forwarding a cool story of hope and love even in death and darkness

[Guest guest]

Don't let the name confuse you. I'm not aware that this Jewish Family

website has anything to do with our honored and much missed founder.

However, this is a story that's well worth reading to the end. It's

exactly what my husband and I have already done and agreed upon for the

future.

Love to all,

>

> Date: April 4, 2005 1:59:00 PM EDT

> To: rkelty@...

> Subject: Family - Hunting for Rainbows

> Reply-To: Family@...

>

>  

> See this article online:

> http://www.aish.com/societyWork/society/Hunting_for_Rainbows.asp

>

>

> by Dr. Jackie Yaris

> She was terminally ill with no possibility for cure. Her husband

> insisted we do everything possible to keep her alive. I couldn't help

> wondering: Did we launch her into some painful, hellish limbo?

>

>

> As a native Southern Californian, I have always found rain to be

> somewhat of a novelty -- a welcome respite from the fluffy vacuous

> days that fill our calendar. This winter has been different; the rain

> is incessant. As if angered by our sunny complacency, black clouds

> have descended, and in their wet fury left flooded streets, sliding

> houses, pacing kids and desperate parents.

>

> It was one such stormy weekend when the house reverberated with

> cooped-up kids and my head reverberated with the noise that even the

> pouring rain offered serenity, so I enlisted my four-year-old

> daughter, , to take a walk with me. Not a hearty sort, my

> delicate princess was hesitant, but finally lured out by the thought

> of " rainbow hunting. "

>

> So out we went into the blurry water-colored day. The sky was slate,

> the air strangely electric and unstable. We clutched each other,

> huddled under the umbrella, and listened to the rhythmic staccato of

> the rain. As it began to loudly pound, grabbed my hand tightly.

> " Mama, are you sure this is a good idea? "

>

> As quickly as it intensified, however, the rain began to ease.

> Finally, lulled by the soft patter of the rain, I was able to exhale

> some of the weeks of pent-up tension, so we walked on. I, getting

> giddy on the sweet, clean air, and a few steps behind, splashing

> in every puddle.

>

> A few minutes later she squealed, " Mama, look! " I spun around and saw

> her staring into the sky mesmerized, completely oblivious to the

> droplets, that reflecting her pink hood left glistening trails of

> rosewater on her bright cheeks. I followed her gaze and saw that the

> first tiny bit of sun we had seen in a week had managed to penetrate

> the granite clouds and the ray it sent through illuminated each

> raindrop as it danced down to the grass into a jeweled tapestry. It

> was unbelievable -- a glittering spotlight from the heavens.

>

> " Ooooh Mama, " breathed, eyes sparking, " we're gonna see a

> rainbow. "

>

> I thought it couldn't get any better but she was right. Above the

> pixie dust path the first strain of color had begun to seep into the

> deep slate of the sky, and we held our breath as, like a symphony

> reaching its crescendo, the color became louder and more vivid until

> finally a brilliant rainbow arched across the horizon.

>

> I could feel 's soft warm grip around my fingers as, peaceful and

> serene, in the whispering rain we stood, transfixed, as our own

> private miracle played out against the menacing backdrop. And I

> understood. Sometimes only the bleakest, darkest day can yield the

> most unexpectedly beautiful sights.

>

> I was reminded of that day a few weeks later while on call for my

> internal medicine group. I got paged to the ER.

>

> " She's back " the ER doctor said.

>

> I knew exactly who he meant -- Mrs. Hartman. A patient of one of my

> partner's, hers was the type of case that most physicians dread. At

> 68, she was terminally ill with cancer, heart disease and diabetes and

> had no possibility for cure. She had been in and out of the hospital

> for two years and just one week earlier had been discharged to a

> nursing home after four months in the hospital. For the past year her

> body had been trying mightily to die. Infarctions hobbled her heart,

> infections crippled her lungs and it was only because of the heroic

> measures insisted upon by her husband that she was alive -- sort of.

>

> In her neck, a tracheostomy tube tethered her to a ventilator to

> breathe for her, a gastric tube pumped nutrition directly into her

> intestine, and a pacemaker sent currents to her heart to beat for her.

> The worst part was that because she was only very intermittently

> lucid, we did not know if these aggressive treatments would be her

> choice.

>

> I walked toward her ER room. In the contrast to the typical cacophony

> that crackles in ER rooms, hers was resigned and somber, still, save

> for the gurgling of the ventilator. Mrs. Hartman lay as she always did

> - glazed eyes half open and listless, balding head lolling to the

> side.

>

> " Mrs. Hartman? "

>

> As I watched her pale liquid eyes stare into the distance and

> occasionally twitch, I wondered, " As she straddles consciousness, what

> is she thinking? " Was she, as an intern once suggested, making amends

> with God? Or, as my ethereal son is convinced, dancing with

> angels? Or had we launched her into some painful, hellish limbo

> (almost too unconscionable to entertain)? I shuddered and then noticed

> her husband who had stood up to see me.

>

> " Hello, Dr. Yaris, " her husband intoned officiously. " As you know, she

> has another bout of pneumonia, so she'll need respiratory therapy …

> make sure you get Nadine … she's the best … and when you get the IV

> nurse … "

>

> I watched him as he spoke. A retired engineer, his angular grayish

> face seemed always to frown. Since his wife's illness, he took copious

> notes -- of medicines and doctors and had learned to navigate the

> chronic care system quite well. Because I am the daughter of an

> engineer, I understood his meticulous documentation not to be

> litigious, but merely his way of making sense of a completely

> nonsensical situation. He continued on, his droning voice now added to

> the rhythmic wheeze of the ventilator. As I nodded toward him, I tried

> hard to feel compassion. The truth was that it was difficult. I

> realized that his detailed attention gave his life purpose, but at

> what price to his wife?

>

> After writing orders for antibiotics and most of Mr. Hartman's

> minutiae, I left the hospital feeling uncomfortable. As a doctor, I

> had taken an oath to preserve and enhance life, not prolong painful

> death. I prayed that as her surrogate, Mr. Hartman was doing what his

> wife would have wanted.

>

> The next day when I checked her chart, her x-rays, fever and lab tests

> had all improved. It seemed as if she would, yet again, prevail. Her

> husband waited at the door for me and as I walked in, started on his

> demands. " Dr. Yaris, we need the Albuterol every two and one-half

> hours, not every three … and I really think 10 milligrams of Ambien is

> better than five… " He followed me as I bent to examine her.

>

> " Mrs. Hartman? " I ventured.

>

> Almost imperceptibly, her eyes opened!

>

> " Can you hear me? "

>

> Her eyes widened and seemed to be pleading as, ever so slightly, she

> nodded. Threatened, Mr. Hartman's voice became shrill, more demanding,

> but I stared into her eyes, willing her into lucidity.

>

> " Mrs. Hartman? Are you in pain? "

>

> Eyes fixed on mine, her cracked lips mouthed the word, " Always. "

>

> I gulped and took a deep breath, " Is this what you want? Do you want

> to continue like this? "

>

> I watched carefully, but her eyes had already begun to glaze. I

> screamed, " Mrs. Hartman! Mrs. Hartman! " trying to pull her back into

> this dimension. Like a child fighting sleep, her lids fluttered open

> again as she struggled to pay attention.

>

> " Is this what you want? "

>

> Very slowly, she nodded. I was shocked.

>

> Thinking she didn't understand, I clarified, " Are you sure? Because

> the next time something happens, we don't have to be so aggressive.

> ARE YOU SURE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT? "

>

> Her eyes remained focused on mine and again she nodded. Her husband,

> who had gone silent, exhaled loudly and began again with his litany,

> his voice somewhat smug.

>

> I didn't understand. What kind of meaning could she be finding in this

> painful half-existence? As a physician, however, I was relieved,

> because though I couldn't comprehend her wishes, they were hers, and I

> was not contributing to some elaborate form of torture.

>

> The next day, I was happy her husband wasn't waiting for me at the

> door. Hoping to get in and out of there quickly, I walked toward her

> room, but was halted, transfixed by a breathtaking sight.

>

> Through her half-opened door, I saw that the outside storm clouds had

> cast the room in a monotone gray. The only light was that of a tiny

> florescent hospital lamp above Mrs. Hartman that illuminated the

> chrome of the ventilator and the bars of her bed, and caused them to

> glisten. Mr. Hartman sat by her side, his severity softened by the

> light's odd blush as he stroked her face and gazed into her eyes,

> whispering to her. What was striking however, was Mrs. Hartman. As if

> lit by a glittering spotlight, she glowed. Her eyes sparkled like

> jewels as she stared beatifically up at her husband with a peaceful,

> serene stare. The love between them was electric.

>

> I looked away, ashamed, as if a voyeur to their private miracle. But

> I remember it -- because somehow that image of the stooped, gnarled

> old man caressing the bloated bald face of his wife was one of the

> most romantic, unexpectedly beautiful sights I have ever seen.

>

> I could almost feel 's soft warm grip around my fingers as I

> watched, yet again, as one of the bleakest darkest situations yielded

> another rainbow. And I understood.

>

> This article can also be read at:

> http://www.aish.com/societyWork/society/Hunting_for_Rainbows.asp

>

> Author Biography:

> Jackie Yaris is a physician practicing internal medicine in Beverly

> Hills, Ca. She is also a wife and the mother of three young children.

>

>

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