And then there were two

My uncle John died tonight. He was the second of 3 brothers in my father's family.

John was admitted to the hospital late last night, after a pretty rough weekend. Apparently he was feeling rough on Friday, but was still mobile and alert. Within 3 days he'd lost 8 pounds and all but collapsed. Being the type of man who hated doctors, he refused to go until it got to the point where he was coughing up blood and almost unconcious, so he couldn't resist my dad putting him in the truck and taking him to emergency.

John was a heavy, heavy drinker and an equally heavy smoker. He wasn't fat, but didn't exercise much and ate very poorly, if at all. Many years ago he went to the hospital because his legs simply stopped working. His liver had all but shut down and his body was all off balance because all he consumed was alcohol, coffee, cigarettes and red meat. He was on protein overload and deficiant in every other vitamin and mineral. When he got out he tried to quit the sauce, but all his buddies were beer drinkers, so it didn't last long.

This time around the doctors found lukemia, his kidneys were shut down along with the liver, which led to septic (infected) blood, and there was fluid around his heart. He also started having seizures because of the severe alcohol and nicotine withdrawl. It was after the second seizure this morning that he lost conciousness and never returned. It was after the second heart attack tonight that his body never returned. When the first heart attack happened, the hospital called my father and asked what they should do if it happened again. He simply asked that they let him be. I know that's what he would have wanted, and what my father would want in the same situation.

When I saw John in ICU today, I didn't see a person lying in that bed. What I saw was the shell of a human being with 6 IV's, surrounded by numerous screens with colours, graphs and beeps, and this monsterous series of tubes shoved into his mouth and down his throat. He could no longer breath on his own. I don't know if anyone reading this has ever seen someone on a ventilator, but it's not a pretty site. There's something eerily disturbing about watching this unnatural breath being pumped in and out of a body. It's one of those images that gets etched and burned into your mind, never to be erased or forgotten. Kind of like the time a girl committed suicide by jumping off a bulding and landed beside my car. It sounded as if someone had dropped a hunk of ground beef onto the pavement (thankfully I didn't see the body). I've never forgotten that sound.

But I digress. As I mentioned, John was a heavy drinker. It all started almost 20 years ago, and no one really knows why. He used to take care of me a lot as a kid, but as the years went on, the alcohol took over. He eventually lost his job and opened up his own business at home doing body work on cars and such. More of an excuse to sit around and drink, from what I saw. The last time I saw him was sometime last year. He was around 57 but looked more like 77. Grey hair, with an old weathered leathery face, enlarged nose, and droopy, blood-shot bags under his eyes. He looked even older today.

I'm sad, but not surprised to see him go. I feel like I should be more upset than I am, but we just weren't that close. What I am most worried about is my father and all the things he is left to deal with - namely my grandmother. She still lives at home, but suffers from dementia and alzheimers. John was not married and so he still lived at home with her, but since he was the way he was, my father was still the primary care giver along with a nurse that popped by once or twice a day. Even though John didn't do much, we felt secure in the knowledge that there was someone there with her at night. Now that's not the case. We talked in the past about putting her in a home, but no one wanted to do it. Now my father doesn't really have a choice. And it's not a choice he wants to make, even though it will end up making his life much easier.

So that sort of sums up my day. It's amazing how a single phone call can change your life. We aren't certain yet, but it looks like that receiving will be on Friday, with the funeral on Saturday. At least the weather will be nice.

Oh, and did I mention it's my birthday on Sunday?

Christ.