双语·当呼吸化为空气 是文学让我重获新生

所以，在这段难熬的时光，是文学让我重获新生。关于未来的那种巨大的不确定感令人死气沉沉；不管我走到哪里，死亡的阴影都会模糊任何行动的意义。我还记得那豁然开朗的一刻，压倒一切的不安终于消散，似乎不可逾越的惶恐之海里终于显现出前进之路。当时的我在疼痛中醒来，又要面对毫无意义的一天，除了吃早餐，我也不知道自己该做什么。我无法前行，我心想，然而心中立刻有声音附和，完成了这句来自塞缪尔·贝克特的话。这句话我早在多年以前的大学本科时期就读到了：我仍将前行。我下了床，向前一步，一遍遍重复着完整的句子：“我无法前行。我仍将前行。”
And so it was literature that brought me back to life during this time. The monolithic uncertainty of my future was deadening; everywhere I turned, the shadow of death obscured the meaning of any action. I remember the moment when my overwhelming unease yielded, when that seemingly impassable sea of uncertainty parted. I woke up in pain, facing another day—no project beyond breakfast seemed tenable. I can’t go on, I thought, and immediately, its antiphon responded, completing Samuel Beckett’s seven words, words I had learned long ago as an undergraduate: I’ll go on. I got out of bed and took a step forward, repeating the phrase over and over: “I can’t go on. I’ll go on.”

那天早上，我做出了一个决定：我要逼迫自己，回归手术室。为什么？因为我做得到。因为那就是我。因为我必须学会以不同的方式活着。我会把死神看作一个威风凛凛、不时造访的贵客，但心里要清楚，即使我是个将死之人，我仍然还活着，直到真正死去的那一刻。
That morning, I made a decision: I would push myself to return to the OR. Why? Because I could. Because that’s who I was. Because I would have to learn to live in a different way, seeing death as an imposing itinerant visitor but knowing that even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I am still living.

接下来的六个星期，我改变了一下物理治疗的重点，主要集中练习恢复手术时需要的力量：长时间的站立，对小物件的精密操纵，手掌向内翻转放置椎弓根钉。
Over the next six weeks, I altered my physical therapy program, focusing now on building strength specifically for operating: long hours of standing, micromanipulation of small objects, pronation for placing pedicle screws.

接着我又去做了一次CT，肿瘤略微缩小了一点。艾玛和我一起看片子，她说：“我不知道你还能活多久，但我想说，今天我在你之前见的那个病人，吃特罗凯已经七年了，还没出什么问题。当然距离你的癌症稳定下来还有很长的路要走，但是，看你现在的样子，说能活十年也不算疯话。你可能活不到那么长，但也不是天方夜谭。”
Another CT scan followed. The tumor had shrunk slightly more. Going over the images with me, Emma said, “I don’t know how long you’ve got, but I will say this: the patient I saw just before you today has been on Tarceva for seven years without a problem. You’ve still got a ways to go before we’re that comfortable with your cancer. But, looking at you, thinking about living ten years is not crazy. You might not make it, but it’s not crazy.”

终于做了预测了，不，不是预测，是理由，是我决定重回神经外科的理由，重回过去生活的理由。我一方面为自己可能再活十年而欢欣鼓舞，一方面又希望她说：“重新做回外科医生太疯狂了，做点更容易的事情吧。”我很震惊地意识到，不管怎么说，过去几个月至少有一个方面是轻松明快的：不用去承受身为神经外科医生那种重若千钧的责任。我竟然隐隐地希望有人能给我个台阶，让我顺着走下去，不再重拾这沉重的负担。神经外科真的很辛苦，就算我不回去，也没人会指责我。（总有人问这是不是一种使命召唤，我总是给出肯定的回答。你不能把神经外科看作一份工作，因为，如果是工作的话，那就是世界上最糟糕的工作。）有几个教授非常不赞成我回去的想法：“你难道不该花点时间陪陪家人？”（“难道不该吗？”我也扪心自问。我做出重返工作的决定，是因为对我来说，这份工作是非常神圣的。）露西和我才去爬过山，整个硅谷尽收眼底，我们看到很多著名的地标，很多建筑上的名字都标示着上一代的生物医学和技术革新，我要是想去，随便哪一家都可以。然而，最终，想重握外科钻的渴望变得过于强烈，不容忽视。道德义务是有重量的，有重量的东西就有引力，所以道德责任的引力又将我拉回手术室。露西也表示全力支持。
Here was the prognostication—no, not prognostication: justification. Justification of my decision to return to neurosurgery, to return to life. One part of me exulted at the prospect of ten years. Another part wished she’d said, “Going back to being a neurosurgeon is crazy for you—pick something easier.” I was startled to realize that in spite of everything, the last few months had had one area of lightness: not having to bear the tremendous weight of the responsibility neurosurgery demanded— and part of me wanted to be excused from picking up the yoke again. Neurosurgery is really hard work, and no one would have faulted me for not going back. (People often ask if it is a calling, and my answer is always yes. You can’t see it as a job, because if it’s a job, it’s one of the worst jobs there is.) A couple of my professors actively discouraged the idea: “Shouldn’t you be spending time with your family?” (“Shouldn’t you?” I wondered. I was making the decision to do this work because this work, to me, was a sacred thing.) Lucy and I had just reached the top of the hill, the landmarks of Silicon Valley, buildings bearing the names of every biomedical and technological transformation of the last generation, unfolding below us. Eventually, though, the itch to hold a surgical drill again had become too compelling. Moral duty has weight, things that have weight have gravity, and so the duty to bear mortal responsibility pulled me back into the operating room. Lucy was fully supportive.