雙語·當(dāng)呼吸化為空氣 事情真的這么糟糕了嗎
事情真的這么糟糕了嗎？在全世界最為嚴(yán)格和高要求的醫(yī)學(xué)專家門下接受神經(jīng)外科的訓(xùn)練，的確讓我們的婚姻亮起了紅燈。多少個夜晚，我很晚才回家，露西已經(jīng)睡了，而我筋疲力盡地倒在客廳的地上。多少個清晨，天還沒亮我就離家去上班了，她卻還沒睡醒。但現(xiàn)在我倆的事業(yè)都正處在高峰期，大多數(shù)大學(xué)都希望我倆一起去：我進神經(jīng)外科，露西進內(nèi)科。這人生之路最艱難的一段我們都熬過來了。這事兒我們不是討論過很多次了嗎？她難道不知道現(xiàn)在鬧情緒是最不明智的嗎？她難道不知道，我住院醫(yī)師的生涯只剩最后一年了？她難道不知道我愛她？她難道不知道我們馬上就要共同奔赴理想的生活了嗎？
Were things really so bad? Neurosurgical training, among the most rigorous and demanding of all medical specialties, had surely put a strain on our marriage. There were so many nights when I came home late from work, after Lucy had gone to bed, and collapsed on the living room floor, exhausted, and so many mornings when I left for work in the early dark, before she’d awoken. But our careers were peaking now—most universities wanted both of us: me in neurosurgery, Lucy in internal medicine. We’d survived the most difficult part of our journey. Hadn’t we discussed this a dozen times? Didn’t she realize this was the worst possible time for her to blow things up? Didn’t she see that I had only one year left in residency, that I loved her, that we were so close to the life together we’d always wanted?
“如果只是因為住院醫(yī)師，我沒問題，”她說，“我們都走到這一步了。但問題是，如果不僅僅是因為住院醫(yī)師呢？你真的覺得，等你成了神經(jīng)外科主治醫(yī)師和教授，一切就會好起來嗎？”
“If it were just residency, I could make it,” she said. “We’ve made it this far. But the problem is, what if it’s not just residency? Do you really think things will be better when you’re an academic neurosurgery attending?”
我提出不去紐約了，大家都用開放的心態(tài)，去看看幾個月前露西提議的婚姻咨詢師。但她堅持說，她需要時間，要一個人待著。當(dāng)時，我頭腦里那種混亂迷惑的嗡嗡聲已經(jīng)消失了，只剩下冰冷堅硬的現(xiàn)實。行，我對自己說，要是她決定離開，那我就認為這段關(guān)系應(yīng)該結(jié)束了。如果最后真的診斷出癌癥，我也不會告訴她。她可以自由自在地去過自己選擇的生活。
I offered to skip the trip, to be more open, to see the couples therapist Lucy had suggested a few months ago, but she insisted that she needed time—alone. At that point, the fuzziness of the confusion dissipated, leaving only a hard edge. Fine, I said. If she decided to leave, then I would assume the relationship was over. If it turned out that I had cancer, I wouldn’t tell her—she’d be free to live whatever life she chose.
動身去紐約之前，我偷偷去看了幾次醫(yī)生，排除了一些年輕人常見的癌癥。（睪丸癌？不是。黑色素瘤？不是。白血??？不是。）神經(jīng)外科一如既往地忙碌。周四晚上到周五早上我一直連軸轉(zhuǎn)，在手術(shù)室整整待了三十六個小時，處理一系列非常復(fù)雜的病例：巨大的動脈瘤、顱內(nèi)動脈搭橋、動靜脈畸形。主治醫(yī)生進來的時候我滿懷感激地默默舒了口氣，至少能靠在墻上松動松動背部的筋骨了。唯一能去照個胸片的時間是離開醫(yī)院后回家的路上，還有去飛機場之前。我心想，如果我得了癌癥，那這就是最后一次見那些朋友了；如果沒得，那更沒理由取消這次行程了。
Before leaving for New York, I snuck in a few medical appointments to rule out some common cancers in the young. (Testicular? No. Melanoma? No. Leukemia? No.) The neurosurgical service was busy, as always. Thursday night slipped into Friday morning as I was caught in the operating room for thirty-six hours straight, in a series of deeply complex cases: giant aneurysms, intrace-rebral arterial bypasses, arteriovenous malformations. I breathed a silent thanks when the attending came in, allowing me a few minutes to ease my back against a wall. The only time to get a chest X-ray was as I was leaving the hospital, on the way home before heading to the airport. I figured either I had cancer, in which case this might be the last time I would see my friends, or I didn’t, in which case there was no reason to cancel the trip.
