双语·当呼吸化为空气 突然间 她就出现了

突然间，她就出现了。
Suddenly, she appeared.

“你这么快就回来了？”我说。
“You’re back already?” I said.

“你都在重症监护室住了一个多星期了，”她说，“但你别担心，你的病情在好转。很多指标都正常了。你很快就能出去了。”我听说她一直通过电子邮件和医生们保持着联系。
“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.

“你之前不是说，你可以单纯地做个医生，我可以单纯地做个病人？”我说，“我觉得说不定这样更好。我一直在读科学和文学读物，想为自己找个比较正确的观点，可是没找到。”
“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.”

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

终于有了艾玛这个掌舵人，为一派混乱的会诊注入了一丝平静。我脑中忽然涌现出艾略特的诗句：
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:

哒密阿塔：小船欢欣地响应
Damyata: The boat responded

那熟于使帆和摇桨的手
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar

海是平静的，你的心灵受到邀请
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded

会欢快地响应，听命于
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient

那节制的手
To controlling hands

我靠在病床上，闭上双眼。黑暗再次袭来，意识渐渐模糊，我终于放松了。
I leaned back in my hospital bed and closed my eyes. As the darkness of delirium descended again, I finally relaxed.

露西的预产期到了，却没有阵痛反应。我也终于被安排出院了。自从诊断出癌症之后，我体重下降了四十多磅，仅过去一个星期就下降了十五磅。我现在的体重大概就是八年级时的体重，但头发相比那时稀疏了不少，基本上都是在过去一个月掉的。我从间歇性的昏迷中苏醒过来，头脑清醒地面对这个世界，但身体却油尽灯枯。我能看到自己皮囊之下瘦骨嶙峋，像行走的X光片。回到家，光是抬头挺胸就让我劳累至极。要使出双手的力量才能拿起一杯水。看书？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.

露西和我的双亲都来家里帮忙了。我出院后两天，露西经历了第一次宫缩。她待在家里。我妈妈开车送我去见艾玛，进行出院后的追踪看诊。
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.

“心情不好吗？”艾玛问。
“Frustrated?” Emma asked.

“好啊。”
“No.”

“你心情应该不好的。康复是个漫长的过程。”
“You should be. It’s going to be a long recovery.”

“嗯，好吧，是不太好。整体来说我心情是挺不好的。但日子要一天一天过，我已经做好准备，继续做物理治疗，开始康复过程。我之前也做过，所以肯定驾轻就熟的，对吧？”
“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吗？”她问道。
“Did you see your last scan?” she asked.

“没有。我已经不看了。”
“No, I’ve kind of stopped looking.”

“片子看着还不错，”她说，“病情比较稳定，肿瘤甚至有轻微缩小。”
“It looks good,” she said. “The disease looks stable, maybe even slightly shrinking.”

我们聊了未来的一些流程。继续化疗，直到我身体稍微强壮一些。以我目前的状态，那些试验性治疗不会接收我，也不可能进行其他治疗，至少得等我身体恢复一点力量。我用头靠着墙，因为脖子上的肌肉松松垮垮，已经难以支撑头部。我脑子里一团糟，如坠云里雾里。我又需要她变成那个“神谕家”了，需要她再次占卜预言，获知生命的秘密：不管是听取鸟语，还是观察星图；不管是探测突变基因，还是研究卡普兰-迈耶生存曲线。
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.

“艾玛，”我说，“接下来怎么办？”
“Emma,” I said, “what’s the next step?”

“强壮起来。就这么简单。”
“Get stronger. That’s it.”

“但是癌症复发的话……我是说，这个可能性……”我犹豫了。一期治疗（特罗凯）失败了。二期治疗差点要了我的命。如果我还能活着接受三期治疗的话，还有点希望。除此之外，还有试验性治疗，这是个广阔的未知领域。我情不自禁地将各种疑问和盘托出：“呃，重返外科的可能性，甚至是重新走路的可能性，还有——”
“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—”

“你至少还有五年好活。”她说。
“You have five good years left,” she said.

她终于说出来了，但语气根本没有“神谕家”的权威，一点也不自信笃定。相反，这句话像一句恳求，令我想起那个只会说数字的病人。与其说她在告知我，不如说是在恳求我。此时此刻她不是医生，只是个普通人，对抗不了冥冥中真正掌控这些的力量和命运。我们面对面，一个是医生，一个是病人，我们之间的关系有时候是前者对后者绝对的权威和把控，有时候呢，就像现在，只是两个凑在一起互相安慰的人，而其中一个正面对着死亡的深渊。
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.