The War of Life

He leaned into me and rested his forehead against my collarbone.

....."I'm so sorry Red..." he murmured calling me by the nickname he customarily uses when he sees me. I reached my arm around his shoulders and rubbed his back, trying to comfort him.
....."It's okay honi, these things happen. Please don't worry about it..."
....."I just can't do this anymore..."
....."Yes you can, I know you can. This is just a bad day, you've had them before, you may have them again. They happen and it's okay."

At the moment "Gary" and I were standing in the midst of what we in the medical world call a "Code Brown." Gary is a chemo patient and with no warning he had managed to get sick, both ends simultaneously just as we were helping him from stretcher to hospital bed. The arch of his forward eruption had caught me just above the waist, catching my jacket, shirt and slacks. My partner today is Ron, and he is already in-motion getting things cleaned up again. An Admit nurse sticks her head in the door, but the moment she sees what's happened she vanishes fast hoping she has not been seen.

....."I'm so tired of it all Red," Gary whispers in a hoarse sounding voice, another casualty of the chemo. Gary's body shook as he silently sobbed against my shoulder. Ron looked up at me from where he was kneeling on the floor trying to clean us up. His eyes moved from Gary to me and back again as he witnessed one man finally reaching the end of his rope. Ron's eyes softened as a sense of sympathy passed thru them, a look I have not seen very often in him as he is a lot more guarded and jaded about his thoughts and feelings then Chris is.

Once things are cleaned up again and Gary is resting in bed, Ron goes out in search of some clean clothes for me. Dropping a towel onto a chair I sit down beside Gary. "I'm so sorry," he says for the hundreth time. He has finally relaxed and is looking a bit better. I pat his arm and smile. "We won't be making this trip many more times," he says softly. "It's not looking good," he adds which is the first timeI have ever seen him lose his smile and his faith.

What Gary is telling me is something I pretty much already knew. You see Gary is not just another patient, he is also a friend of mine and I have known him for years. He is about as old as my parents and he has kids my age. Very clearly I can remember the day he told me that his cancer had come out of remission. It was on a weekend around St Patrick's Day last spring and we had run into each other downtown at the bookstore. We'd taken a table in the cafe to sit and gossip a bit, sort thru our books and have some coffee together. Gary'd commented on the Steinbeck novels I was perusing, and when I glanced at his book pile to see what he'd picked up he pointed out the manuals he had chosen and why. Cancer study and research books. At that time his optimism was high, in the course of his life he has done and been thru some amazing things and I had no doubt he would tackle this cancer with the same zest he did everything else in his life.

As the course of his treatment went on I watched Gary go thru good times and bad. Several times we have had to transport him down to Denver for a special outpatient procedure he has to have done to coincide with his chemo and radiation regime. Chris and I would transport him down, and while he was being treated we would wait 2-3 hours before coming back and picking him up for the return trip home. Gary never fails to entertain us, he has a million stories and jokes, but today was different. Today the truth was unfolding before me.

The admit nurse finally comes in once she sees that the mess has been cleaned up and she does not have to get her hands dirty. She puts on a smile and kicks into a super-sweet mode that is so phoney I am surprised she doesn't melt into a puddle of syrup on the floor. The only thing the nurse has going for her is that she seems half way attentive, so when Ron returns and I get up to go I feel I can safely leave Gary in her care. I am not sure why I feel protective of my patients when we leave them at other facilities, I've always been that way and guess I always will be.

"Thanks again for everything Red," Gary says and gives me a wink.

That was the last time I saw Gary. When Ron and I returned to pick Gary up we came in to the nurse's station for report and were informed by nurse StickySweet that he gone into cardiac arrest during the procedure, and efforts to revive him had failed. Gary was gone.

I thanked Nurse StickySweet, turned and walked out trailing our stretcher behind me while Ron stayed behind and took issue with Sticky for not notifying us that this had happened before now. If something like this happens, or we are needed earlier then anticipated the hospital is suppose to page us so we don't wind up waiting around all day for nothing. At this moment none of that mattered to me because none of it would change what had happened or bring Gary back again.


This is all just part of life in a medical career. You see it time and again. Patients are not always total strangers, they are not just anonymous people, many times they are friends and loved ones too. But for as much as that hurts sometimes, it is also the very same thing that keeps you going. At least it is for me. To keep on trying, keep on helping others despite the fact that sometimes we can't always win the battle and sometimes those losses hurt like hell. Gary's battle with cancer wound up a defeat, but I and many other folks out there just like me won't give up on the war of life.

Bless your heart and Rest in Peace Gary.