“Would you say it’s your calling? Your vocation and avocation both? Is it something you truly like to do? Something you’d be unhappy if you didn’t get to do all day every day?”
“I would say that, yes. My work is the most important part of my life.”
“No plans to retire then? You’d like to keep on working for—well, how long would you say?”
“Indefinitely. As long as I’m able.”
“And if you weren’t able? What then? Would you be happy if you couldn’t do what you’re doing now?”
“I doubt it. I’m not a golfer or a gardener, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“OK then, imagine this: Let’s say you were given the choice of living for a short but indefinite period exactly as you are right now—a prominent surgeon at the top of his game, teaching, publishing, coming up with new operations nobody ever dreamed of before—Picture that on the one hand, and on the other hand, you could be guaranteed a longer life at the expense of never again being able to do what you love to do—Never be able to operate again or even have the ability to remember all the drugs and diagnoses you need to keep at the tip of your tongue to be effective in the clinic—would you take that guarantee to live a few more years?”
“I … I can’t say. I guess I’d have to think about it.”
“Really? You’d really have to think?”
“Maybe not, Mr. Atherton. I see your point.”
“OK, let’s get specific then: As far as I’m concerned, you can’t say for certain exactly when I’ll die, can you? Can you give a specific time?”
“Not to the minute, no. No one can.”
“So it might be, let’s say, a day? A week? A month? A year? Or it could be an hour or a decade, isn’t that right?”
“Not a decade, no; but if you were to live very quietly without any exertion or stress, yes, you could make it for a while, I guess.”
“With all my faculties preserved, right?”
“For now. For the present, until….”
“Yes, but we all have a future filled with those ‘until’s, don’t we? All of us are waiting ‘until’.”
“I’m getting the pretty clear impression that you’re opting against the surgery, Mr. Atherton. I think you’re making a terrible decision, sir; but if that’s your feeling, any further discussion would be a total waste of my time.”
“Not a total waste, Dr. Cameron, and not entirely futile from your point of view. If you stick around a while, you might learn something about the utility of life and the dignity of death. But you’re a busy man, Doc; and if you wish, as far as I’m concerned, you may be excused.”
Whereupon, the doctor promptly left, still showing no expression on his face whatever—not of anger, nor disappointment, nor the merest trace of sympathy for the moribund person in the bed. From brow to chin, the man was a total blank. Not Eddie, though—certainly not Eddie. Poor Eddie dropped down onto a chair weeping like a child, sobbing, covering his face with his hands. But Tommy? Give the guy credit where it’s due—Tommy resolutely kept his head. His eyes looked moist, his mouth looked grim—he couldn’t alter that—but he fought to keep his composure, as he stepped over to the bedside, took Ben’s hand in both of his, and proceeded to put his own formidable reasoning up against Ben’s, their fascinating dialogue running thus:
“Ben, look, this decision that you’re making—It doesn’t just affect you alone; you realize that, don’t you?”
“Tommy, everything we do affects everyone else in a way. The universe is a cascade of actions and reactions. The beat of a butterfly’s wing can move a molecule that sticks to another molecule that binds to a protein that goes on to alter the whole genetic future of life itself. Of course, I realize that chain of causality. It’s fundamental.”
“And with people even more-so, Ben. If a molecule can change things that much, what can a whole living person do? Look at you, Ben, look at all the people who love you and need you around. Look at Eddie there; you think he wants to lose you so soon if he doesn’t have to? And Carole—she’s devoted to you; don’t you owe it to her to live as long as you possibly can, whatever it takes? And all the people who work for you and know you; the people you’ve helped and kept in business and kept in their jobs—everybody loves you, Ben. And … and … I know we’ve only known each other for a week or two, but….”
“I know, Tommy. I understand exactly what you want to say. I feel the same way as you do. I feel as though I’ve known you all my life. You’re like a brother, or a son—or maybe like a brother and a son. It’s hard to put into words, and I can’t do it any better than you can, but I think I know how you feel, and I think you know how I feel—that’s how much in tune the two of us are genetically programmed to be. I would have liked to have had more time with you, sure: But look at it this way: Let’s be thankful that we met and for the time we had together, however short it was. These past two weekends were some of the high points of my life. My fondest desire in life right now is to help you realize your dream, and I’m grateful that I’m getting the chance to do that. You’ve got a fabulous future to look forward to, and I feel now that I’m going to be a part of it, whether I’m physically with you or not. And look, don’t be so maudlin, alright? You heard what my cardiovascular surgeon just said, didn’t you? I might live a whole lot longer than anyone expects me to live. I’ve got a damn good reason to live longer now, don’t I? Our new automotive venture? It’s the most excited I’ve felt about anything in years. Maybe I’ll live to see you build it up enough to dominate the world. If you did, I honestly believe you’ve got the brains to run the whole damn planet more efficiently.”
Tommy called it quits at that point. Who wouldn’t have? No one could argue successfully with Ben—That was a given. But an equal factor in his giving up the argument was the boy’s emotions. Everyone loved Ben, and he knew why. How did he know it? How could he feel it? Because he loved Ben every bit as much as anyone else.
So when Ben told him: “OK, kid. That’s enough disputation for today. I’m tired, I’m a little stressed, and I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so let’s sign off till then. You asked me about my lifelong goals and aspirations—remember? And I never got to tell you. Well, tomorrow, you and me—we’re going to sit down together all alone, and I’m going to tell you everything you want to know and all the stuff you’re going to need to know to have a meaningful and happy life. Bring a pad and pencil if you like so you can take some notes. One day—you never know—you might just find them useful.”
41
“Hi there. Going to New York or just stopping there to transfer?”
“Pardon? My English not so pretty good. But if you will speak slowly more, I maybe understand.”
“Oh, sorry, dear. You’re Russian, then?—From Moscow, or...?”
“Yes, I am Moskvichka. Live in Moskva, work in Moskva. I go to New York for to meeting person I do not know. But very important I should meet him. What you say, ‘long story’—Is correct?”
“Yes, ‘long story’ means something you don’t really want to talk about. So if you don’t, that’s perfectly OK. I certainly wouldn’t want to press you.”
“’Press?’ Like garments you are saying? Or like push.”
“I don’t want you to tell me things you don’t want to tell. That’s what I mean.”
“Ah, well, I do not mind to tell you, but there is much I do not know. Is famous man I go to meet. His name Ben Atherton. Is important man. Very rich, I think. You know from him?”
“Ben Atherton! The one from Atherton Corporation? I’ll say he’s famous. My husband had some stock in his concern years ago and sold it. I wish to God we’d kept it. It would have been worth a mint today. So you’re going there to meet him, are you? A gorgeous thing like you; it isn’t hard to figure why.”
“This is complement, I think, and I will thank you for it. But Mr. Atherton: The reason that I go to meet him is girl he used to know when he was younger man; she look pretty much like me. I have her picture t
hat I print from FaceMate—You are knowing about FaceMate?”
“Honey, everybody knows about FaceMate. It’s the hottest company in the world these days. Umm—is this the picture?”
“Yes, just last night I print it out from picture in my email, in case somebody want to see.”
“But—this is you, isn’t it? The picture you’re showing me is you. It’s exactly you.”
“Look like, but here: You see clothing? Old style clothing—you see this? And little different hair. Different style, not lot different, but you can tell, no?”
“Maybe. But I would swear this picture is of you—and taken recently. Your face and this girl’s are exactly alike.”
“Yes, it is sad, I think. This girl no longer living. That is why this Mr. Ben, he want to see me. To remind him, I think. I think still he miss her very much.”
“I can see why. You and she are about the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. But listen, dear, will you have a chaperone in the States? Someone to look after you, I mean. Ben Atherton is a very prominent man, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want any kind of scandal; but still, a girl like you alone—You need to be very careful.”
“Careful? Yes, always I am careful. All my life I am very careful. Many men you cannot trust, will take advantage. But ballet dancer—we thin and small, but very strong. I do not worry. Nice man come to meet me, beside. Edward his name. Very kind; I talk to him on Internet. He also work for Mr. Ben.”
“He’s meeting you in New York then? At the airport? Because if you need a ride, I can maybe give you one.”
“No, what they say, they say different person meet me from plane, then different plane to other place. You hear of place name Cleveland?”
“Sure, it’s about an hour’s flight from New York. I’ll help direct you when we get in if you need me to. Just let me know.”
“Thank you very much for making offer, but nothing that I need, unless….”
“Unless what, dear? Anything I can do for you, just name it.”
“Name?”
“Tell me what I can do to help you—Is there anything?”
“Ah yes. We have time on plane now, yes?”
“Time? On the flight? Sure, nine full hours till Kennedy—why?”
“If you will talk with me whole time, I can practice and maybe learn to speak lot better English. Is OK?”
“Yes, dear; now listen: what we would say is ‘Is that OK?’. Say it now; repeat it after me: ‘Is that OK?’—Now say it.”
“Is that OK?”
“Perfect! In nine hours, I’ll have you speaking like a native. Now tell me what you think you’ll want to talk about with Mr. Atherton, and we’ll go over it until you get every single word just right.”
Ben had had a miserable evening and was in the midst of having an even more miserable night. The breathlessness, the pressure in his chest—Both of them were worse now and getting more and more disturbing almost by the hour. In retrospect, he’d been aware of them for months—aware of something, at any rate—But the something had been subtle: a twinge beneath the breastbone now and then, a breath or two that felt a bit more labored than the norm. Was something wrong? he’d wondered. Well maybe; no denying that was a possibility. But then with a minute or two of rest, he’d go right back to feeling absolutely fine. And when he hopped back up on the treadmill or elliptical, or had to deal with a stressful situation again—Well what do you know? Nothing; no little twitter in the chest this time, no hint of struggling for air. Which meant that everything was normal, didn’t it? He was as fit and healthy as ever he had been.
And then the appointment for the echo last week: Routine, he’d thought; a nuisance to be gotten out of the way. And, truthfully, why in the world should he think otherwise? Take an hour off from work, get the damn thing over with, then have a glass of scotch to celebrate the assurance of good health. He’d say hi to the doc; hand the receptionist a classy bottle of perfume; fifteen minutes for the test; run out to Carole in the limo, then back to the office by 2:00. “You’re fine, Ben,” Harvey would say; and if Harvey said it, you were good as gold. Hell, Ben had known the esteemed Dr. Axelrod for thirty-some-odd years now, ever since Ben was a young kid on the make trying to build some capital reserve for the firm he was starting to set up. And Harvey? Hell, a better heart guy and a nicer, smarter person simply didn’t exist.
“What can I do for you, young fellow?” Harvey had asked him. This was back in the ‘80’s, three years after his darling Lizzie had died, one year after AthCorp was born.
“Well, Dr. Axelrod, I’d really like to have your business if there’s any way I could.”
“Drug rep, huh? What company do you represent?”
“Not drugs, sir. I do investments, and I think I could help in building up your pension plan or IRA.”
“Maybe you could, son, but I’ve got an investment counselor already, and he seems to be handling my portfolio pretty well. But it’s only fair to ask you: What can you offer that he can’t?’
“Only three things, Dr. Axelrod. Those are all the arrows in my quiver right now: I really know the markets, I’m scrupulously honest, and I’ll treat your money as if it were my own.”
“Fair answer, young fellow—What’s your name?”
“Ben, sir. Ben Atherton.”
“Ben Atherton—Hmm, I think I might just know you, Ben—Or of you, at least. I took care of Donald Sommers when he was sick. Two weeks in intensive care, poor fellow; we pretty nearly lost him back then.”
“Donald Sommers? I’m not sure….”
“His son is Norman Sommers, and his daughter-in-law is….”
“Dorothy, right? Lizzie’s parents, that would be.”
“Which makes Donald, Elizabeth Sommers’ granddad. He had his heart attack because of what happened to her; all the grieving and the stress. And from what I hear, Ben, you had it pretty rough as well.”
“Still do, sir. Three years hasn’t made it any easier, believe me.”
“No, I can imagine that. Well, Ben, I guess that tragedy ought to get you a little special consideration on my part, huh? So what I’m going to do is this: I’ve got right around a million-two in my savings, what with the money I inherited from family and what I’ve saved, last I checked. How about you taking over maybe twenty percent of that, and letting me see how you do—Does that sound like a reasonable trial?”
It sounded more than reasonable, and within a couple of months, the two-hundred-and-forty-some-odd-thousand that Ben took into his hands was up to four-sixty-seven and increasing rapidly every day; and all the rest of the Axelrod investments were in Ben’s fund shortly afterward and growing with similar velocity too. Which led to the other doctors in Monmouth County signing on, all five hundred of them, and then the doctors in the next county, and the next, and then the dentists and the lawyers, and…. But Harvey Axelrod had started it all. He and Ben had been friends now for a bit over thirty years, and so it couldn’t have been all that easy for Harvey to put his hand on Ben’s shoulder, once the test was done, and say:
“Ben, I’m looking at your echo here, and…. Who is this note from, by the way? Who was the doctor that told you to get tested for hypertrophic Genny?”
“For what? What was the term you used?”
“Hyper Genny is a shorthand name for hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, Geneva variant, and this echo clearly shows that….”
“That I’ve got it, I’m guessing—right?”
“Right. I hate to even say it, but that’s right. So who was the diagnostic genius who told us to look for it in the first place? You should be going to him and not to me. I’ve never seen a case before; not many doctors have. There are only forty or fifty diagnosed in the States every year, and only a couple of centers that can handle the disease from a surgical standpoint, Cleveland for one, and maybe Houston—I’d have to look it up. You want me to go ahead and check for you, and maybe try and get you in?”
‘No, not just yet. I’m right in the middle of something I
’ll need to wrap up first. But, listen, Harvey, don’t tell anybody, OK? Not even Carole; or Eddie; or anybody—can you do that for me?”
“OK, sure I will; I can’t release any information without your permission by law anyway, so you don’t need to even tell me that.”
Harvey had some time to talk—Hell, even if he didn’t, he would have made some time to talk; so they sat for a while and covered a few more questions that needed to be asked: Harvey pulled out some books and filed through a couple of journal articles to look up the one-in-ten-million disease: Onset between thirty-five and fifty-five—Check. Five-to-one males over females—Check. Healthy till sudden onset—Check. A typical presentation right down the line—So what else did the literature say? Medicines of minimal effect; rapid progression after symptoms appear; surgery of limited benefit.
“Yeah, you’ve got to do the surgery early in the disease, Ben; and you’re too far advanced for it to be much help—and even if we’d caught it earlier….”
“Uh-huh? Even if we’d caught it earlier, what?”
“These cardiac procedures are long and complicated, and they take forever—six, eight, ten hours sometimes, sometimes even more. And to put people out that long—It’s an induced coma, in effect, and half of the post-ops come out of it with a functioning heart, but their brains—It’s pathetic sometimes; walking zombies, you know? So even in the earliest stage, the surgery isn’t always all that terrific in the end. It’s hard for me to tell you this, but….”
“Well, Harvey, bottom line—It doesn’t sound too hopeful, does it?”
Harvey’s eyes were moist. A nice guy, a sweet guy, a guy who cared for people more than a doctor of the dead and dying should.
“You know, Ben, you’re taking this a hell of a lot better than I am.”
“How else should I take it, Doc? Wringing my hands isn’t going to do much good. So, bottom line, if medicine’s out and surgery’s out, what’s your best advice then, Harvey? What do you think I should do?”
“Well, first of all, junk the treadmills and ellipticals; and most important of all, make sure you avoid any emotional stress. I’m saying any, Ben—No iffy investments, no risky deals. I don’t even want you seeing a scary movie or watching a ball game after the seventh inning—got the picture now?”
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