Through To The Other Side

I have never been one to think for a moment that people actually care about my life. People love me, I know that, but no one REALLY cares about anyone but themselves. It's a hard truth. But a true on.

Or am I wrong? If I am, then I should breathe a sigh of relief and start talkin! People do care and will listen, to a point. Let’s say that.

Everyone has a breaking point. I think 11 years/8 months might be it.

Many times I have stared at this page and wanted to write, but I am so worried that it (this page) will think I am self involved, narcissistic, a pain in the ass. Many times I have stared at a friend and thought the same thing.

Time to get over it. No more complaints. Just continue.

I have known Chad since I was 7. He was my big brother for 10 years, and my best friend for 10 years after that. Somewhere along the way, he was my boyfriend for three. He nurtured me back to life after my brother died. I always gave him credit for that, but when I think about it, maybe I nurtured him through that pain as well. He had lost that same special person. We leaned on each other and came out the other end the best we could.

Unfortunately, waiting for us on the other end was a scary monster called Multiple Myeloma (Blood Cancer) who decided we needed to complete another test.

Not more than a year and a half later Chad started feeling ill, weak, exhausted. Foods weren't sitting well and things just weren't right. Test, after test, after test.

DIAGNOSIS!

I was working at Second Cup at Park Royal at that time, and Chad insisted I did not need to come to that particular appointment. "Everything will be fine", "Don't worry". I get a call at work saying he is outside and needs to talk. We drive over to Capilano River and with his shaken voice he tells me. I have no idea the words that were said that day. All I remember was that I stared down at my shoes the entire time he spoke.

I had been through the diagnosis explanation before, except with my brother it all seemed like a dream, like it wasn't real. At this point I had learned how 'real' cancer was and I knew this was no joke. Although, come to think of it, I did feel as though the world outside had stopped.

The world did stop, for a day. Then it began like a hurricane. Chad had treatments, scans, appointments, prescriptions, tests, blood work. On and on it went. He was put on the bone marrow transplant list and off WE went.

We enjoyed one of the best summers of my life. We made the most of everything. Every single moment. Trips to the Okanagan, motorcylce rides to Whistler, eating out, and barbecuing in!

Then we got the call.

Transplant time came, and there we were. The week before he was admitted was a busy one. You would think it would be filled with panic attacks and stress but it was filled with adventure. We went to my cabin in Moat Lake to spread my brother’s ashes. Chad (days away from a month long stay in the hospital managed to hike four hours out) he always did the best he could to feel alive. The DAY he went in to the hospital my dad had made a reservation for Chad to take a flying lesson. This guy actually flew a plane hours before he checked in. I don't think he was able to take the whole experience in but I believe it gave him some extra oxygen to hit the ground running.

He got situated in his new digs at Vancouver General Hospital. A quiet room at the end of the hall with a beautiful view. One great thing about VGH, spectacular views. They should put that on the brochure.

He was in for a month. They had to bring his counts down to zero, so that his body couldn't fight the foreign bone marrow that he would be receiving in a few short weeks. Radiation, chemo, yuckity yuck. Poor guy felt like garbage. I got pretty comfortable in that hospital, I have to tell ya. I had my spot where I would buy my lunch, I knew how to use the dumbwaiter to order food up for Chad, I watched his counts drop every day, did the arts and crafts that Chad should have been doing but was too weak to bother with, I had my regular walks, and regular restaurants that I would take people when we had visitors. I began to read his movements and his facial expressions and it made me feel special to know him that well.

The transplant was remarkably uneventful, drip, drip, drip, into his IV. That was it. Chad remembers that I was in the other room playing cards with his mother but he is wrong. When that IV began, I was standing right next to him until the very last drip.

Recovery.

He worked his body like a mad man, no different than how he had treated it in his earlier, healthier life. Bit by bit, he got stronger and stronger. Our relationship struggled during this part because I had lost sight of the fact that we were a team. The moment he was diagnosed, our relationship changed and we became a team, not a couple. As soon as he showed signs of improvement, I wiped my hands and said "now we are back in a 'relationship' and I have needs!" I figured that just because he wasn't lying in a hospital bed he was fine. I forgot that this was our test. Transplant and treatment was Chad’s test. The aftermath was ours. And I failed.

Big time.

How DO I Explain

I am not one to write, especially a blog. I have trouble seeing the point. But when I read others I see it clearly. So clearly. "Why can't I do that?" I asked myself this, this afternoon. I began. So here I am. The only trouble is I am a terrible writer so I will do the best I can and see how it goes.

I am a sad little girl, who is terribly bored of being sad. I have had my fair share of misfortunes in this life but, c'mon, who hasn't. I will self diagnose and say I live and long for the past to an unhealthy degree. Which obviously is something I need to work on, but while I'm here I might as well linger a little and tell you (whoever you are) something about it.

My brother died when I was 17 years old. The day after is 24th birthday. He died of a cancer that apparantly "you don't die from". He was the best guy in the world (isn't everyones brother?). He smiled, he loved, he was everyone's friend, he brought people together and created gutwrenching laughter . He was such a trooper and non complainer that even when he felt his body shutting down he never told anyone. Never wanted to bother anyone, which resulted in a late diagnosis, and the rest is history.

His fight was fought with such strength that after almost 11 years it still brings tears to my eyes to think of. I wonder what he would be now. Where he would be now. Would he be a husband? Would he not? Would he be a father? A great father? Yes. Where would he be working? Would we still get along? Would I be able to rely on him? Would he sound the same? Would he remember my birthday?

The trouble is, I have been unable to let go of the sadness that surrounds this particular story, let alone all the others. I dwell on the loss, the longing, the tragedy, and not on the fact that I had this man, this kid, in my life to begin with. I am a lucky girl to have been a part of his life and to witness his fight.

I have dreams of him all the time. He is usually sick in them, but he still manages to bring his wonderful sparkle into my nights and I thank him for taking the time to visit me.

It seems that since this day on August 28th, 1999. I haven't been able to take a full breath.

Fast forward 10 years and three months, and my breath gets weaker. A loss so big. Jay's best friend and I'll say it, the love of my life (whether together or apart) leaves the world behind as well.

So hard to breath, so hard to think, so hard to smile.

What do I do now?