雙語·當(dāng)呼吸化為空氣 突然間 她就出現(xiàn)了

突然間，她就出現(xiàn)了。
Suddenly, she appeared.

“你這么快就回來了？”我說。
“You’re back already?” I said.

“你都在重癥監(jiān)護(hù)室住了一個多星期了，”她說，“但你別擔(dān)心，你的病情在好轉(zhuǎn)。很多指標(biāo)都正常了。你很快就能出去了。”我聽說她一直通過電子郵件和醫(yī)生們保持著聯(lián)系。
“You’ve been in the ICU for over a week,” she said. “But don’t worry. You’re getting better. Most of your labs have normalized. You’ll be out of here soon.” She’d been in touch with my doctors over email, I learned.

“你之前不是說，你可以單純地做個醫(yī)生，我可以單純地做個病人？”我說，“我覺得說不定這樣更好。我一直在讀科學(xué)和文學(xué)讀物，想為自己找個比較正確的觀點，可是沒找到?！?br>“You know how you offered to just be the doctor and I could just be the patient?” I asked. “I think that’s maybe a good idea. I’ve been reading science and literature trying to find the right perspective, but I haven’t found it.”

“我覺得你光靠看書是找不到的。”她回答。
“I’m not sure that’s something you can find by reading about it,” she replied.

終于有了艾瑪這個掌舵人，為一派混亂的會診注入了一絲平靜。我腦中忽然涌現(xiàn)出艾略特的詩句：
Emma was now the captain of the ship, lending a sense of calm to the chaos of this hospitalization. T.S. Eliot sprang to mind:

噠密阿塔：小船歡欣地響應(yīng)
Damyata: The boat responded

那熟于使帆和搖槳的手
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar

海是平靜的，你的心靈受到邀請
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded

會歡快地響應(yīng)，聽命于
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient

那節(jié)制的手
To controlling hands

我靠在病床上，閉上雙眼。黑暗再次襲來，意識漸漸模糊，我終于放松了。
I leaned back in my hospital bed and closed my eyes. As the darkness of delirium descended again, I finally relaxed.

露西的預(yù)產(chǎn)期到了，卻沒有陣痛反應(yīng)。我也終于被安排出院了。自從診斷出癌癥之后，我體重下降了四十多磅，僅過去一個星期就下降了十五磅。我現(xiàn)在的體重大概就是八年級時的體重，但頭發(fā)相比那時稀疏了不少，基本上都是在過去一個月掉的。我從間歇性的昏迷中蘇醒過來，頭腦清醒地面對這個世界，但身體卻油盡燈枯。我能看到自己皮囊之下瘦骨嶙峋，像行走的X光片?；氐郊?，光是抬頭挺胸就讓我勞累至極。要使出雙手的力量才能拿起一杯水。看書？根本不可能。
Lucy’s due date came and went without labor, and I was finally scheduled to be discharged from the hospital. I had lost over forty pounds since being diagnosed, fifteen in the last week. I weighed as much as I had in eighth grade, though my hair had considerably thinned since those days, mostly in the past month. I was awake again, alert to the world, but withered. I could see my bones against my skin, a living X-ray. At home, simply holding my head up was tiring. Lifting a glass of water required both hands. Reading was out of the question.

露西和我的雙親都來家里幫忙了。我出院后兩天，露西經(jīng)歷了第一次宮縮。她待在家里。我媽媽開車送我去見艾瑪，進(jìn)行出院后的追蹤看診。
Both sets of parents were in town to help. Two days after discharge, Lucy had her first contractions. She stayed home while my mother drove me to my follow-up appointment with Emma.

“心情不好嗎？”艾瑪問。
“Frustrated?” Emma asked.

“好啊。”
“No.”

“你心情應(yīng)該不好的。康復(fù)是個漫長的過程?！?br>“You should be. It’s going to be a long recovery.”

“嗯，好吧，是不太好。整體來說我心情是挺不好的。但日子要一天一天過，我已經(jīng)做好準(zhǔn)備，繼續(xù)做物理治療，開始康復(fù)過程。我之前也做過，所以肯定駕輕就熟的，對吧？”
“Well, yes, okay. I am frustrated on the big picture. But on the dayby-day, I’m ready to get back to physical therapy and start recovering. I did it once, so it should be old hat, right?”

“你看了上次照的片子嗎？”她問道。
“Did you see your last scan?” she asked.

“沒有。我已經(jīng)不看了?！?br>“No, I’ve kind of stopped looking.”

“片子看著還不錯，”她說，“病情比較穩(wěn)定，腫瘤甚至有輕微縮小。”
“It looks good,” she said. “The disease looks stable, maybe even slightly shrinking.”

我們聊了未來的一些流程。繼續(xù)化療，直到我身體稍微強壯一些。以我目前的狀態(tài)，那些試驗性治療不會接收我，也不可能進(jìn)行其他治療，至少得等我身體恢復(fù)一點力量。我用頭靠著墻，因為脖子上的肌肉松松垮垮，已經(jīng)難以支撐頭部。我腦子里一團(tuán)糟，如墜云里霧里。我又需要她變成那個“神諭家”了，需要她再次占卜預(yù)言，獲知生命的秘密：不管是聽取鳥語，還是觀察星圖；不管是探測突變基因，還是研究卡普蘭-邁耶生存曲線。
We talked through some of the coming logistics; chemotherapy would be on hold until I was stronger. Experimental trials wouldn’t accept me in my current state, either. Treatment wasn’t an option—not until I regained some strength. I leaned my head against the wall to support the flagging muscles of my neck. My thoughts were clouded. I needed that oracle to scry again, to gather secrets from birds or star charts, from mutant genes or Kaplan-Meier graphs.

“艾瑪，”我說，“接下來怎么辦？”
“Emma,” I said, “what’s the next step?”

“強壯起來。就這么簡單?！?br>“Get stronger. That’s it.”

“但是癌癥復(fù)發(fā)的話……我是說，這個可能性……”我猶豫了。一期治療（特羅凱）失敗了。二期治療差點要了我的命。如果我還能活著接受三期治療的話，還有點希望。除此之外，還有試驗性治療，這是個廣闊的未知領(lǐng)域。我情不自禁地將各種疑問和盤托出：“呃，重返外科的可能性，甚至是重新走路的可能性，還有——”
“But when the cancer recurs. . . I mean, the probabilities. . . ” I paused. First-line therapy (Tarceva) had failed. Second-line therapy(chemo) had nearly killed me. Third-line therapy, if I could even get there, made few promises. Beyond that, the vast unknown of experimen-tal treatments. Phrases of doubt fell from my mouth. “I mean, getting back to the OR, or to walking, or even—”

“你至少還有五年好活?！彼f。
“You have five good years left,” she said.

她終于說出來了，但語氣根本沒有“神諭家”的權(quán)威，一點也不自信篤定。相反，這句話像一句懇求，令我想起那個只會說數(shù)字的病人。與其說她在告知我，不如說是在懇求我。此時此刻她不是醫(yī)生，只是個普通人，對抗不了冥冥中真正掌控這些的力量和命運。我們面對面，一個是醫(yī)生，一個是病人，我們之間的關(guān)系有時候是前者對后者絕對的權(quán)威和把控，有時候呢，就像現(xiàn)在，只是兩個湊在一起互相安慰的人，而其中一個正面對著死亡的深淵。
She pronounced it, but without the authoritative tone of an oracle, without the confidence of a true believer. She said it, instead, like a plea. Like that patient who could speak only in numbers. Like she was not so much speaking to me as pleading, a mere human, with whatever forces and fates truly control these things. There we were, doctor and patient, in a relationship that sometimes carries a magisterial air and other times, like now, was no more, and no less, than two people huddled together, as one faces the abyss.