By My Hands (14 page)

“Yes, in Los Angeles. What I started to say was that
he’s having trouble dealing with this. He won’t show it or say it,
but I know he’s afraid.”

“That’s normal. In fact, it’s good. His fear is an
indication of love, not unmanliness.”

“Pastor, what do I tell the doctors when they ask me
to sign those papers to let David die?”

Adam stood silently. There was no clear answer.
Being an optimist he always had hope, and he wanted to believe that
David might wake up someday if they kept him alive. But his
experience also forced him to be a realist. If the doctors were
suggesting that the family sign release papers that would free the
hospital from the responsibility of maintaining a life with
extraordinary means, then they probably had good reason for doing
so.

“I think it’s best that we discuss it with the rest
of the family,” Adam finally said.

“I don’t feel right leaving David.”

“Ann,” Adam said softly, “there’s nothing you can do
here. David may linger on for hours, maybe even days. It is
unreasonable to expect yourself to stand here hour after hour. You
have an important decision to make, one that should be made with
the rest of the family.”

“I still don’t know.”

“Ann, you’re exhausted. At least come down to the
cafeteria for a cup of coffee.”

She said nothing.

“Ann, if the situation were reversed and it was you
on the bed and David standing where you are, what would you tell
him?” David recalled Dick Slay asking him a similar question. It
had worked then . . .

After a moment of silence Ann reached for her purse.
“You’re right. But only for a few minutes.”

Adam found the family huddled around a table in the
center of the cafeteria. As he and Ann approached, a man he
recognized as Michael stood. Even at a distance, Adam could see the
fear in his eyes.

Adam spoke quickly. “There’s no change in your
father’s condition.” Adam thought he detected a sigh.
Humans are
wonderful creatures
.
Even when no hope is available, they
cling to it.

Ann introduced Adam to the others around the table.
In addition to Michael there was Larry, David’s older brother, and
his wife, Eva.

“I know that this is a very difficult time for you
all,” Adam began. “I honestly wish there were words that would make
this time easier, but there are none. All that remains for you is
to face the situation and your emotions honestly. I also want you
to know the whole church is praying for you. We will do anything we
can to help.

After a moment of silence, Eva said, “Thanks.” Adam
had never met her before, but he had met her husband once at a
church softball game. Larry was the antithesis of David. Where
David was tall and thin, Larry was squat and heavy with a dark
beard that shadowed his face.

Michael was Ann and David’s only son. He appeared to
Adam to be the spitting image of his father—blond hair, deep-set
hazel eyes, and a preponderance of freckles.

“Ann tells me that the doctors have asked you to
sign an agreement releasing the hospital from taking heroic efforts
with David. Would you like to talk about it?”

“We haven’t signed anything yet,” Michael said. “The
hospital chaplain explained everything to us, but we haven’t signed
the papers.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Larry said bitterly.
“They’re asking us to sign David off—to simply give up.” Adam
noticed tears in Larry’s eyes. “We’re not deciding whether to put a
dog to sleep here; we’re talking about my brother—my only
brother.”

Adam watched as the hard exterior of Larry broke.
Times like these were often harder on men. They were ill-equipped
to deal with pain and heartache. It was something that Adam blamed
on society. Too many men grew up with John Wayne and Clint Eastwood
as heroes—men who were too tough to cry. A lifetime of repressing
strong emotions could be powerful and frightening.

“You are absolutely right, Larry.” Adam spoke
softly, yet firmly. “However, it is a decision that must be made.
Not making a decision is, in effect, making a decision. This
hospital could take extraordinary means to sustain David’s
life—even if there is no hope for life. Theoretically, they could
artificially sustain David indefinitely. Once they do that, it
becomes a very difficult thing to have David removed from
life-support devices.”

“Are you suggesting we sign the papers?” Larry
asked.

“No. But I’m not suggesting that you don’t
either.”

“Then what do you suggest?” This time it was Eva who
spoke.

“I’m suggesting that you, as a family, talk this
through.”

A worker in the cafeteria moved past their table
picking up empty cups. The group remained silent until she passed.
Adam was thankful, for it gave them time to think.

Michael broke the silence. “I’m not very
knowledgeable about religious matters, Pastor. Is there any reason
why we should not sign the papers? I mean any reason from the
Bible?”

Adam had wrestled with this question before. Yet,
even though he had previously thought through all the arguments, he
still felt a sense of confusion. It was never easy for a pastor to
say, “Let him die.”

Adam began softly. “The Scriptures teach that all
life is from God. They also teach that man is made in the image of
God. By that I mean that man is a spiritual creature with a soul
that exists eternally. Because of this and other reasons, life is
always to be held sacred. But we must also understand what we mean
by life and what we mean by death. There has been much discussion
about when death occurs. Some say that a person has died when the
heart can no longer beat. Others insist that death occurs when the
brain no longer functions. It’s hard to be dogmatic, but I agree
with the latter.”

Adam paused reflectively and then continued.
“Michael, your father’s brain is shutting down. There will come a
time when it will no longer be able to tell his lungs to breathe
and his heart to beat. When that time comes, the doctors can
artificially, through machines, do those functions for him. Then
the question will be, ‘Is your father still alive?’ If there is
hope that he might regain the use of those vital functions, the
answer is obvious—keep him alive. But if there is no hope for
recovery—if the brain is dead— then all the doctors can do is keep
the shell alive.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Eva said.

“Let me see if I can make it clearer.” Adam leaned
forward over the table. “You and I are not machines, but our bodies
function somewhat like a machine. Just as a machine requires fuel,
our bodies require food. Just as machines run down, our bodies run
down. But we are also very different from machines. We have within
us a spark of life. Actually, more than a spark; more like life
itself. The Bible calls that immaterial aspect the soul. As a
Christian minister, it is my belief that the body is really a
structure that houses the soul. While the body may die, the soul
continues to live. When a person dies, the body and soul are
separated. That’s what death is—the separation of the material from
the immaterial. What you have to decide is whether or not to let
the doctors keep the house functioning when the tenant has
gone.”

“That makes no sense!” Larry’s tone was sharp and
angry.

“Larry!” Eva said.

“I’m sorry,” Larry continued with a softer tone,
“but this is my brother we’re talking about here.”

“And my husband.” Ann’s voice was firm, but not
angry. “And I know what the pastor is saying, and I believe
it.”

“What’s your point, Pastor?” Michael asked.

“My point is that you have no need to feel guilty
about asking the doctors not to take heroic methods. If they tell
you there’s a chance for any degree of recovery, you would, of
course, do all that you could. But, there comes a time when the
best course of action is to let go. The decision is yours, of
course, but please make sure that your decision is not made because
of guilt. The solution is not easy. However, most doctors would
tell you that life stops when the brain ceases to function.”

The family looked at each other. “Pastor,” Ann said,
“I think we would like to talk it over.”

“I understand,” he replied, somewhat relieved to
have an excuse to leave. “I want to check on David again. Before I
go, let’s pray together.” They bowed their heads and Adam led them
in a short prayer, asking for peace and wisdom for the family and
comfort for David. Then, as was his custom, he asked that God would
lay His “healing hands” on David. When he had finished, he looked
up and saw tears in the eyes of each family member. “If you need me
for anything,” Adam said softly, “I’ll be in ICU.”

Adam excused himself and made his way from the
cafeteria through the pale green halls to the ICU. He wondered if
he had advised the family correctly. In seminary his professors
taught him to use nondirective counseling, a form of counseling
that offered no opinions but sought to bring the counseled to a
self-realized catharsis; but to Adam that approach seemed not to be
counseling at all. His doubts were based in his knowledge that he
was not a professional counselor.

When Adam came to the ICU, he entered without using
the intercom to ask permission. Walking through the door, he
entered the tiny cubicle that served as David’s room. What he saw
made his heart pound.

“Hi, Pastor,” said a smiling David Lorayne. “Have
you seen my wife?” He studied Adam’s face. “Are you all right,
Pastor? You don’t look so good.”

“Blessed Jesus,” Adam said in prayerfully hushed
tones. He was bent over, holding his stomach and panting, gasping
for precious breath. A moment later he righted himself, looked at
David, and said, “Oh, blessed Jesus,” bent over and started gasping
for air again.

“You sure look pale, Pastor,” David said, concern
evident in his words. “Should I call one of the nurses?”

Adam held up his hand, shook his head and said, “No,
no.”

Adam laugh. He laughed, wheezed, laughed, gasped,
laughed, and clutched at his stomach. He laughed, because of the
irony: a man, who moments ago was on the verge of brain death, a
man comatose with no hope of recovery, was asking if he should get
a nurse for Adam. The incongruity was more than his shocked mind
could take.

“Pastor?” David got out of bed and walked
effortlessly to Adam. Adam’s eyes widened as if he had seen a
specter from the grave. “Let me get you a chair.” A moment later
Adam was seated in a large, high-backed, padded chair.

David went back to the bed and sat on it. He gazed
with concern at his pastor and friend. “Are you sure you’re
okay?”

Adam nodded, finally caught his breath, and stared
at David. A broad smile graced the face that had been so drawn
minutes before. His rubicund complexion belied the physical ordeal
he had endured over the past twenty days. His eyes were clear and
bright, and Adam could swear that he had gained weight.

“David, uh, David . . .” Adam’s voice seemed
unresponsive. “I don’t, uh . . . I mean to say—”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless.”

“You’re a miracle.”

“Well, I like you too.”

“No, a genuine miracle.” Exasperated at his
inability to communicate, Adam rose from the chair, walked to
David, and hugged him. Confused, David returned the hug and patted
Adam on the back.

They embraced for a long moment.

“What are you doing to him?” a loud voice said from
the doorway. “He’s in no condition to be moved. How dare you— The
nurse s words were cut off by the sight before her.

Adam stepped back and David turned, slightly
embarrassed, to face the nurse. “Will my surgery be soon?” he asked
her. She said nothing. She just leaned back against the metal door
jamb and stared slack-jawed.

“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” David was
becoming exasperated. “Does anyone know where my wife is?”

Adam’s eyes widened. “Ann,” he nearly shouted. “I’ve
got to tell Ann.” Adam bolted from the room, edging his way by the
stunned and still staring nurse. A moment later he poked his head
back in the ICU cubicle, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”

“Where would I go?” David replied, shrugging his
shoulders. Not wanting to wait for the elevators, Adam raced down
the stairwell, oblivious to his recently healed incision, and
sprinted down the corridor that led to the cafeteria, slowed only
to turn through the door, and slid on the highly polished flooring
into the cafeteria. The Loraynes were still talking, Larry waving
his hands about animatedly, Eva quietly covering her mouth with a
handkerchief, while Michael sat close to his mother and held her
hand. They didn’t see Adam’s explosive entry.

“Ann!” Adam said loudly as he moved quickly to their
table. “Ann, come quick . . . the rest of you too.” They looked at
Adam as if he’d lost his mind. “Something good. Come now. Come
quick. Something great has happened.”

They rose in unison and dashed toward the elevators.
“What’s happened?” Larry asked urgently.

“I’ll show you,” Adam said. “Just trust me.”

The elevator ride seemed interminably long and every
eye was affixed to the overhead display that indicated the floors
they were passing. When they arrived at David’s floor, Adam led the
family into the ICU room. All the nurses were standing near David’s
bed; one was crying, and all looked stunned.

Adam motioned them back. Ann, closely followed by
Michael, Larry, and Eva, crept into the room, not knowing what to
expect.

“There you are,” David said joyfully. “I thought
you’d run off with a rich doctor.”

Ann noisily sucked in air and covered her mouth. She
said nothing, but stood at the foot of the bed and gazed at her
husband through unbelieving eyes.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” David asked, his
voice tinted with irritation.