The Road to Mercy (4 page)

Three days later, while waiting for Beth to return from another procedure, Josh fumbled through the cable television channels. His wife had been transferred from critical care into a private room yesterday, a reason for celebration. He was also relieved to have a quiet place to wait. He had done a lot of waiting since arriving at the hospital three days ago. Scheduled tests and the task of keeping up with doctor visits had taken priority over personal needs. Finally, prompted by a growling stomach, he decided to get something to eat while he had the opportunity.

The hospital cafeteria was located on the first floor near the main elevators. Although nutritionally adequate, the food tasted like cardboard. Josh walked to the dessert display and reached for a slice of cherry pie. Then he remembered the cookies he had stashed in his coat pocket. Beth’s chocolate chip pizzazz cookies. He had found them on the kitchen counter after arriving home on his first night in town. They were a sweet reminder of his wife’s love.

Guilt and doubt overwhelmed him. Was God nudging him to leave the tour, to stay at home with Beth? Dr. Abrams had said she would need around-the-clock care for a while. Neither he nor Beth had family living close enough to help.

Josh purchased a cheeseburger and carried his tray to a table in the rear of the cafeteria seating area, nodding to a table of familiar faces before taking a seat against the wall. He had made several acquaintances in the short time Beth had been in the hospital, and he had learned their personal stories. Some had family awaiting surgery, while others were recovering. Each person’s expression changed daily, depending on the condition of his or her loved one. They were all riding the same emotional roller coaster. Except for a group of giggling student nurses, who sat at the corner table. Life went on for those momentarily unaffected by the temporal nature of this existence.

Josh had eaten half of his sandwich when his cell phone rang. It was Beth.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“In the cafeteria. Can I bring you something?”

“No.” Her voice quivered. “Dr. Abrams came in a few minutes ago. He wants to talk to us together.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He quickly disposed of his tray and headed upstairs to her room. Beth greeted him with an odd expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. But the look on the doctor’s face scared me.”

“It’s probably nothing.” He took a seat on the side of her bed and stroked her dark brown curls. “Most likely some instructions he’s afraid you’ll forget,” he teased.

She smiled. It thrilled him to see her looking more like herself again.

A half hour later, while Beth was eating a light supper brought by the hospital staff, Dr. Abrams appeared. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner. Are you having filet or lobster tonight?”

They laughed.

The doctor’s face sobered. “I’ll get to the point. We’ve confirmed that you have a three-centimeter dissection of the carotid artery. As you know, this is a serious condition. However, there is a complication that concerns me even more.” He exhaled deeply. “Mrs. Harrison, you’re pregnant. Test results came back today.”

Josh turned to his wife. Her eyes met his, and then she looked away. She refocused her gaze on her hands, which she held clasped tightly in her lap. When her shoulders began to shake, Josh walked to the side of the bed and put his arm around her, the possibilities of all that could be ahead for them swirling in his mind.

They had hoped for children. Perhaps in the next year or two. But not now, and not under such circumstances.

Finally, turning to Dr. Abrams, he broke the silence in the room. “What does this mean for my wife?”

The physician shook his head. “If you value Bethany’s life, you must terminate the pregnancy.”

Isaac Ruben kicked a stone as he shuffled home from the
yeshiva
. Summer break had begun. Unlike most of his friends, who played softball or spent their afternoons in the library, he helped his grandfather at the flower shop each day.

Grandfather wanted him to learn the business, to make it his life’s work and to carry it on for a second generation. But Isaac had other ideas growing in his head. Stripping thorns from roses left his hands swollen and sore, and sweeping the floors was a thankless task.

“Watch what you’re doing,
eynikl
. Can’t you do better than that? A lazy person must do a task twice.”

“I’m sorry,
Zayde
. I will do better.”

Although he tried, his heart was not in it.

Delivering flowers was the best part of his chores. He would stack three or four bundles in the handlebar basket of his bicycle and set out to explore the periphery of his world. His mind raced faster than his feet could pedal—as free as the wind blowing off the East River.

Sometimes he would sit on the bank of the waterway and look across to the Manhattan skyline, watching the planes take off for places he had never seen. Cities he could only dream about.

Someday he would fly away on one of those big airplanes.

And he would never return.

Shadows and sound darted around the room like children playing tag in a park. In the distance, Beth heard laughter, followed by muffled conversation. The voices ebbed and flowed.

Pain had gone, at least for the moment. Its absence brought freedom. Ecstasy. Almost weightlessness. She drifted on an ocean breeze. Palm trees, caressed by the wind, waved against a cloudless, blue sky. Although distant, the sun’s rays warmed her.

Then she realized that something, someone, held her down. She flexed her forearm, producing no movement. A slight irritation rose inside her. Then panic.

Where was she? She tried harder to pull herself up. Heat surged through her body, and she became aware of an intense light surrounding her.

She must escape.

The shadows gathered closer, blocking out the artificial sun, and a sharp object pricked her skin. Numbness began to spread. Was it her body or her mind being anesthetized?

A silent scream sprang from deep inside her. Trapped by flesh and bones, it ricocheted across her soul. Irritation turned
to discomfort, then hopelessness. Without warning, a low whine cut through the muffled sound of voices. Life was being pulled away from her.

She heard herself scream.

“Mrs. Harrison, please. Relax.”

Beth tried to focus on the woman’s face. “My baby . . .”

The nurse stroked her forehead. “Your baby is fine, dear. You’ve had a nightmare.”

Josh rushed toward her. “Is everything okay?”

Beth reached for his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A few minutes later Josh stepped outside his wife’s hospital room and approached Dr. Abrams, who was standing in the hallway and scribbling onto a chart.

“What just happened in there, doctor?”

Dr. Abrams motioned for him to walk down the hallway. “Your wife had a morphine-induced dream.” They stopped a few steps from the nurses’ station, and the doctor looked squarely into Josh’s eyes. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“I have a hard time accepting that.” Josh ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m afraid these drugs will affect the baby.”

“Any medication can put the baby at risk, but—”

“I’ve heard the word
risk
way too many times this week. I need facts, reassurances. How long will Beth have to stay on the morphine?” Josh pointed to the clipboard in the doctor’s hands. “Or any of these drugs?”

Dr. Abrams studied him. “I don’t think you understand. Your wife is in a lot of pain. She needs medication just to get through the day.” He frowned. “Her pain is intolerable. Do you understand that?”

“Of course, I do, but . . .”

The physician continued. “We don’t dispense morphine, or any narcotic, unless it’s necessary. In Bethany’s case, narcotics may be required for months.” The muscles in his jaws twitched. “If there is no sign of healing after a few months, then we’ll discuss surgery, which has its own set of risks.”

Josh shook his head. “I’m not challenging your judgment, but . . .”

The doctor heaved a long sigh. “You’re emotionally involved. You’ve chosen to keep the baby.” He softened his stance a bit. “Of course, that’s your and your wife’s decision. But, please, realize that this pregnancy is a complication to an already serious condition.”

The doctor’s piercing blue eyes cut through the chilled air between them.

Josh steadied himself against the wall, trapped between two difficult choices, and nodded.

“My priorities are with your wife. Her artery is microscopically dissected. It’s weak and vulnerable. The more stress on that tiny tear, the more likely it will rupture. Even the smallest complication could cause that to happen.”

“Shouldn’t she have surgery right away?”

“In many cases, these fissures repair themselves. But it takes time. We should know more in three or four months. In the meantime, I want to give Bethany all of the advantages I can.”

“Because the pregnancy adds risk. . . .” Josh heard himself repeat the word he had come to hate. “What happens if her artery doesn’t heal in seven months, when the baby is born?”

“Pregnancy is a natural condition, but it puts additional stress on the body,” the doctor said.

“Beth could die in childbirth?” It was more a statement than a question.

“Of course, it’s a possibility. The trauma of labor will put pressure on her artery and if it hasn’t healed by that time, well . . . we
don’t know what will happen.” He took a long breath. “But you have to understand that just getting to that point is dangerous.” The doctor studied Josh’s reaction. “It’s not too late to terminate, to give your wife every advantage you can.”

“Dr. Abrams, Beth doesn’t want to do that.” Josh chose his words carefully. “I appreciate you shooting straight with me and your concern for my wife’s best interests. I need all the insight you can give me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But Beth is determined.”

Josh looked down at the floor and then back to the doctor.

“She has—we both have—a strong faith, and we must ultimately believe that God will get us, and the baby, through this.”

Ben Abrams shrugged a shoulder. “I wish you the best, and I’ll do all I can to help you. Just understand, I’m not in the business of miracles.”

Ben Abrams shook his head as he walked away. What was it with religious types always basing their lives on the unseen? The intangible rather than the tangible. How could that kind of thinking help get someone through life much less influence their afterlife, as they all seemed to believe?

Such irrational thinking wasn’t for him. It was nothing more than a
bubbe-meise
, a fairytale told on a grandmother’s knee. Those days were gone for him, if they had ever really been. He had chosen to live a reality-centered life, one based on science not superstition or spiritual mumbo jumbo. Perhaps his philosophy about life wasn’t perfect, but he had helped many more people than religion ever could.

He made a quick stop at the sink to wash his hands before entering his next patient’s room. Slathering his hands with
liquid soap, he rubbed them together quickly, rinsed with hot water, and reached for a paper towel to dry.

You can no more clean your soul with prayers than you can clean it with soap and water
.

Ben hoped that Bethany Harrison’s religious beliefs didn’t play a role in ending her young life too soon. But he had done all he could do.

He wadded up the paper towel and threw it in the trash, disposing of the matter.