The Plumber's Swan Song(Dave Maze) The name’s Jack Warner. A few months ago, I was your average 32-year-old man. I was a sports nut, fitness freak, and hard worker. My friends called me, Flow, and I did have a thick head of hair. That is, before the cancer called.

I am terminal, but not dead. Please don’t do that, don’t feel pity. I know you aren’t trying to, but you’re looking at me with different eyes. I suppose it’s not your fault. We roll the red carpet out for people attending their deaths; the last act of their plays.

How did I get here? God, I wish I could tell you. The truth is, I don’t have the slightest clue. Cancer rears its ugly head when it chooses. If it picks you, watch out. If it doesn’t, watch out anyway, because it’s waiting in the wings.

It’s not just a hurricane, it’s the eye - and my lungs are in its line. They’ve taken quite a beating and if my life were a video game, I’d be killing it; Stage 4. With that diagnosis came the hardest pill to swallow. It’s not just in the lungs anymore. My lymphatic system has been infiltrated, its vessels hijacked. My bloodstream, compromised. The cancer uses these parts of the body as slides to a new end. If my life were that same video game, it would soon be GAME OVER.

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It’s been a fast decline going from a reputable plumber to lying in this hospital bed. Four months to be exact. Rounds of chemotherapy have knocked me down. I’m weak, bald, and food isn’t the same. It has no taste. Eating is like staring at white noise. It’s maddening, but I’m not mad. I’ve spent too much of the little time I have left doing that. I try not to think about my last breath, but when I do, I wonder how it’ll taste.

I spend my days on this bed, a steady stream of visitors trying to bring my spirits up. I appreciate their time, but I can see the hidden tears in all of their eyes. I don’t want to cause them pain, and if seeing me awakens the hurt, then I don’t want them to do it. I’ll deny visitors starting next week.

Most people in my situation make a bucket list, but I don’t have the bucket. Sorry, dry humour. I have one last thing I want to do. One thing before I die, and I’m doing my best to make that happen. Most of us know about the Live a Dream foundation. They do incredible, humanitarian work. A good friend of mine volunteers his time to make terminally ill kids’ dreams come true. I want to be that guy; a genie that grants the last wish. Have you seen the Batkid’s face after stepping into Bruce Wayne’s shoes in a Gotham-transformed San Francisco? That’s the kind of stuff that melts your heart.

I know all the suffering I’ve endured up to this point, and although I’m relatively young in the grand scheme of life, think of an 8-year-old suffering the same fate. The amount of wrong in that truth makes my bones itch. It’s sickening. Incomprehensible. So here I am, waiting for volunteer confirmation from the Live a Dream Foundation.

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A few days have passed. My body is in terrible shape, but not worse. My mind is in a serene place because I got the good news! The letter came in the mail, and they’ve granted me permission to make a young boy named Hunseo Kim’s dream come true. Kid’s 9-years-old and is suffering from Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. What a sick world. If I look at the glass as half full, these dreams can take anywhere from three to six months to make a reality, but they’ve rushed it in lieu of my own time constraint.

I’m going to visit him at Sick Kids Hospital later this afternoon. I can’t wait to find out what his dream is. The suspense is killing me!

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As I walk into the hospital rolling the oxygen tank and IV bag behind me, I see many children, most in wheelchairs. They could use the help that escorted me here. Their previously plump faces are thin, like all the life has been sucked out. It’s at this moment that I think of the Toronto Maple Leafs & Raptors. As mentioned earlier, I was a huge sports buff, but perhaps the one thing I enjoyed the most was seeing the teams’ annual visit to Sick Kids Hospital during my everyday dose of Sportscentre. Man, the happiness those athletes brought to those children. Priceless. I’m hoping I can muster up some of that magic and make Hunseo’s difficult life just a little easier. There’s no hidden motivation here. I’d also like to make my dark life brighter. I could use a little light for the wax in my candle has all but disappeared.

When I reach the Oncology floor, the halls are quiet; almost waiting for something bad to happen. My breathing is worse with the walking, but the fluid in my lungs is kind to me on this day. The tide is low. I walk into Hunseo’s room and his parents greet me at the door. Hunseo’s on a chair, iPad in hand.

“Hi Hunseo!” I take the seat next to him and adjust the nasal cannula to sit even on my nostrils. Deep green eyes look up and he places the iPad down. “My name’s Jack. It’s nice to meet you.” My hand houses the intravenous whose bladder dangles above. Hunseo doesn’t flinch at the sight. It doesn’t scare him, and this acceptance helps me feel right at home. He shakes my hand with his, bruised from where his needle had been. To say he’s anemic would be an understatement.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m Hunseo.” He smiles with a grin that emanates through his circular framed glasses.

I can’t help letting out a wheezy laugh. “I know your name.” His parents smile too.

“I know your name,” he says.

“Ah, but my last name’s Warner. Betchya didn’t know that.”

“Nope.” He picks the iPad up.

“What are you playing?”

Hunseo tilts the screen towards me. “Super Mario,” he says. “He’s the best.”

“He is. Best plumber that never lived.” The kid is playing a classic, Super Mario 3. He’s on World 4 where everything is giant sized. Mario is in the raccoon suit he got off the hidden beanstalk in level 5. Me? A gamer? Never!

“Hunseo,” his mom bends to his level. “Jack is here to help make your dream come true.”

The boy’s eyes widen beyond the frames. “Really? You’re going to help me?”

“I’d love to, but I need to know what your dream is.”

“I want to be like Super Mario!” he says with an endless wonder that warms my heart. “I want to save Princess Peach from Bowser at the top of the CN Tower!”

“Wow! That would be some pretty heroic stuff!” I look to his parents whose skepticism is palpable. “I’m sure we can make that happen. Have you ever been there before?”

“Nope.” He searches up images of the CN Tower and swipes through them in awe.

“Well then, you’ve got a real treat in store for you! Those elevators are really cool!”

“No elevators,” he says, eyes still glued to the screen.

“No el-huh?”

“Mario doesn’t need an elevator to save Princess. He’s super, remember?”

‘He’s also supposed to fly when he gets that leaf symbol.’ I chuckle. “Of course,” I smack my forehead. “Silly me, he’s super.” Hunseo gives me a big smile and is right back to the screen.

I turn to his parents. “Let me speak with the Dream Foundation and get back to you.” It takes a moment to feel a confident grip on the armrests to prop myself up. “I’d say we’ll be climbing that tower within the week.” The words stick with me as I leave the hospital. ‘Climb the tower. My doctor will never let me do it. Heck, my body won’t let me do it.” Five minutes later and I’m back at Mount Sinai.

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Doctor Michaels looks at me, shaking his head. “You’re nuts.”

“I know, but this kid. You should have seen him, Doc. This is all he wants to do with the little time he’s got left.”

“I understand, but you don’t have to be the one to do it with him.”

He was jotting things down on his clipboard and I hoped it wasn’t ‘Send for psychiatric assessment.’

“I do, Doc. This is what I want. Kids get their last wish, why can’t I get mine?”

“I admire your generosity, Jack. I just…I can’t medically clear you to do this.”

I feel the wind in my sails calm. “There’s got to be something I can do. Hunseo needs my help.”

“Well, technically you can make the choice for yourself.” He stares into my eyes until I catch his drift. My sails are flapping once again.

“Well, it’s what I want to do.”

Dr. Michaels puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been a real thorn in my side ever since you got here, Jack.” He winked.

“I tend to be prickly.” The skin on my shiny head stretches when I smile.

“You don’t make things easy, but you keep us on our toes. We like having you around.”

The comment hurts. There’s no malicious intent behind the remark, but the words sting. ‘Having you around’. I won’t be around much longer.

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It’s the night before the Dream. I can’t sleep. My mind is like a revving engine. My heart is pounding harder than usual. I’ll admit that I’m scared. My heart wants nothing more than to see the smile on Hunseo’s face on the 144th floor of that Tower. I want to witness him defeat Bowser and rescue the Princess. Now that would be a storybook ending for the ages. It’s too bad I’m not writing the book.

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The Dream is happening. I never thought I’d wear my plumber belt again, but here I am, Luigi in the flesh. I’ve signed waivers, which felt a little like signing my own death certificate. If it’s foreshadowing, I want nothing to do with it. I shift my focus to Super Hunseo. He’s Mario all right. He’s got the red hat, a shiny ‘M’ plastered on the front. Sure, the little blue overalls, puffy white gloves and red shirt are cute, but it’s the moustache that gets me. It’s a happiness I haven’t felt in months.

“Luigi!” He hugs me.

We’re at the bottom of the tower, grey cement enclosed around us. The stairs are in front, a lighter shade of grey. It’s Super Hunseo, his parents, a cameraman, the Live a Dream people, medical staff, and me. They are going to walk behind as we go. The nurses lift my medical contraptions and I hold Super Hunseo’s hand. A high shrill comes from behind us.

“Heeeeelp!” I turn around, ready for my role.

“Look Super Mario, it’s Princess Peach!” Super Hunseo turns around.

“Muahahah.” They got Bowser down to the T, from the spiked shell on his back to the steel spiked black bands around his arms. “Just try and save her, Mario. You don’t stand a chance.”

The Princess is draped over his shoulder. Bowser walks out the door, Peach’s legs flailing behind his head. Super Hunseo lunges for her, but it’s too late. The door slams shut. He curls his moustache, staring up the stairs. We look at each other and nod.

The first step feels like the thousandth. Although the immediate doubt is hard to ignore, I focus on the kid. ‘It’s his dream. It’s his dream.’ The phrase ignites a spark and I step again.

Super Hunseo is in better shape than me. I’m the reason we’re stuck on the 50th floor. The nurses gauge my oxygen saturation, and up the O2. They remove the cannula in lieu of a non-rebreather mask. ‘It’s his dream. It’s his dream.’ I’m resting on a stool, each breath is heavy, my chest tight. I visualize my lungs expanding like an accordion, but they’re restricted, like a chain-locked door. ‘It’s his dream. It’s his dream.’ We keep going.

Pretty soon, Princess Peach’s screams can be heard from above.

“We’re close,” I say, through suppressed breaths. “Real close.” The pain is searing. The fluid in my lungs is no longer kind. It’s angry, and with anger comes a shift in tide. I can feel them filling up like a bathtub. What I’d give for a hot bath with lavender and Epsom salts…‘It’s his dream. It’s his dream.’ I wipe the sweat from my brow.

“Let’s go, Luigi!” He grabs my hand and gets a step up on me. We enter into staircases that differ from the rest. “Last ten floors.” I smile, swallowing the pain and terror that's consuming my insides.

We turn a corner, looking up to the last steps. It’s a miracle that we made it. Super Hunseo darts ahead, stops at the top of floor 144 and turns around. He smiles, a beaming that makes my heart grow. “Come on, Luigi. Let’s save the Princess!” I give him a thumbs up, and he runs, disappearing over the horizon of the last step. My body overtakes my mind and the second my foot lands on the 1776th step, I begin to cough blood up onto the floor. My knees buckle, lungs filling to the brim. I imagine being in one of the rooms on the Lower Deck of The Titanic on that infamous April night in 1912. The water spills into the room and there’s nowhere to go. I slam my fists on the circular glass window. My screams turn to gurgles as the water engulfs my voice.

I’m lying on my back. The cold cement is soothing beneath the horror. The nurses are trying to save me. Shifting this, pumping that. I wave my hand. No need to ponder it anymore, it’s time for my last breath. I inhale, a wheezing struggle. My question is answered. You want to know how it tastes? Satisfying.

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