雙語·當(dāng)呼吸化為空氣 我和艾瑪每兩周見一次

我和艾瑪每兩周見一次，一開始，我倆的討論就從醫(yī)學(xué)方面的問題（“皮疹感覺好些了嗎？”）上升到更具有存在主義意義的話題。通常來說，得了癌癥的人都會選擇休假，和家人一起，慢慢接受現(xiàn)實。這也是我的選擇之一。
At our first of several biweekly appointments, Emma’s and my discussion tended from the medical (“How’s the rash?”) to the more existential. The traditional cancer narrative—that one ought to recede, spend time with family, and settle one’s toes in the peat—was one option.

“很多人一查出癌癥就徹底辭職了，”她說，“但有的人又更加全身心地投入工作。無論怎樣都行?！?br>“Many people, once diagnosed, quit work entirely,” she said. “Others focus on it heavily. Either way is okay.”

“我早就給自己做了四十年的職業(yè)規(guī)劃，頭二十年是外科醫(yī)生兼研究人員，后面二十年去寫東西。但是現(xiàn)在我基本上就在‘后面二十年’了，也不知道該做什么了?！?br>“I had mapped out this whole forty-year career for myself—the first twenty as a surgeon-scientist, the last twenty as a writer. But now that I am likely well into my last twenty years, I don’t know which career I should be pursuing.”

“嗯，這個我沒法說。”她說，“我只能說，如果你愿意的話，可以重返手術(shù)臺，但你必須搞清楚，對你來說最重要的是什么?！?br>“Well, I can’t tell you that,” she said. “I can only say that you can get back to surgery if you want, but you have to figure out what’s most important to you.”

“如果我知道自己還剩多少時間，那就比較容易決定。如果我還有兩年，那我就去寫東西。如果還有十年，那我就回去做手術(shù)，做研究。”
“If I had some sense of how much time I have left, it’d be easier. If I had two years, I’d write. If I had ten, I’d get back to surgery and science.”

“你也知道，我沒法跟你說到底還有多少年?！?br>“You know I can’t give you a number.”

是啊，我知道。她經(jīng)?！按蛱珮O”，說我要自己去找到自己的價值。我覺得這是在逃避：好吧，可以啊，反正我也從來不跟病人說具體的時間，但我可是一直都很清楚病人該做些什么的呀，不然我怎么去做那些生死攸關(guān)的決定？接著我想起我犯過的錯誤：有一次，我建議一家人撤掉兒子的生命維持系統(tǒng)。結(jié)果兩年后，那對父母又出現(xiàn)在我面前，給我看一段網(wǎng)上的視頻，是他們的兒子在彈鋼琴。他們還給我?guī)砹吮拥案?，感謝我挽救了那孩子的生命。
Yes, I knew. It was up to me, to quote her oft-repeated refrain, to find my values. Part of me felt this was a cop-out: okay, fine, I never gave out specific numbers to patients, either, but didn’t I always have a sense of how the patient would do? How else did I make life-anddeath decisions? Then I recalled the times I had been wrong: the time I had counseled a family to withdraw life support for their son, only for the parents to appear two years later, showing me a YouTube video of him playing piano, and delivering cupcakes in thanks for saving his life.

我又開始和好些相關(guān)的醫(yī)療人士定期見面，和腫瘤專家的約診當(dāng)然是最重要的。但這還不夠，露西堅持帶我去見一個專門針對癌癥病人的夫妻關(guān)系專家。專家的診室沒有窗戶，露西和我坐在并排的扶手椅中，詳細(xì)討論了我的病會對兩人現(xiàn)在和將來的生活造成何種影響，還有未來將面對的已知與未知的痛苦，對生活做出計劃的困難，以及彼此陪伴的必要。說實在的，癌癥，其實從一定程度上拯救了我們的婚姻。
My oncology appointments were the most important of many new appointments with a variety of healthcare providers, but they weren’t the only ones. At Lucy’s insistence, we began seeing a couples therapist who specialized in cancer patients. Sitting in her windowless office, in side-by-side armchairs, Lucy and I detailed the ways in which our lives, present and future, had been fractured by my diagnosis, and the pain of knowing and not knowing the future, the difficulty in planning, the necessity of being there for each other. In truth, cancer had helped save our marriage.

“嗯，在這件事情上，你倆比我見過的任何夫妻處理得都要好?！钡谝淮渭s診結(jié)束后，專家說，“我還真沒什么建議可以給你們的?！?br>“Well, you two are coping with this better than any couple I’ve seen,”the therapist said at the end of our first session. “I’m not sure I have any advice for you.”

走出診室的時候，我大笑起來，至少我又在什么事情上杰出了一把。這么多年幫助那些絕癥患者，還是有收獲的！我轉(zhuǎn)身看著露西，本以為她也在微笑，但她卻不停搖著頭。
I laughed as we walked out—at least I was excelling at something again. The years of ministering to terminally ill patients had borne some fruit! I turned to Lucy, expecting to see a smile; instead, she was shaking her head.

“你沒聽明白嗎？”她握住我的雙手，“如果我們就是做得最好的，那說明沒有好轉(zhuǎn)的余地了?！?br>“Don’t you get it?” she said, taking my hand in hers. “If we’re the best at this, that means it doesn’t get better than this.”