The Meaning of Family

 Last August my wife realized she hadn't talked to her Uncle T in Tokyo for a while, so she gave him a call. He gave her some disturbing news. During the months since we'd last heard from him, he had developed a serious health problem that had left him weakened. He was no longer able to go out as before, and since he lived alone in his old family homestead, he was kept under surveillance by a security firm in cooperation with his doctor. The public welfare department of his local city ward delivered a boxed meal to him every day, but it usually contained oily food that his health problem prevented him from eating. He had literally gone for weeks eating almost nothing. Concerned, my wife tried calling his surviving direct family members only to be told that they were all dealing with chronic health issues, so she was basically given a "Don't tell us your problems" brush-off. Uncle T had been quite generous to us in the past. (For one thing, when my daughter went to college in Tokyo for four years and my son studied there for one year they lived in an extra house on his property which he was only too happy to let us borrow rent-free.)

There was no way we were going to leave him like that. So my wife suggested that he come and stay with us. Not liking to trouble people, he was hesitant at first, but after we discussed the matter with his doctor he changed his mind. We arranged for him to come and stay with us after completing a final battery of tests at his hospital in Tokyo, which would mean sometime in October. Fate had other plans. In mid September, while my son happened to be home visiting, he got a call from Uncle T on his smartphone. Uncle T had fallen down and was unable to get back up. The security company that was supposed to be monitoring him hadn't responded, and he'd already been there for quite a while. My son immediately notified my wife, and she and my daughter ran down to Tokyo, picked him up, and brought him home. Thus started his stay with us. (The security company later alerted his doctor that "unauthorized people" had moved him. Thanks for nothing.)

We put him in my son's bedroom and set to work making our home a bit more senior citizen friendly. He was able to move around pretty well on his own, so we didn't have to worry about him much. Besides, since he hated to trouble people, he was content to remain as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, mainly spending his time either reading or watching TV. However, eating was always an issue. We managed to increase the amount he ate little by little, and he seemed to be getting better, but it was like feeding a toddler; trying to get him to eat at all could be a challenge, and he tended to complain about the food. Most of the time something was too cold, too bland, terrible, unknown and therefore not wanted, something he never ate, etc. He kept trying to demand sweets instead of real food. A lot of my wife's money and work wound up going into the trash. My wife took him shopping to get some new clothes, and he insisted on only really expensive items. Serious respiratory problems meant he coughed and wheezed loudly all the time. Plus, he had some lifestyle habits that proved to be an issue with certain family members.

Whether he was quiet and unobtrusive or not, after a week of his living with us our nerves were starting to fray along with our tempers. Things were on the verge of boiling over.

We had his address registry changed so our home would be his official abode henceforth. However, he was still under the care of the hospital in Tokyo, and his tests weren't complete. On September 28th, after he'd been with us for about two weeks, my wife took him to the hospital for the next stage. The doctor's prognosis was damning. Uncle T had developed yet another chronic health problem to add to the pile. The doctor went so far as to say, "When it's this far gone, there's no chance of recovery. It's hopeless." Not surprisingly, Uncle T's mood became a lot darker after that. That evening he said he wanted neither dinner nor a bath and went straight to bed.

On Thursday the 29th all three of us had to work, but Uncle T had been perfectly find with that thus far. He'd been able to get around the house and take care of himself quite handily for the most part, so we had no reason to worry. Before I left I looked in on him just in case, and he was resting peacefully. I came home earlier than usual from Ye Olde Academy, and when I arrived I found the breakfast and lunch that my wife had prepared for him and his newspaper untouched and he was nowhere to be seen. That was odd, and I had a bad feeling. I went into his room and found him on the floor next to his bed.

"Help me!" he said. He then told me that he'd been there all day.

That seemed odd. He had a ladder-like rail next to his bed designed to help elderly or handicapped people get in and out of bed. Why hadn't he used it at least to raise himself to a sitting position so he could reach his smartphone? Anyway, I tried to help him to his feet, but he couldn't stand, so I lifted him onto the bed. That's when I noticed a certain smell. It wasn't the smell of unwashed old man (though there was that, too) but rather one that I remembered from when our poor cat Hana died. The smell of kidney failure. I asked if I should call an ambulance or take him to the hospital in my car. He insisted he was fine and that he would get up on his own. He did so, rising to his feet and putting on his slippers. But when he tried to walk he managed only two or three steps before he froze and started to collapse. I caught him and guided him back to the bed, but though his eyes were open he was totally unresponsive as if having some sort of seizure. Once he was snuggled back in his bed he snapped out of it, so I asked him again if I should call for an ambulance.

"Don't bother," he said with a smile. "I'm going to die tomorrow."

I told him to stop being foolish, but he insisted adamantly that he just wanted to be left alone to rest. That was when my wife came home. She managed to get him to drink and eat a little bit, but he continued to demand that we not take him to the hospital, saying that he just wanted to relax and watch TV. So we got him comfortable, turned on his TV, and left him so we could have dinner. After we finished eating, my wife, daughter, and I had a conference to discuss the situation and how well we were(n't) handling the stress. Things got rather intense, but after things calmed down again my wife asked me to go check on Uncle T.

I went into his room to find the TV on and him facing it with eyes wide open, but immediately a whole lot of things felt wrong. He didn't acknowledge me in any way, and I felt no vibes from him at all...as if he were furniture. I touched his hand and it was ice cold. His joints were stiff. He didn't respond to me, and checks for respiration and pulse were both negative. His pupils were fixed and dilated. I told my wife to call an ambulance and started CPR.

The fire station paramedics were there within five minutes and hooked him up to an automatic defib machine and respirator. The ambulance paramedics arrived a few minutes after that and connected up a machine I'd never seen before like a sort of mechanical CPR robot. Once he was secure in that arrangement they put him in the ambulance and took him off to a hospital in Hokota.

I know that hospital well. It's owned and run by a whole family of doctors I've known (and some of them I've taught) for years. Moreover, both MIL and FIL passed away there. We waited there while personnel ran in and out of the treatment room accompanied by the constant *thump thump thump* of the CPR machine. After quite a while, the doctor we know well (and didn't seem pleased to see us) came and told us that they'd managed to get his heart moving, but only a little and only for a short time, and there was no sign of brain activity. He said there was virtually no hope of recovery. Later, another doctor took over and recommended against further resuscitation. My wife gave her consent and the plug was pulled.

When Uncle T was in his thirties back in the 1980's he'd had lung cancer and hadn't been expected to survive, but he had, and his cancer had gone into full remission. He'd survived long enough to care for his mother until she died in 2011. After that he'd just entertained himself as best he could while trying to stay out of everyone else's way. And like I said, we were in his debt. We didn't expect his stay with us to end so abruptly and so unexpectedly, but he didn't want to trouble anyone, and at least he didn't suffer. I hope we did the right thing.

And now that we're having to deal with the funeral arrangements and a lot of other things, and seeing which relatives are helping and which are leaving us holding the bag, I hope we will continue to do the right thing.

Because we're family.

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