August 27th, 2009
One of the highlights of my year! I was over at my mothers having a semi birthday party, thing, for my brother. He would have been 34. It was also the day before the tenth anniversary of his death.
My mother, sister, stepdad, and a few others, I think (memory is useless these days). We were all having a little celebration, a private party, a sad remembrance, all bundled into one. When all of a sudden, a marvelous surprise!!
My brother’s old friends marched up the side lawn.
Jeff Potts, Paul Van Horne, Jason Minello, and Chad Warren showed up with flowers and flying colors. I knew Chad would be arriving because I had spoken to him, but not the others. I remember how happy I was for my mother and sister. They needed that. They needed to know that people still thought of Jay, remembered Jay, and wished just as much as we did, that he was still with us.
These boys have been in and out of our lives for over 20 years! They played football with him, went to high school with him, partied, lived, and stayed by him while he was sick. They saw his every side, and loved every side of him. After he was gone, they stayed very much a part of our lives. But as times change, people change, people come and go. There were sometimes years that we would go without seeing or hearing from one another.
For them to show up on that day proved to us that how ever much time may go by, I can safely say that they are and will remain my big brothers.
Anyway, that day was marvelous! The sun was shining, the booze was flowing, and I vaguely remember a few drunken speeches being made.
One thing I do remember clearly though, was that Chad couldn't stand up for very long. He seemed tired and preoccupied. He had been doing so well the past few months. Almost a year earlier he had had another bone marrow transplant and after all the setbacks, and pain of recovery, he seemed to have made it. He had travelled to Europe for god’s sake!
But on this day, he looked tired. That's all I remember.
October 14th, 2009
Looking back, I know exactly why he suggested this. He was unable to go for a walk. At least that day he was unable to go for a walk. He didn't have it in him. I remember walking from the car with him to Cactus and him getting winded.
Great lunch!
Worried Katharine.
October 31st, 2009
Chad starts a blog (http://www.chadwarren604.blogspot.com/) .
Describing his fight from the very start. But littered amongst his past were some insights into his present. Swine flu, congestive heart failure, pneumonia, cancer. It was back.
His body was being eaten alive from the inside out.
No problem, he will be fine, NOTHING can happen to him.
Chad was VERY good at keeping his illness to himself. Never wanting to worry anyone. I fought him pretty hard on this and, this time, I was able to get through. He let me in. He didn't have a choice really. I was relentless. There was no escaping me.
Visiting him on the 15th floor of Vancouver General. A place all too familiar to me. It felt so strange going back, yet, because I had spent so much time there, it was almost like coming home. I got kitted out in my swine flu armor. Gown, gloves, mask, goggles. I delivered cookies, played games, talked, told stories, fixed pillows, got water. All things I had gained experience with during his first transplant.
Early November he was still fighting, he had it in him. He had some 'fight' left. Although time was ticking and treatment options were slim.
They had stopped treatment because of the swine flu. So Chad was just waiting. Waiting for someone to come up with an option for him. SOMETHING. ANYTHING.
They took too long.
No problem, he will be fine, NOTHING can happen to him.
The doctors decided to let him go home since there was nothing they could do for him in hospital and he would be more comfortable in his apartment. They came up with a cocktail of drugs and everyone’s fingers were crossed. Hope was high.
I remember an evening spent with him when he was still healthy enough to drive. I was just checking in to see how he was and if he needed anything. I thought I might stop by for a bit. He said he needed to get out of the house and would come and get me. He picked me up from work and drove back to the apartment. But on the way, he got a craving for a McDonalds Chicken McNugggets and a Strawberry Sundae (I got caramel). By this time he had been in the car for about a half hour and he was reaching his limit. I can’t describe the urgency in his voice when waiting in line at the drive-thru, waiting for red lights, and waiting for the elevator to his apartment. It was like he was Cinderella and the clock was about to strike midnight. He was so exhausted. Needing to sit down so badly. No matter how hard I try, I cannot begin to imagine how he must have felt.
I got a few great visits with him. His wonderful girlfriend and (I am proud to say) my friend as well, asked me to stay with him for a weekend while she went for a reboot in Whistler. I jumped at the chance.
November 21st, 2009
Pizza was ordered. Food in Chad's belly. I have done my job!
We sat. Quietly. A small few words here and there, but mainly quiet. He had nothing left to give except to fight. Focusing on a conversation was tricky for him. He dozed in and out of consciousness. His belly was distended because his organs were so swollen, so finding a comfortable position was not an easy task. He was up and down all night. I just watched him, and helped him in anyway I could. It was not until the sun came out that he got into a deep sleep. It lasted maybe an hour which was great! An hour of peace for him was a godsend.
One thing I remember well is his stubbornness even through the pain. A trait he had carried with him his whole life. That night he would never directly ask me to get him anything. It was always:
"Hey, do you feel like maybe sharing a muffin?" or "Do you maybe want some juice?"
"Sure Chad, would you like some too?"
"Ya, that would be great, thanks."
If only he knew how much it meant when he asked me for something. How much purpose and pride it gave me to be able to help him in any possible way I could. If getting a muffin for him, or helping him put his jacket on was going to make his day a fraction easier, then I was going to be the best muffin getter, and jacket putter onner there ever was!
Having that night with him has meant more to me than anyone will ever know. It was a night I will tuck away into my memory box and never throw away.
I did not know he would die one week later.
