So it’s come to this.
Two years ago, I wrote a diary about my nephew Ryan and his potentially lethal diagnosis of osteosarcoma: "He May Die, and I'm Terrified." Many of you donated to the GoFundMe page we set up to cover Ryan’s medical expenses, as everything was a massive clusterfuck and his wife Jenny had no idea what benefits he had or was even entitled to.
Those of you who donated — thank you. Those of you who gave me encouragement and information — thank you.
Ryan had his right leg amputated above the knee last summer. My nephew loved to skateboard and ride his scooter, but he was relieved to have his tumerous limb removed. As he told me, “It was ugly, it smelled, and it hurt all the time. I was like, ‘get this thing off me!’”
And at first, all seemed well. His million-dollar smile was back and so was his spirit:
But things weren’t all right. Ryan went back to the doctor for a full checkup in September 2019 — a full year after his initial diagnosis. The news met our worst expectations: the cancer had metastasized to his lung. Ryan had to go back in for chemotherapy.
At first, he took it well, not letting the bad news knock him off his stride. He answered my queries about his health with breezy replies: “Everything’s good, Auntie, love you!!” And he posted this picture of himself in January 2020, which had a friend joking, “Looking good, except for the Patriot’s gear!”
Yes, Ryan, born and bred in California, with a Bears/Cubs fan for father, aunt, and grandmother, was a Patriots fan. We weren’t sure where we went wrong with that boy . . .
But then I stopped getting answers to my emails and texts. I’d check his Facebook page — nothing. I finally contacted my brother, who told me that Ryan wasn’t responding to the chemotherapy. In fact, he was getting sicker by the week. Ryan doggedly kept up with the treatment, despite my brother’s pleas to get a new doctor, get a second opinion — anything.
The problem was that Ryan would go to his specialist for chemotherapy, but be refused because his platelet count would be too low. He’d get a transfusion and come back in a few days for the chemotherapy. But the timing was so far off that the chemotherapy wasn’t doing any good.
Why didn’t Ryan demand a second opinion? I don’t know. He was only 25 years old. I don’t think he was focused on anything but getting through the damned process. Our family tends to be stubborn as hell and hide our hurts — a close friend recently told me that I’m like a cat, in that when I’m sick or unhappy, I hide away from the world. Ryan was no different. In him, it was probably a wish not to bother anybody, because we’d all been so scared at the thought of losing him before.
Maybe he thought he’d get better.
Maybe he thought his doctor would find out what was wrong.
He had his 25th birthday in May. Everyone sent him cards, mementos to pick up his spirits. My brother, with an air of grimly quiet desperation, told me that Ryan was so tired all the time. When he wasn’t sleeping, he’d be sitting quietly in his wheelchair, talking a little bit to Jenny or to his dad. Even friends no longer texted him; they just came to the house to share a little conversation and then leave before he grew too tired.
My brother decided to keep trying to persuade Ryan to change his treatment plan, or at least his doctor. This week he went to Henderson, NV, to enlarge the bathroom door in Ryan and Jenny’s house so Ryan could get his wheelchair through it with ease. It so happened that yesterday was Ryan’s platelet transfusion appointment. My brother took Ryan to the specialist, and this time the specialist got the doctor. Ryan’s oxygen levels were at 77 out of 100.
The doctor told him he wanted Ryan to get to the hospital immediately. Ryan was apparently fed up with having treatment delayed again, and took off his mask. “I can breathe, see?” he told the doctor. “I don’t need to go to the hospital!”
And the doctor replied, “In the time it took you to do and say that, your O2 levels dropped to 59. You will go to the hospital, or you’re going to die. You won’t even make it back home.”
My brother got him admitted. He texted me last night, and I stayed up until 2 a.m. to hear back from him, remembering the vigil we’d kept almost eleven years ago for our mother in Phoenix. But I fell asleep, and while I was taking a shower this morning, my brother called again.
A piece of the tumor in Ryan’s lung somehow broke loose and impeded his breathing. Not only was surgery out of the question due to his low oxygen levels, they discovered that the cancer has now metastasized to his blood. The doctor gave Ryan one more choice: he could be made comfortable and spend his last hours at the hospital, or hospice care would be arranged so that he could die at home.
Ryan chose to go home.
And so today I’ve been on the phone with my brother as his world has fallen to pieces by the hour. I begged him to tell me where to go to be with him, but he insisted I not come — he does not want me to see my nephew as he is. “His eyes are so sad and suffering,” was all he managed to get out before he broke down and sobbed.
His in-laws are there, as are his and Jenny’s friends. My brother says there is so much love there for Ryan, and I can well believe it. From the first, he has drawn love to him; he has been a bright spark of joy and warmth. I told my brother to let Ryan know that I loved him. He promised to call me when the end came. And then I shut off the phone.
So this is the end of my nephew’s journey. Twenty-five years is so short a time; it’s not even long enough.
Thank you for letting me share him with you.
Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
“Peace, My Heart,” by Rabindranath Tagore
Goodbye, my baby boy. You were, are, and always will be loved.
Sunday, Aug 30, 2020 · 1:31:15 AM +00:00
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Gemina13
ETA: Ryan passed this evening at 5:49 PST.
It was a peaceful end; Ryan went in his sleep. He was surrounded by family and loved ones. His father, who was the first to hold him when he was born, held him in his arms as he died.