Uncle Bill's life, I believe promiscuity, and even occasional recreational pharmaceuticals, were a less frequent part of life, but apparently they were still lurking around. Alcohol was, however, a constant companion in his every day life.
As alcohol consumption increased, the steadiness of work slowly declined. Also, as the years passed, there were increasing incidents between Uncle Bill, his wife, and the younger step daughter, resulting in several domestic violence charges. Based on my own experience with Uncle Bill, he was rude, crude, vulgar, loud, insulting, and rather annoying when he was drunk. Never violent, but he was very unpleasant to be around. And the drunker he was, the more unpleasant. When my cousin was around seven, her dad was asked to leave the apartment and not come back. While there were courts and judges involved, my aunt and uncle never got divorced. He paid child support most of the time, and kept in close communication with his wife and daughter mostly by phone; but he was no longer a party of their daily life.
Promiscuity, alcohol, and occasional recreational pharmaceuticals became the mainstay during this part of his life. Over the next few years he lived with several different girl friends, while still married to his wife. I heard something about being too cheap for a divorce. No longer regularly employed, he joined a local laborer’s union, and took jobs as they became available.
A few years after their separation, Uncle' Bill's wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. After surgery, chemo, and radiation treatments, she appeared to be cancer free. She was included in a trial program involving Tomaxifen, a supposedly new wonder drug against cancer. Being in this program, she did not need to pay the hundred's of dollars a month for this drug. Two years later, the trial program ended, and so did her use of Tomaxifen. A few years later, cancer returned, and after five more years of suffering, through many various treatments and painful symptoms, she finally passed away. My cousin’s mom was gone and her dad was mostly absent. She lived with her half sister, the younger of my uncle's step sisters, and her sister's three children by three different fathers. The older step sister had her own problems with drugs, jails, and poor career choices. My cousin is another long story I hope to tell someday.
After Uncle Bill's separation from his wife, while she was still alive and even still healthy, Uncle Bill had a few girl friends that he lived with. I remember two of them. The first one was very nice, and I remember how rude and insulting Uncle Bill was towards her, and others, at family gatherings where he always drank a lot. They lived together for a few years, why it lasted so long with his rude behavior I could not understand. Shortly after that relationship ended, Uncle Bill moved in with another girl friend. She drank a lot too, and I didn't think she was very nice, but Uncle Bill was even more insulting and rude to her when I saw them together. I heard the story of the end of their relationship. Uncle Bill came home to the apartment they shared, found the door lock changed and his belongings piled up in the hall. When he rang the bell, a man answered and told Uncle Bill he was no longer welcomed there, so he moved back home with grandpa.
During this time, Uncle Bill continued in his destructive life style. Promiscuity declined, who would have him? He was skinny and boney, had bad teeth, was always poorly dressed, and had jaundiced skin. Recreational pharmaceuticals were mostly replaced with abuse of prescription medications, oxycodone being the drug of choice. And for the most part, he only drank two beers at a time. He would walk, or ride his bike, to the liquor store and buy two cans a beer, the double sized 24 oz cans. He would walk to the liquor store five, six, or more times a day. He only bought two cans at a time to make sure he didn't drink too much; that worked so well! He walked because he had long since lost his driver’s license to DUI, and other moving violation convictions. Sometime, instead of walking, he would ride his bike, usually earlier in the day. He had trouble riding the bike later in the day; I wonder why? He was also on an anti-seizure medication, "Not to be taken with alcohol", which he was very careful to take first thing every morning with his first beer of the day.
About a month before my uncle died, he had an accident, falling off his bike since he tried riding it late in the day, it was already dark, and he had already made many trips to the liquor store. Grandpa brought him to the emergency room of the local hospital. His injuries were minor, and after addressing the injuries and dealing with his excessive drunkenness, they went home. There were some discussions about a visit to AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), and Uncle Bill even looked up local meeting times for AA. But instead of actually going to an AA meeting, he kept making his trips to the liquor store. Grandpa was always worried about his son, and as Uncle Bill was reaching an all time low, the worry level was at an all time high.
Then, a few weeks later, while AA was still occasionally discussed, Uncle Bill was starting to have abdominal pain. Grandpa wanted to take Uncle Bill to the doctor, but being uninsured, Uncle Bill refused. Finally, Uncle Bill said, "If I don't feel better tomorrow, I'll see a doctor."
That night he was rushed to the hospital, vomiting blood.
Mom dragged me along to see Uncle Bill the next day. We brought my cousin, his daughter, and grandpa with us. The news was bad. He was on a respirator and had very low blood pressure that medications could not sufficiently improve. He had a very high white blood cell count. And a lot of internal bleeding. He was barely conscious while we were there, but we believe did recognize his daughter, and maybe the rest of us. When he saw is daughter he seemed very upset, setting off lots of alarms on the many pieces of medical equipment he was attached to.
I've seen lots of doctor/hospital shows, with all the tubes and wires and medical equipment attached to the patient. Looks scary on TV, try seeing it in real life. That was a very frightening visit to the hospital.
I also remember my own personnal experiences with hospitals.
Seeing all those tubes, wires, and machines hooked up reminded me of me, looking pretty much the same. When I was young, I would remember getting sick, then waking up in the hospital. I never remembered actually going to the hospital, just waking up in the white room, in the big white bed. I always had something hooked up to me, sometimes I would have several wires and tubes. And once I remember the tubes down my throat. That was the scariest time. But even worse than the tubes and wires would be the fact that I always woke up alone. There would usually be a nurse around somewhere, if I didn't see her when I woke up, she would come into the room within a few minutes. But there was never mom, or dad, or anyone else I knew. Alone. That was scariest of all.
I don't remember the first few times I was in the hospital, I was very young. But by the time I do remember my stays in those stark white beds with flouresent lights looking down at me, it was all very familiar. But still just as scary. When I woke, I never had my glasses, so I was nearly blind. I would still feel real sick. Trying to breath was still hard, I just couldn't get a real good breath without it hurting, without feeling like I would start coughing again. I tried real hard not to cough, I could see it bothered the nurses.
The nurses would turn on the TV, and ask me what I wanted to watch, I would usually not say anything, or if I did, I would say "Nothing." The last couple times in the hospital, mom would bring my glasses and hearing aids after a day or so. Most of the time I was just nearly blind, and not hearing too well either. So when the nurses left the TV on for me, it was just an annoying nusance. Mostly, I would just lay there, looking at the ceiling. The nurses would ask if I needed to pee. If I shook my head yes, they would help me. Other than that, I would just lay in the white bed. Two days. Three days. Once I think it was five days.
Usually I would be in the hospital only a couple days once I was awake. Mom would stop in for a few minutes every day. No other visitors. Just nurses and doctors. They would take off most of the tubes and wires. Listen to my chest. Ask me lots of questions, usually, "How do you feel?" Other then "OK", I don't think I really said much. They would bring food, I wouldn't eat much. I wasn't hungry, and the food was usually pretty gross.
Then mom would show up, and take me home. Like the nurses, mom would ask how I was, and I would give the obligatory OK. Mom didn't waste much breath with talking to me, she knew I wasn't likely to say anything in response.
What I remember most about those trips to the hospital was loneliness. I was usually content with Loneliness. Loneliness was my most reliable companion, almost like a friend. Like Death was my friend a few years later. I think they are closely related, maybe cousins. But the loneliness of the hospital was painfully oppressive.
It's been years since I was that sick, but every time I get even a little shiffle, I think of those lonely days in the hospital. I've worked very hard to stay healthy for years now. And so far so good. But I know I could be one rhino virus from another trip to the stark white lonely room. I know being in good shape doesn't always mean being in good health. The common cold still gives me problems, but not nearly as bad as when I was little. My ears, eyes, nose, and throat are just as broken as ever, waiting for that opportunity to knock me down. Every day I fight back. I run, I exersize, I eat well, I watch my weight, take my vitamines, listen to at least some of what the doctors tell me. I'm staying here as long as I can, dispite my body's attempts to do me in. Back then, staying here was not a priority. Leaving was on my mind a lot, more and more as the years went by.
First time we saw Uncle Bill he looked very frightened, but I don't think it was from being alone. I was pretty sure he was afraid he was going to die. When he saw his daughter, he looked sad, like he didn't want her to see him like this.
Next day we got more information about Uncle Bill. His blood was septic, he had renal failure, hemorrhaging throughout his digestive track, low blood pressure, a mass on his pancreas, and a few other serious problems such as diabetes which no one knew about. He was put on dialysis. He no longer looked aware of his surroundings. He just laid there in the stark white bed, with tubes and wires, and an army of noisy machines around him.
Mom visited a few times over that week, making the hour and a half each way trip up the Jersey Turnpike. Grandpa was there for hours every day. I was dragged along again a couple more times that week after Uncle Bill arrived at the hospital. A few days after he first arrived at the hospital, the third time I saw him, he appeared to be in a coma to me. I think he was already gone, just machines keeping his body moving. Breathing for him. Puffing and clicking and beeping for him. Mom and grandpa were still trying to talk to him and commenting about how much he actually heard.
A couple days later, his eyes were not fully closed, they moved around periodically, but not together, and half the time rolled up so only the white was visible. Mom looked at his feet, and I unfortunately saw; they were badly swollen, and the toes were black. I also saw his hands, the fingers were turning black. His ears were turning black. His lips were turning black. There were other dark or black spots visible. He was still breathing with the respirator, and his heart was beating, but I was now sure he was already dead. We had to leave the room for a few minutes while the nurse started his dialysis. Mom dragged me there again two days later, he looked even worse. They could not do dialysis anymore; his blood pressure was too low.
So, looking at Uncle Bill, lying there, dying, actually already dead, with those wires, tubes, machines pumping air noisily in and out, I would ask myself "Why?" And "How?" Why would anyone do this to themselves? How bad could things be that he let drinking and drugs put him here, in his stark white room, in his stark white bed? Did his own life mean so little to himself? Did the pain he caused to those around him mean so little? Did the pained lost look I saw on his daughter not matter to him?
Mom convinced grandpa it was time for a DNR. They talked to the medical staff taking care of Uncle Bill. They all agreed, don't remove any of the drugs or equipment currently in use, but no new treatments. They said they would keep him comfortable, even though he already was so far gone he could not feel anything. They said we should go home, they said they would call if there was any change, that change was understood by everyone to be his death. An hour later, the hospital called. The first line of this story was just a few minutes later, grandpa's boy was gone. It was just me and grandpa, mom was on the phone in the other room breaking the news to Uncle Bill's daughter. It appeared to me to be an unpleasant end for an unpleasant life.
So now, after the story about Uncle Bill, we get to the reason I wrote this story. A lot of people who know me think I'm a little strange, some even think of me as broken. One reason is I rarely cry. Well, I do cry when I'm sad, but I usually try to do so in private. I am good at sharing joy, but I'm not good at sharing sadness. And while there was plenty of reason to be sad about this story, I was mostly mad. I had to write this story because I have been really REALLY mad for two weeks, since first hearing about Uncle Bill being in the hospital, and WHY he was there.
It was heart breaking to sit next to grandpa and listen to his pain at the loss of his son. Heart breaking to see him suffer watching his son die over the previous week. Heart breaking to see mom worry about her father, her dying brother, and her soon to be orphaned niece. Really heart breaking to see my cousin, who so recently lost her mother to cancer, now watch her father dying. Painfully sad helping mom preparing for the funeral, suffering through the wake and funeral, and the family gathering afterwards. Yes it is very sad.
At the funeral, I saw many family and friends. There were a lot of tears. I heard a few people say, "Just like Uncle Larry." Uncle Larry was grandpa's brother, who died in his late forty’s many years ago from drinking too much. I though to myself, "Just like dad."
I understand that there is sickness, and there are accidents, that cause tragedies. Those are very sad. Life is precious, to have life end tragically is always very sad. For that I would have tears.
I remember my Uncle Pete. He was great at tickling all the young kids in the family. He loved playing games with everyone young and old. He was everyone's favorite uncle. We didn't get to see him a lot his last few years, he was living in Honduras, running a school with 2700 students. Before that he was stationed in New York City for a few years. We really liked to visit him there; together we went to all kinds of neat places around the city, my favorites were museums and China Town. He was a Franciscan Priest, and a couple years ago suffered a brain aneurysm in the middle of saying Sunday Mass for his students. He died a few hours later. That was very sad and tragic, everyone cried at his funeral, even me although I tried to hide my tears. It's been a couple years and grammy still cries.
Death is impartial, when it's your time to go, whether you are good or not so good, you can't escape death. The important part is how you lived, not how you died.
But WHY did Uncle Bill die? Because of how he lived! Uncle Bill drank himself to death! Did he care what it did to those around him. And don't tell me it's a disease; if your sick, get help!! A father should never have to bury his child. A young women should not lose a father like that. And my mom really didn't need the pain and stress Uncle Bill has caused with her own medical problems; her glucose readings have been very high for two weeks. Uncle Bill not only carelessly, and thoughtlessly, threw away his own life; I will never forgive him for the pain and suffering his drinking has caused to those I love, not just in his death but also in his life. So not one tear, not one speck of sympathy for Uncle Bill. My anger will not allow it.
If you drink too much, please learn from the mistakes of others. You're not just hurting yourself; you're hurting those around you.
See also MADD - Mothers Against Drunk Driving
