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My Story - Brian French

My little brother and I had a very close relationship – even though in my adult years, I had always lived thousands of miles away, while he stayed at home with our Mother. We golfed together every chance we could, and loved talking about the Canadiens and the Expos. Tony had kidney disease and bravely endured tri-weekly dialysis treatments. He managed to keep his spirits up despite having gone through 9 major operations, having a very limiting diet and being poked with a needle regularly. The corner seemed to turn in 1988 when he received a kidney transplant. This was the happiest time in our life.

We looked forward to him becoming stronger, healthier, and being able to do more things together. But Tony’s health never seemed to improve. He developed problems from his anti-rejection drugs and had other strange symptoms. Until Remembrance Day 1995, he called me and the voice of this tough guy was shaking. He was told that he had Hepatitis C contracted from a blood transfusion during his transplant and that he didn’t know what it was, but that it was bad.

Little did we know that within a year he would be dead. His Hep C had led to liver / bile problems. After talking it over with my family and the doctor, I made the decision to end his life support. With his nephews and I by his side, on September 20th he expired, 6 pm on the dot.

What I felt at first:

I can’t begin to describe the pain and horror that I felt. I wailed, and that helped a little. I worried how my mother could survive this. I took full responsibility – I shouldn’t have given the instructions to end his life support, as miracles happen. Why didn’t I focus more on him, and not waste so much time working with the Hep C Society in the last year? Why didn’t I work harder so that we could have done more things together, so he could have traveled with me to some great places? Why didn’t I help him look after his health and make sure the doctor was looking after him?

So I drank and complained. I was a fierce opponent of the Government that I saw as his poisoner. I bleated my anger often on national television, and with other angry people, won a Pyrrhic victory – money from the government, that didn’t bring Tony or any other victims back.

What helped:

I make no bones about it whenever I introduce Dr. Bill Webster, I introduce him as the man who saved my life. He helped me gain perspective of who I was, not what I was afraid I might be, and how the feelings and false beliefs that I had were held by everyone suffering the depression that comes with grief. How I had no reason to feel guilty. I had always treated Tony as my best friend, and how I was powerless.

I had no ability to change the fates that resulted in my brother’s death, no matter what I had done. He helped me understand that there was no way that Tony would ever have wanted me to be anything but better than I am. He never would have wanted me to harm myself. He could only live on through me, and only then if I had a clear mind.

I am much more serious now than I was then. I am happily married with a great daughter. I laugh a lot less, and I tend to get weepy sometimes (like now). I found God (or he found me), but if I hadn’t been introduced to Bill Webster I wouldn’t be where I am.

What I suggest:

If you have lost someone, your first call should be to a counselor who can help you straighten out your feelings. You can’t go to a friend or a family member, they’ll be dealing with their own grief, or they won’t understand and they can’t help.