This Thursday was Ascension Day, a public holiday in Germany, and my brother was home for the extended weekend. In the evening, he vomited profusely, and afterwards, he was suffering from loud-groaning pain in both the back and the stomach, as well as sweating intensely, so much that my mother drove him to the hospital. We were, of course, extremely worried, but at half past two, it was found to be just a bad lumbago and he was prescribed painkillers.
The next day, my mother drove them to the general practitioner so that he could get sick leave and reclaim the vacation day for the friday. Over the day, his pain was somewhat diminishing, but still great and moanful.
On Saturday, the pain was again a bit better, but he continued to be sweaty, and his eyes painful as he was unable to sleep. He had not eaten in this entire time, so my mother thought he may be hypoglycemic and used my glucometer on him. However, on the contrary, it was too high to measure. She called the ambulance. I had been going for a walk earlier and my mother had not realised that I was back, so I only heard from my room snippets of my mother talking about diabetes and telling my brother not to worry because it is very treatable nowadays, and at some point, the direction of what I overheard and the fact that my mother had gotten an immediate ambulant appointment for diabetes on a Saturday caused me to look what was going on and saw my brother in a gurney - I later learned that he had collapsed. My mother would afterwards drive to the hospital separately.
At the threshold of the hospital, he suffered a metabolic collapse. He was machinally resuscitated, but likely already suffered brain damage. At half past eleven, it was clear that it was extremely unlikely that he could be saved. My mother left me free whether to take a taxi or stay at home - after much agonising and many calls, we agreed that there would be nothing I could do for my brother, my mother or myself, so I stayed at home.
Tonight, at a quarter to two, he expired at only twenty-seven. He had been suffering from pancreatitis that had been going on for quite a while, but did not display the tell-tale labour-like pains. He had also apparently inhaled vomit.
I am thoroughly shaken and grieving, and I feel so alone and worried about my own health and burdened by being the only one left. My mother, of course, is absolutely broken, wailing and screaming in unutterable misery, and for the rest of her life, she will be asking herself if there is something she could have noticed, that she could have done to save him.
My brother was far from an easy person to get along with - untidy even by our standards, a picky eater, loudly arguing with the television, more than neglectful of any chores, seemingly unfazed… it is strange how strongly and how quickly even the things that annoyed us in life can become painful reminders of absence. But deep in his heart, he clearly was a good person, and recently, he had gotten a new job with much better perspectives where he had prospered - tragedy once against striking my family when things look to be going upwards.