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Le Chaim!

©
By Jack Schimmelman
Life tortures love. This lesson permeates my soul as I move forward
against the tide. I wake up recognizing that my breath conflicts with
my heart. The moment of pain begins with one eye open, one eye
closed. At that moment war with my molecules is infinite. It wasn't
always like that.

One day after hundreds of thousands of Haitians released their mortal


coils, leaving their blue green paradise in ruins, I was taken to the
hospital approaching the same precipice. I did not think I was sick.
Doctors, nurses, even the pigeons sitting on the windowsill told my
wife that I was "touch and go." Nurses told me to breathe. When I
finally got to the ICU I closed my eyes after two years of struggling to
walk, breathe, live. I felt myself leaving. No white light awaited me.
No tunnel through which to float towards my ancestors. Just a feeling
of relief. Then I thought I could not leave just yet. My wife would be
devastated; my child for whom I had been a surrogate father for so
long would feel betrayed. I remained coiled within the helix of my
DNA. I once again chose to join the band, praying for harmony. My
soul stood in the corner of this white, sterile room and through the
oxygen mask I noted a series of electric blue smiling ovals.

I was empty. I was overwhelmed with fluid. My lungs were drowning,


my heart, pressed by streams of unidentified liquid, was nearly
rendered still. If the last two years were arduous, I now faced the
improbable task of recovery. Within two days I was released to a
regular room, which was empty. I took the bed by the window hoping
to find inspiration in the reflection of icicles sculpting the branches
outside.

Thus, began the parade of nefarious figures who usually showed up at


my bedside between 5 am and 6 am. Sensing another presence, I
would open my eyes and a stranger with a clipboard would ask, "How
are you feeling Mr. Schimmelman?" Caching! $300.00. Then the
flicker of a human blended into the hallway outside my door to awaken
yet another patient with the same question.

My lungs cleared within two days prompting doctors to wonder if I had


had pneumonia or some other disorder. They wondered then dropped
the question. I stayed being treated for heart failure. One cardiologist
made it a habit to wake me up at 1 am to tell me what he planned to
do to me. I tried to understand. I asked questions on the third night.
His response was that if I didn't do what he wanted of me, I would die.
On the fourth night when I again asked questions, he told me the same
thing with the added convenience of giving me the month in which I
would die - April of that year. I thanked him and walked into the
patient's lounge convinced I was having a heart attack. Later on
throughout my journey in the world of Western medicine I would learn
that this way of speaking to a patient was common. I have spoken to
several people who have told me the same thing happened to them.

I relied on staff to comfort me. Nurses, orderlies, techs, physician


assistants all were kind, gentle people. The nurses especially seem to
understand the haunting specter that circled a seriously ill patient.
Nurses are the front line of every hospital. They are its face. They
make up for many M.D. sins.

When you enter a hospital through the emergency room you are
"assigned" a doctor who knows nothing about you, but proceeds to
shepherd you through various medical procedures and drugs.
Especially drugs. That doctor hardly knew my name. Nevertheless, I
was fortunate. A brilliant, compassionate physician took an interest in
my case and medically treated my heart failure. She approached my
case with great imagination. She saved my life. All the other doctors
who drifted in and out of my sight were astounded by my progress.

We are fragile corporal fragments. We bleed, we breathe. When we


are pulled into the theater of illness we suddenly, simultaneously, feel
our ephemeral immortal pulse. One we measure, the other we sense.

Despite numerous subsequent descents and ascents from the depths, I


am very lucky. I am immersed with love. I have a partner who,
despite her own fears and horror at the prospect of losing someone
she loves much too early, has stood by me. She moves before the
mirror of life with great courage and I am privileged to witness her
eternal spark.

It is often said, dying is easy, life is hard.

Le Chaim!

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