Days of Winter (47 page)

The first word Henri said was “Papa.”

In July, the family again went to Deauville. Jean-Paul had found a secret place for their rendezvous—which at first Jeanette resisted, then could not. At least neither of them was missed from the house, since Madame napped in the afternoon and Etienne painted prodigiously here, there and everywhere during the afternoons. Although their time together was hurried and shorter than it was in Paris, both, in their fashion, were satisfied. Jean-Paul loved to spend time with Henri, taking him out by himself, which not only benefitted the status of an uncle, but a godfather too. For Jeanette, less was better. …

Jeanette did everything she could to become pregnant by her husband, wanting very much to give Etienne a child. But all her efforts were unsuccessful, and she decided to have a talk with Dr. Bernier. When she got bade to Paris she went to see him her second day in town.

“How are you getting along?” he asked.

She half-smiled. “I’m afraid your question is more pregnant than I am. I’ve been trying but …” She shrugged.

He nodded, then examined her thoroughly. “I find no reason why you can’t conceive. I see nothing wrong.”

“Then what should I do?” She tried not to sound anxious.

He smiled. “The same thing you’re doing now.”

Her cheeks began to burn. Imagine, and she with a lover as well as a husband, but with the doctor she did feel uncomfortable and ashamed … he knew Henri was not Etienne’s …

“Sometimes,” he said, “you can try too hard. Anxiety itself can be a deterrent. Perhaps you’re just too tense when you have relations with your husband.”

“Yes, I think you may be right. I want so badly to give Etienne a child. …You must be right. I watch my period dates, hoping they won’t appear, and when they do I become upset and sometimes very depressed.”

“Then my advice to you, young lady, is one word—relax.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Dr. Bernier, I’ll try to take your advice.”

And she tried, but still nothing happened.

That winter she and Jean-Paul began a more serious and frequent round of arguments. The last confrontation had been the worst. He had wanted her to visit her uncle in London, where he would meet her for three weeks in January. This, of course, was doubly impossible and she refused, which infuriated him. In a rage, he went away for two weeks, ostensibly on government business. He would telephone the house and talk to his mother, then speak to Etienne, but never ask for her.

When he returned he apologized for his behavior. He asked her to forgive him and she did, but somehow, for her, it now seemed to matter less.

And the baby was still a source of conflict At least once a month Jean-Paul had a fit of jealousy—sometimes mild, sometimes worse—during which he accused her of alienating the baby from him. This was nonsense, and she told him as much. But in spite of her efforts to reason with him—perhaps even because of them—Jean-Paul seemed to become more and more resentful about the role he was playing. …She tried to explain that his jealousy was destroying what they had together. But Jean-Paul didn’t see it that way. He badgered her; his demands were becoming unbearable. When she got home after one of those scenes she often felt ill, too weary to go down for dinner. Nothing ever seemed to be settled. It was as though they were on a seesaw—up, down, no balance or equilibrium.

Jeanette observed the new year of 1938 by coming down with a cold. It started innocently enough with a runny nose and a slight fever. But two days later she had a very sore throat, making it painful to swallow. Etienne summoned the family doctor. When Dr. Roget examined Jeanette he suggested that an ear, nose and throat specialist be called in for consultation, since he was only a general practitioner. However, he did diagnose a strep throat. This diagnosis was corroborated by the finest specialist in Paris, Dr. Oubert, who prescribed a complete rest. Jeanette should be placed in isolation. She was fed intravenously because swallowing was so difficult Nurses were brought in around the clock, and she was carefully watched. But her temperature rose and her condition grew worse. At times she was delirious, calling out for Etienne, who now—to hell with the doctor’s instructions—slept in a bed by her side. She cried for Papa, for Henri, for her mother. …Her temperature finally was reduced some by alcohol rubs and ice packs, but the whole family kept vigil. Jean-Paul moved temporarily to his mother’s house in order to be near her. His inner moods were black. He blamed himself for causing her so much grief with his jealousy, vowing to make it up to her and never again question her or make demands on her. If only she lived.

Finally, on the eleventh day, Dr. Oubert said, “I think we have reason for some hope. I find her condition slightly better this morning. Her temperature has stayed down within reason during the last twenty-four hours, and if this continues I feel reasonably sure we can expect to see a day-to-day improvement.”

“Thank God,” Etienne said. If prayer did any good, then God must have heard his.

With the major infection gone, Jeanette was brought a little nourishment and was spoon-fed by Etienne. Now that she was on her way to becoming herself again, the entire household relaxed from the gloom of the past week and a half. …

Three days had passed since her recovery, and Etienne had fallen asleep that night at ten o’clock, exhausted from the many days of anxiety. Suddenly he was aroused out of his heavy sleep by moans threatening to become screams.

“My God, what’s wrong?”

“My back … Etienne, I can’t stand the pain—”

“When … I mean, how long have you—”

“Around midnight, I think. …”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I hoped it would go away. …”

He immediately called Dr. Oubert, and within half an hour the doctor was examining Jeanette as she now screamed out in pain. He took a syringe from his bag, filled it with morphine and injected it into her vein. Soon after she relaxed and her breathing became more even.

When she had fallen asleep, Dr. Oubert asked Etienne and Jean-Paul to join him in the hall. “Her condition is serious. The complications from the streptococcal infection have affected her kidneys. I’d like to call in Dr. Villon. He’s the best urologist I know.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Etienne said, thoroughly shaken and ash-white.

“I’ll have a nurse called at once … injections will be necessary from time to time.”

At four-thirty A.M. Dr. Villon was shown in to Jeanette’s room. He discussed her condition with Dr. Oubert while Etienne and Jean-Paul waited in the hall. Then Dr. Villon spoke to Etienne.

“Monsieur Dupré, Madame should be hospitalized at once for tests and x-rays.”

Stunned, Etienne nodded and asked, “How serious is it?”

“Let’s wait for the tests.”

At the hospital, Jeanette was wheeled in to X-ray immediately. Tests were taken but the results would not be known for several hours. She was wheeled in a bed to a large corner room where the two brothers waited.

At eight o’clock, Jean-Paul left to inform his mother, who nearly collapsed with fear and thoughts of Denise and Marie Jacqueline, then somehow managed outwardly to compose herself and accompany him to the hospital.

The news was not good as the doctor spoke to Etienne privately. “The former infection has indeed affected her left kidney. It’s so badly damaged, I’m afraid the other one will also become involved.” Dr. Villon’s expression was very serious.

Etienne slumped down in his chair, barely able to speak. “What can be done? …”

“Monsieur Dupré, the truth is there is very little hope if both kidneys are involved. The left one is almost completely atrophied, and if the other one becomes worse …”

Etienne went white as the doctor hurried on with … “I have considered one possibility—”

“Yes, anything … Good God …”

“There’s a physician, a professor, Erlichstein, who was at the University of Heidelberg until 1936 when he was forced to leave Germany because of Hitler. He was offered a fellowship in London to … experiment with kidney transplants.”

“Well, for God’s sake, what are we waiting for? Get him—”

“One moment, please. So far, Professor Erlichstein has only performed these transplants on animals. There is no clinical data on humans. His success with animals, however, has been impressive. If we can persuade him to operate on your wife—which I certainly can’t guarantee—would you be willing to take the risk?”

“Take the risk, you ask? What other choice do we have?”

“All right. Such an unorthodox procedure requires some eyes to be shut and some mouths to be stilled—”

“Don’t worry about that, my brother has some influence and I—”

“Provided I can convince the professor, we still need a donor—”

“
That
is no problem. I happen to have two very healthy kidneys.”

Dr. Villon looked carefully at Etienne. “Monsieur, are you certain you want to do this? It’s very dangerous. …”

“My wife is dying. How can you ask such questions? Now, let’s not waste any more time.”

The doctor nodded. “None, I assure you, will be wasted.”

Etienne gave the bad news to his mother and Jean-Paul. Then he told them of the new kind of surgery. Madame began to pray silently. She knew it would take a miracle. …

Late that afternoon Dr. Villon spoke to Etienne again. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Professor Erlichstein. …”

“Yes? …”

“At first, he was reluctant. But when I told him that you yourself—the husband of the patient—had volunteered to provide the kidney, he changed his mind. He’s agreed to perform the operation. …”

When she heard the latest news, Madame went directly to the small sanctuary, closed the door, then knelt down and prayed. She remained there until Jean-Paul came down to insist that she go home. She did so, but only under protest.

At nine o’clock the next morning Doctor Erlichstein was in conference with Dr. Villon, who would assist him. The results of Jeanette’s blood tests were examined, as well as her urine. Etienne was x-rayed, and tests were run. The two doctors prepared for surgery. Wife and husband would be operated on simultaneously. The professor would explain the procedure, step by step, to Dr. Villon in the operating room.

The surgery took hours, during which the doctors found Jeanette’s left kidney badly damaged, but the right one should function normally, they felt, with the help of the transplant.

Following the surgery, Jeanette and Etienne were taken to separate rooms to recover. The operations had been a success, but certain aspects of her case would have to be falsified. The miracle couldn’t yet be announced to the world. But each doctor felt that he had been true to the oath he had taken. Hopefully, a life had been saved. Both men would sleep better that night.

Etienne recovered quickly and without complications. Within two weeks he was on his feet and dismissed from the hospital. This was not the case with Jeanette. Her previous streptococcal infection had sapped her strength before the operation, so her recovery was slow, much slower than the doctors had hoped. She ran high temperatures, she was in constant pain.

At one point within the first forty-eight hours, the doctors feared that perhaps the transplant had been unsuccessful, that Jeanette’s body might reject the new kidney. Tubes were inserted into the urethra in order for her to void.

Studies by laboratory technicians were analyzed and the results suggested that the source of infection was in the bladder. A relatively new “miracle” drag was administered. The drug was a risk, since it also affected the kidneys, but the doctors felt that they had no choice.

The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and, thanks to the doctors, the miracle drug, and a miracle from a higher source, as
maman
pointed out, Jeanette was able to be discharged from the hospital after three long, tortuous months. Her weight had gone down drastically, and she felt unbelievably weak.

Her convalescence at home was slow, but gradually, finally, she began to rally. Little by little her appetite returned. She was allowed to leave her bed and sit in a chair for a short period each day. Then she was told she could walk, although just back and forth in her room, which she did with the help of Etienne’s arm.

Each day Madame and Jean-Paul paid her visits. And finally she was allowed to see Henri, whom she longed for. He had grown so much during her illness she could hardly believe her eyes. He was two and walked and talked, saying the most delightful things, making her laugh and cry at the same time. She tried to hold him close to her, but not for long. He would leave her bed and play, getting into everything, and Etienne would be forced to take him back to the nursery. The other children came, too, along with Madeleine and Clothilde. Etienne had been not only her comfort, he had, in fact, saved her life. What more could a man do for a woman … a husband for a wife? … And what else could she feel for him except the profoundest love?

By June she had recovered to the point that Etienne could take her for short drives in the country. With the coaxing of Madame and Clothilde, her appetite began to return. Gradually she gained a little weight, which pleased Dr. Villon, who continued to see her each day.

After it appeared that Jeanette’s recovery was complete, Etienne asked Dr. Villon if it was safe to take her on a three-month Mediterranean cruise. The doctor was enthusiastic. There was nothing like an ocean voyage to restore the spirits, he assured him.

They planned to leave after Bastille Day, the fourteenth of July. Jeanette wanted to be with the children, to see their excited faces as the fireworks burst in the air. They planned a special celebration, which would be a birthday party as well; she would be twenty-three.

Dinner started earlier than usual. Henri sat high on a stack of pillows between his mother and father. Jeanette could
feel
the look on Jean-Paul’s face—his fine resolutions to himself during her illness had been beyond him to keep. She refused, though, to let it bother her. Tonight was much too special.

After dinner, Etienne gave her his gift—a ruby and diamond necklace and earrings to match. She decided that they were the most beautiful jewels she had ever seen. And the most unnecessary.