双语·当呼吸化为空气 我在圣地亚哥参加一个会议

我在圣地亚哥参加一个会议，电话响了，是和我同期的住院医生维多利亚。
I was at a conference in San Diego when my phone rang. My coresident, Victoria.

“保罗？”
“Paul?”

出事了。我胃里一阵抽搐。
Something was wrong. My stomach tightened.

“怎么了？”我说。
“What’s up?” I said.

沉默。
Silence.

“小维？”
“Vic?”

“杰夫，他自杀了。”
“It’s Jeff. He killed himself.”

“什么？”
“What?”

杰夫在中西部医院的外科训练快要告一段落了，我俩都忙得跟苦力似的……一直没联系。我努力回想我俩上一次聊天，但想不起来了。
Jeff was finishing his surgical fellowship in the Mid-west, and we were both so punishingly busy. . . we’d lost touch. I tried to recall our last conversation and couldn’t.

“他，嗯——应该是遇到很棘手的并发症，他的病人死了。昨晚他爬到医院楼顶，跳楼了。其他的我也不知道了。”
“He, uh—he apparently had a difficult complication, and his patient died. Last night he climbed onto the roof of a building and jumped off. I don’t really know anything else.”

我想再问点什么，憋了半天没想出来。我只能想象那种排山倒海般的负罪感，如同汹涌的大浪，在楼顶把他抛起又甩了下去。
I searched for a question to bring understanding. None was forthcoming. I could only imagine the overwhelming guilt, like a tidal wave, that had lifted him up and off that building.

我绝望地想，要是那天晚上我能陪着他走出医院的门就好了。我多么希望我俩能像以前一样，彼此同情，互相安慰。我曾跟杰夫谈过我一路走来对生命的理解，和对我们选择的这种生活的理解，我多么希望能再听听他睿智而机巧的忠告。死神不会放过我们任何人。我们和病人，活着，呼吸着，作为正在新陈代谢的生命体，这都是命运的安排。大多数人从生到死，都是被动的——这是你和你身边的人需要接受的现实。但杰夫和我，多年勤学苦练，积极地与死神纠缠扭打，像雅各布和天使搏斗；在这个过程中，也不断直面和拷问生命的意义。我们背负着无形的枷锁，肩负着生死攸关的责任。也许病人鲜活的生命就握在我们手中，但死神总是最后的胜者。就算你是完美的，这个世界却不是。秘诀在于，支撑我们继续下去的秘诀在于，明白打从发牌的那一刻起，你已必输无疑，你会手滑，你会判断失误，但即便如此也要拼尽全力为病人奋战到底。你永远无法到达完美的境地，但通过不懈的努力奋斗和追求，你能看见那无限接近完美的渐进曲线。
I wished, desperately, that I could’ve been walking with him out the door of the hospital that evening. I wished we could’ve commiserated as we used to. I wished I could have told Jeff what I had come to understand about life, and our chosen way of life, if only to hear his wise, clever counsel. Death comes for all of us. For us, for our patients: it is our fate as living, breathing, metabolizing organisms. Most lives are lived with passivity toward death—it’s something that happens to you and those around you. But Jeff and I had trained for years to actively engage with death, to grapple with it, like Jacob with the angel, and, in so doing, to confront the meaning of a life. We had assumed an onerous yoke, that of mortal responsibility. Our patients’lives and identities may be in our hands, yet death always wins. Even if you are perfect, the world isn’t. The secret is to know that the deck is stacked, that you will lose, that your hands or judgment will slip, and yet still struggle to win for your patients. You can’t ever reach perfection, but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving.

第二部　至死方休
PART II　Cease Not till Death

如果我编书，就要汇编一部人类死亡记录，同时附上以下注解：教会别人死亡的人，同时也能教会人生活。
If I were a writer of books, I would compile a register, with a comment, of the various deaths of men: he who should teach men to die would at the same time teach them to live.

——《探究哲理即是学习死亡》，米歇尔·德·蒙田
—Michel de Montaigne,“That to Study Philosophy Is to Learn to Die”

医院病床上，露西和我相拥流泪。CT扫描的图像仍然在电脑屏幕上闪烁。我作为医生的身份特性已经不重要了。癌症入侵了多个器官系统，诊断结果已是一目了然。病房里静悄悄的。露西说她爱我。我说：“我不想死。”我叮嘱她要再嫁，一想到她可能孤身一人，我就无法忍受。我告诉她我们应该立刻重新申请抵押贷款。我们陆陆续续打电话告知亲友们这个噩耗。过了一会儿，维多利亚到病房来了，我们讨论了扫描结果，和未来可能采取的治疗方案。她说起重返住院医生岗位的流程，我示意她别说了。
Lying next to Lucy in the hospital bed, both of us crying, the CT scan images still glowing on the computer screen, that identity as a physician—my identity—no longer mattered. With the cancer having invaded multiple organ systems, the diagnosis was clear. The room was quiet. Lucy told me she loved me. “I don’t want to die,” I said. I told her to remarry, that I couldn’t bear the thought of her being alone. I told her we should refinance the mortgage immediately. We started calling family members. At some point, Victoria came by the room, and we discussed the scan and the likely future treatments. When she brought up the logistics of returning to residency, I stopped her.

“维多利亚，”我说，“我再也不可能以医生的身份回到这家医院了，你不觉得吗？”
“Victoria,” I said, “I’m never coming back to this hospital as a doctor. Don’t you think?”

我生命的一个章节似乎已经结束，也许整本生命之书都已临近尾声。我不再是牧师或牧人，可以协助生死的过渡；我发现自己就是那茫然困惑、不知所措、需要度化的绵羊。重大疾病不是要改变人生，而是要将你的人生打得粉碎。感觉仿佛神迹降临，强烈的光突然刺进眼睛，照射出真正重要的事情；其实更像有谁刚刚用燃烧弹炸毁了你一心一意前进的道路。现在我必须绕道而行。
One chapter of my life seemed to have ended; perhaps the whole book was closing. Instead of being the pastoral figure aiding a life transition, I found myself the sheep, lost and confused. Severe illness wasn’t life-altering, it was life-shattering. It felt less like an epiphany—a piercing burst of light, illuminating What Really Matters— and more like someone had just firebombed the path forward. Now I would have to work around it.

弟弟吉旺来到我床前。“你已经很成功了，”他说，“你知道的，对吗？”
My brother Jeevan had arrived at my bedside. “You’ve accomplished so much,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

我叹了口气。他当然是好意，但这些话非常空洞，没有意义。我之前的人生一直在积累潜力，现在这些潜力都将是无用的了。我本来有那么多计划，那么接近事业巅峰。现在我体力不支，重病缠身，我想象的未来和个人的身份认同轰然崩塌。我面对着我那些病人曾经面对过的，有关“存在”的窘境。
I sighed. He meant well, but the words rang hollow. My life had been building potential, potential that would now go unrealized. I had planned to do so much, and I had come so close. I was physically debilitated, my imagined future and my personal identity collapsed, and I faced the same existential quandaries my patients faced.

肺癌确诊了。我精心计划和辛苦创造的未来消失得无影无踪。我在工作中那么熟悉的死神，现在亲自来做私人拜访了。我们终于狭路相逢，正面交锋。然而，我似乎一点也认不出面前这位死神。多年来我治疗过无数病人，如今自己站在这个十字路口，我本应该看到和跟随他们密集的脚印，然而眼前却是一片白色沙漠，空空荡荡，艰险残酷，荒无人烟，闪着刺眼的光，仿佛一场暴风雨过境，抹去了所有熟悉的痕迹。
The lung cancer diagnosis was confirmed. My carefully planned and hard-won future no longer existed. Death, so familiar to me in my work, was now paying a personal visit. Here we were, finally face-toface, and yet nothing about it seemed recognizable. Standing at the crossroads where I should have been able to see and follow the footprints of the countless patients I had treated over the years, I saw instead only a blank, a harsh, vacant, gleaming white desert, as if a sandstorm had erased all trace of familiarity.