A Friend at The End

The doctor explained that my liver was failing, by morning the rest of my organs would follow. He told me they would make me as comfortable as possible and alert my family. I told him not to bother. There wasn’t anyone left. Like most things, this too, would be an individual experience.

The morphine felt warm as I pressed the button over and over. It was time to sleep. If I’m lucky, that’s when it will happen. The lack of any solid food has made my body weak, any movement takes the better part of my energy. The nurse made a comment about the blood in my stool when she changed the bedpan. I laughed a dying man’s laugh and whispered: “that’s normal right? My liver is failing, by daylight the rest of me. That’s just my body trying to make the autopsy cleaner.” Giving the best smile I could and falling back to sleep.

Imagine the surprise when I open my eyes to her sweet heavenly face. Sitting on the chair beside the bed, she held my yellow, inked up hand in her soft, delicate palm. Trying to sit up a little she stops me and whispers “Just let yourself rest. Don’t worry about anything my dude, I just got the call and wanted to be here.” Placing a finger over my lips as I try to speak. “Shhh, just relax. You don’t have to do this alone, I’m here now.”

From the prison cell behind my eyes, my body, my personal Judas, betraying me as I lie there. Screaming, in my own mind “What are you doing here, who told you, what call, who called you?” Questions that no one could hear. The only sound I could muster was a whisper, “Why?” It’s been thirty years since the last time we spoke.

“Because I love you stupid! Now just get some rest, I’ll be right here.”

When I came to, it was surprising to see the sun shining. My eyes had to struggle to focus through the burn and bright reflection. Looking down, I see a jumbled mess of brown hair nestled under my arm. The stabbing in my abdomen has returned, only exciting it more as I struggle to find the bed control. Finding the plastic toy labelled “remote” under my leg, I push the arrow pointing up, raising the head of the bed to the sitting position. My stomach and intestines at war with one another. Shredding and tearing through cartilage and muscle, each microscopic organism fighting for its own survival, knowing the end is soon to come.

All the movement must have woken her. Still nestled into my side, slowly stirring to life. I lean down and gently kiss the top of her head while I whisper: “Thank you for coming”. She sat up like a rocket, startled by the environment. Taking a minute to look around before her eyes lock on mine. I can feel her sadness welling up as she rolled over to hug me. Keeping her face buried in the blanket on my chest, I feel the subtle convulsions of her whimpering. I can feel the sadness in my own body, though I don’t know if I can cry. Maybe the tear ducts have dried up as my body milks every bit of mineral and vitality out of itself. Maybe there just aren’t anymore tears for me to cry. When I cranked the morphine last night and fell asleep, that was supposed to be it. I had accepted my fate and was ready to move on. When I saw her sitting next to me, something changed.

What that was I wasn’t quite sure. I lean back in my bed pondering while she goes to get herself some coffee and a snack.

The room was bright with the sun reflecting off the white medical machinery. As the nurse came in to check my vitals, “You know we were all surprised when we came in at shift change this morning to find you still kicking.”

“Think you guys were surprised? Imagine how I felt when I woke up.” I said with a weak chuckle. I just relaxed while she scurries around checking things and taking notes.

“Could it have anything to do with that little minx visiting?” She asked nodding to the door.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Though I’ll admit talking seems easier this morning.”

“Well, that could be because you haven’t hit your morphine drip since last night.”

“You really think that was the drugs?”

“Of course, silly, liver failure will make you weak, it also explains that pain in your abdomen, just under your ribs, but it doesn’t take away your voice. The opiates do that. Essentially, your liver can no longer function as the filter of the body. All the toxins in your system are going directly into your blood stream. Liver disease almost never makes it this far, usually we can catch it in time. This is the problem with the health insurance crisis, people who don’t have insurance wait way to long to come in when they have a problem. By the time you came to us your liver was almost entirely scar tissue. That’s why you have jaundice now, because you waited until your liver failed completely, before you came in.”

“I knew it was bad, guess I just didn’t think a stomach-ache would kill me.”

Fluffing the pillow behind my head, and switching out the bed pan, she stopped and looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Usually it won’t honey, you just had a run of bad luck here. Honestly, I wish there was more we could do for you. You’ve been so much fun to have around these last few days. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone try to laugh so much when they knew they were dying.”

Looking up to see my dear friend return to the room, I turned to the nurse. “What other choice did I have? Once you accept the reality of it, all you can really do is laugh.”

“I just wish other patients shared that same mentality.” She said, as she jotted a few notes in my folder and disappeared out the door.

Brooke had sat down in her chair with a cup of coffee and was silently gazing at me. “What, what is it?” I asked, letting the corner of my mouth roll upward into a grin.

“You look better today.”

“Thank you.” I said. “Talking seems a little easier too.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, right? Could that mean you’re getting better?” She asked.

“I doubt it, they said my liver was about ninety eight percent scar tissue, that it was just a collection of dead cells inside my stomach.”

“How did you let it get so bad? How could you have not known it was this serious?”

Trying to sit up a little more, and taking a sip of the water the nurse had left, “How long have you known me? When was the last time I was eager to go to a hospital? Besides, without being able to afford health insurance, what option did I really have? Im only in my fifties, I don’t qualify for Medicare yet, and you know my job never had affordable insurance.”

“I just wish you would have come sooner is all. What about me, can I donate a piece of my liver?”

“I don’t know if they will, or if you can. What I do know is that without insurance, they wouldn’t even put me on the transplant list. “

“That’s fucking bullshit, God I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Have you considered that you’re doing exactly what I need you to do right now?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t, I guess I just always want to save the people I love.”

“I know Brooke, usually sacrificing yourself in the process.”

“Isn’t that what love is?” She asks, unsure of herself.

“No, no, It Abso-fucking-lutely Does Not!” I replied, with all the enthusiasm left in my body. “I’ve never believed that to love someone, you have to make yourself less to make them more. That just doesn’t make sense to me. Love is acceptance, love is giving, love is freeing, and freedom. One thing that love is not, is sacrifice. In what world does it make sense to make yourself less, to make someone else more?”

She blinked a couple times, maybe in astonishment, maybe flabbergasted, but it was at least a full minute before she spoke. “I guess I just never thought about it, I always just assumed to love meant to sacrifice.”

“That’s my problem with society anymore, you were taught that, you’ve been taught that love equals pain. That love will always hurt, and you just need to find someone who minimizes that. Fuck all that. Maybe that’s why I’ve been alone all these years, because I’ve always said: ‘I would rather die alone, than give a single minute to something that isn’t meant for me.’ I would much rather live for my own love, experience, curiosity, thrill, and vitality, than spend my life minimizing myself, to maximize someone else. I just can’t wrap my head around that.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak, she sat, with her hands neatly folded in her lap. She looked straight through me. I was tired, our talk had taken most of my energy. Grabbing the morphine button and holding it up, I signaled that I needed a break. I heard her tell me that she was going to talk to the nurse about donating her liver. I pressed the down button on the toy and closed my eyes.

As the head of the bed elevated to a more comfortable position, I settled in and pulled the blanket up to my chin. What if I felt better today because she needed me? What if my mind and body had gathered up all the strength it had, to have one last conversation? To help the world one last time by offering an alternate perspective. Smiling as I feel myself begin drifting off. The slow rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor slows to a singular, steady, high pitched beep. I feel the corners of my mouth curl upward in a smile as I let out the last burst of air from my tired old lungs.