My neighbor Brian suffered from the same chronic pain issues I do. Brian was retired and was about 70 years old. He had lumbar spine issues that plagued him for years. He rarely left his apartment. He looked as if he rarely bathed and he wore the same clothes every day. One other neighbor helped Brian out by taking out his garbage, stopping by the store every once in a while. I helped him maybe twice with errands and I always chatted with him when we ran into each other in the lobby of our building.
Brian had some friends who mainly helped him out. They would bring his supplies, which consisted of small amounts of food, and large amounts of Miller Lite beer. Brian would drink about half a 24 pack case a day. When I first met him, he said he had opioid medication, but didn’t take it. Toward the end, he said he was taking it, and still drinking. This is a deadly combination, and I expected he wouldn’t wake up one day because of it.
He starting using portable oxygen about a year before he died. I knew that was the beginning of the end. He had one friend who helped him who was a heavy smoker. She used to smoke in his apartment when she visited. I don’t know how someone would smoke in someone else’s home, and especially how someone would smoke in front of someone using oxygen. She was one of his main helpers toward the end, so I guess that was the price he paid. The one thing about Brian I was jealous of was that he had friends coming over to help him and keep him company occasionally. That’s something I’ve never really had. Chronic pain isolates people horribly.
Brian ended up in the hospital for some reason. He ended up crashing, and being put on some sort of life support. That only lasted for a couple days. After he died, his daughter came over to his apartment to clean it out. I didn’t even know he had a daughter. She never came to his home to visit him. I don’t know if they had family issues or what. She ended up leaving a lot of his stuff outside by the dumpster with a “Free” sign on it. Brian’s whole life was summed up by a pile of his belongings put next to the dumpsters with a free sign.
Brian’s death affects me because we suffer from the same thing. Chronic lumbar spine pain. I also have fibromyalgia. Brian was pretty isolated, although I am even more isolated than he was. We both have family, but they never come to visit. Nobody comes to visit me. My dad drops off food every once in a while, but he likes to be met at the front door of the apartment building so he can hand everything off. He very rarely steps inside my apartment, and even more rarely stays for a visit. I know my life will also be summed up by a pile of my stuff next to the dumpster with a free sign. It’s so very sad.
I’ve written about all my cries for help (making a blogging website is a massive cry for help). I know Brian was crying for help. I also know people don’t listen to cries for help. They start to get annoyed that you are talking about yourself so much. If you tattooed “HELP ME” on your forehead, people would say, “Jeez, what’s wrong with that guy. He needs some serious help.” They would do anything but actually help. It could go on for 5 years, and if you make it out alive, they would somehow justify their complete lack of reaction. “Well, he’s OK now, so when we did nothing for 5 years, it was the appropriate thing to do.”
Pain patients need help. Brian helped himself by treating his pain with alcohol. A half case a day worth of treatment every day. His friends helped him by bringing him the alcohol. I saw his health slip away from him rapidly. I’m 20 years behind him in age, but my injury happened much earlier than his. Watching Brian is like watching my future unfold. It’s a chilling thing to watch. All I can do is hope someone will help me with the medical attention I need so I don’t end up down the exact same path as Brian.