The annus mirabilis of 1999

The annus mirabilis of 1999. The year of my death—I would guess, calmly. While he was in the hospital, Steinberg signed a second advance health-care directive naming Prudence Crowther as the person authorized to make decisions about his care and treatment if he became unable to do so himself. Nothing was necessary, as he was in full cognizance, but she organized all the details of his release and contacted the people she thought should know that his pancreatic cancer was so advanced that he would go home to hospice care for what might be a matter of days, a week at the most. By the time he was back in his apartment, Aldo Buzzi and Sandy Frazier were on their way to New York to help Prudence through the final vigil, or, more accurately, to help Prudence help Saul and Hedda get through it.

Sandy slept at a friend’s apartment but spent long days at Saul’s, while Aldo stayed full-time. He arrived on May 6 and went directly up to Saul’s bedroom on the second floor of the apartment, leaving Prudence downstairs in the living area to hear something she had not heard for a very long time: Saul’s deep and resonant laughter, a laugh that surely only a friend of such long standing as Aldo could have elicited. Aldo worked hard to make their meeting a joyous reunion, and his effort set much of the tone for how the people who loved Saul would behave as his last days unfolded.

When it came to stoicism, Prudence believed that Aldo could have given Marcus Aurelius lessons. By his own choice, he slept on the living room sofa, rising early to make his bed and clear away the evidence of his habitation and get things ready for the friends who came throughout the day. The apartment was perfectly constructed to hold a vigil for the dying, as Saul’s bedroom was quiet, tranquil, and secluded on the upper floor, while his friends downstairs could cook, talk, laugh, and sometimes cry without disturbing him. There were often many people floating about in the kitchen and dining room, as each of Saul’s friends had an orbit of their own friends who wanted to make sure their needs were met while they ministered to his. Vita Peterson was there for Hedda, and among the others was an Italian-speaking friend of Prudence’s whom she invited to give Aldo a respite from having to speak English all the time. In an effort to instill levity into the sadness of what was essentially a death watch, Prudence and Aldo agreed that living in a duplex was the best way to ensure a good end.

For the several days before the hospice attendants began their daily visits, Prudence and Aldo took care of Saul, doing everything from helping him sit up in bed to escorting him to the bathroom. Saul was resigned to his end, medications kept him relatively comfortable, and he relaxed in Aldo’s care, reassured that Aldo knew what to do because he had had years of experience caring for his terminally ill mother.

On the afternoon of May 8, Prudence recorded in her datebook that the doctors had decided morphine was no longer necessary; she followed this with Aldo’s observation that Saul no longer felt pain but his despair had returned. She also recorded some of Saul’s remarks to her: “I’m dying, I can feel it—and of something so stupid. And I don’t know what I’m dying for.” Later that same day, he said, “I’m glad I don’t have parents.” And even later, when he was drifting in and out of sleep, he said something for which he seemed to want an answer: “a.m. Send everybody home.” Prudence asked what about Hedda—should she still be allowed to come every day, and if not, what should she tell her? Saul said, “Tell her to stay home.” Sometime later he said, “I want a Parisian doctor to tell me what I have.” When he had periods of delirium, he sometimes talked to Sandy in Italian, a language Sandy did not speak; to Hedda in Romanian; once or twice to Aldo, whose mother was German, in what might have been garbled German but was more probably Yiddish. At other times he spoke coherently in English to Prudence.

No one who observed them could forget how tenderly Aldo cared for his dearest friend, particularly Prudence, who thought Aldo may have been suffering greatly inside but admired the way he could still be witty for Saul and enchanting to others. Aldo’s demeanor helped to keep everyone on an even keel, and they were all grateful to him. During the week he was there, the only problem for Prudence and Sandy was the delicate one of how to ensure that Aldo and Hedda would be in each other’s company only briefly and in passing, for in all the years they had known each other, they had never forged a friendship of their own and maintained cordiality only out of consideration for Saul.

Aldo had to return to Italy on May 10, and in their last encounter, Saul bid his old friend addio, an expression he did not use with anyone else, in the most moving and meaningful way. After Aldo was gone, Sandy and Prudence set up a schedule of shifts to make sure that someone would always be with Saul and so that Hedda could be alone with him whenever she wanted. Hedda always went to her own house to sleep, but during the day she stayed close to Saul, either watching him from the staircase while he was being attended medically or sitting at his bedside. Despite the anti-anxiety medications he still took, Hedda was convinced that Saul’s sleep had been restless and fitful until Aldo was gone and she began to stay with him; as if sensing her presence, he slept quietly and deeply. But there was something puzzling about Hedda’s behavior, as she gave an impression of growing anxiety to the others. At first Sandy and Prudence thought it had to do with Aldo’s being there, but when her nervousness continued after he left, they were unsure about what to do until Vita Peterson told them why Hedda was so jittery and uncomfortable.

Saul had long before made Hedda promise that she would be holding his hands when he died, and Hedda had willingly agreed, but now the prospect terrified her, for several reasons: first because she was afraid that he would die at night when she was not there, and then because she feared she might break down in front of him and ruin his last moments of life. Her first fear was soothed soon after Saul was brought back to the apartment, when his doctors realized that the quick end they had envisioned was not going to happen as swiftly as they had predicted and that his death would probably happen in a matter of weeks instead of a few days. Although Prudence would have found a way to make private sleeping quarters for Hedda if she had wanted to move in, Hedda never asked, deciding on her own initiative to sleep at home and spend her waking hours at Saul’s. Vita Peterson was the devoted friend who usually accompanied Hedda back and forth, and after Hedda broke down and confided her fears, Vita thought Prudence and Sandy needed to know so they could try to resolve Hedda’s uneasiness. From then on, Prudence and Sandy worked out a sensitive and discreet collusion to ensure that someone would be downstairs and ready to run up to assist Hedda in any way she needed.

The last days unfolded with a certain structure imposed by the team of hospice personnel from Mount Sinai Hospital. Early each morning a nurse examined Saul and assessed his condition. Afterward, Prudence telephoned Hedda to give her the report and tell her to come whenever she wanted. Despite the inevitable recitations of daily decline, which were so sad for Hedda to hear, knowing how she would find him before she got there made it easier for her to assume the bedside vigils. She broke down only once, but gained control over herself and recovered quickly. It happened when Dr. Tepler came to examine Saul while Hedda waited outside on the staircase; when he was finished, he assured her that Saul was not suffering and that he would have all the medication he needed to relieve his pain. She accepted what he said and seemed fine until shortly after, when the retired Dr. Fisch arrived out of friendship to pay his final farewell, at which time she burst into tears. She was more difficult to comfort and calm that time, until Dr. Fisch told her to take one half of one of Saul’s anti-anxiety pills when she went home that night. She did, and slept for the first time in a very long time, and when she went back the next day there was a marked change in her ability to cope.

On May 12, the nurse overseeing Saul Steinberg’s daily evaluations came downstairs and told the assembled friends that she thought he would die that day. Sandy had spent the night shift with him, and he stayed on while Prudence called Hedda and told her to come at once. They left Hedda alone with Saul, holding his hands to fulfill her promise, while they and some others gathered downstairs to wait for the end. As the day went on, someone asked Prudence if she thought she should go up to check on Hedda. When she entered the bedroom, Hedda, still holding Saul’s hands, said, “I don’t think he’s breathing.” Prudence called Sandy to come up, and the three of them sat quietly together for a very long time.

Hedda kept her promise to hold Saul’s hands during his last moments, but he was not aware of it, as a morphine pump had been installed a day or two before and he was unconscious. At the time it was installed, Hedda recalled, Saul knew on some level that the end was coming. “I am dying,” he told her. “I can feel it, but what am I dying for?” His last words to her were “I am still thinking. Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she told him, “yes.”

EPILOGUE

Дата добавления: 2015-10-30