Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (8 page)

"This could have been avoided."

Her tone suddenly became impatient. "Oh, come
on now, rabbi. This isn't the time for self-denigration. Lesson one
in this trade is don't try to shoulder the world's woes. Suffering
is ubiquitous and one person can't suffer for another. To assume
the pain for another doesn't reduce the world's supply of
tzsoris
one iota. We don't blame Wilbur
and Orville Wright each time an airplane crashes and passengers are
killed. If they hadn't invented the airplane, there wouldn't be
aircraft to fall from the sky, but that doesn't make them more than
a remote cause of plane accidents. I expect a savvy rabbi like you
to understand this."

He appeared to contract into himself, his
eyes dropping away from her to the floor.

"Okay, friend," she said, turning back to the
computer monitor, "let's see what we're dealing with here. Seth
Greer taught me never to enter a hospital without first
understanding what's wrong with the patient. I usually log onto the
Mayo Clinic web site for a start. Seth often went to the National
Library of Medicine, where the catalogue system can give you a
hundred articles on even the rarest disease. I think he enjoyed
reading medical journals more than rabbinic texts. Our envious
colleagues dubbed him
Dr. Greer, MD
."

Asa's breathing was heavy, punctuated by
sniffling as he struggled to express himself. "Truth be told, I
really didn't want to enter the ICU last night. The idea of seeing
disfigured kids terrifies me."

"I have nightmares about it, too," she
glanced up at him empathetically. "I've seen some pretty ugly adult
illnesses and somehow they don't bother me. But sick children are
different. I get all choked up inside. Worse, sometimes my hands
shake and I can't control them."

The computer mouse scrolled over the screen and
settled on a list of burn characteristics.

1. Wounds often contain large
quantities of nonviable destroyed tissue

2. Burn victims exude large
quantities of serum, blood and water

3. Pathologic bacteria are prone
to colonize in burn zones

4. Open wounds are sterile for
only a brief period, then become fertile territory for
opportunistic colonies of bacteria

The mouse continued to scroll through text, then
highlighted the words
Wound Cleansing and
Debridement
.

"Do we know if any organs other than the skin
were burned?" she asked Asa. "If I remember, fire can singe the
lungs and eyes."

Mucus ran from his right nostril in a narrow
trickle to his upper lip. "I heard doctors talking about Janean's
breathing. Her lungs were burned, too."

The web site presented pictures of male and
female models with non-sticking bandages covering their torsos. A
textual discussion of topical antibacterial therapy with a list of
pharmaceutical products followed.

"Did you hear talk about skin grafting?"

Asa slapped a soiled handkerchief to his
nose, then crumpled it back into a ball without folding. "No, but
that doesn't mean it's not a consideration. I asked a medical
intern in the wee hours of the morning who didn't know what the
attending physicians had in mind. I think he just wanted to get
back to bed."

"No doubt they're trying to stabilize the
girls before making major decisions."

***

In a multi-storied parking garage at the
Washington Hospital Center, Gabby took note of Asa's slow exit from
her car, an understandable lethargy for anyone who had endured a
sleepless night sitting in a stiff chair in a hospital waiting
room. "You're welcome to rest in the lobby," she remarked. "The
minute I know what's going on I'll come to fetch you."

He ignored her suggestion and replied, "I'm
spent – inside and out. But I'll make it. I hate this job."

Her hip injury at White Sulfur Springs forced
her to move with slow, painful steps. "Do I catch a whiff of
self-pity? That's not what I like to hear from my colleague and one
helluva good rabbi."

"Not self-pity, Gabby. I'm tired of being
ineffective. I was a fool to have sat here all night. I keep asking
myself, for what purpose? If I managed to see the girls, then what?
They need good doctors, not a rabbi's prayers. It's indisputable
that I've done Janean and Tybee more damage than good."

"You've got your subjects and predicates
scrambled." She was tart.

He shot back with equal annoyance, "Why won't
you let me feel bad about this?"

"You can, Asa. But not on the job. Our
tradition proclaims life's puzzlements, not its solutions. Our
congregants don't want to see feet of clay. If you expose your
tender side, they'll devour you like a leopard killing a weak
impala for his dinner."

"I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm
not. This isn't the right job for me. You know it, too. You're
different, Gabby. You fit the mold. I just don't."

The remark caught her as they were navigating
through vehicular traffic passing before the hospital entrance. Her
bruised hip inhibited a split second dash to safety as a blue Camry
sped past, too close for comfort. Once on the curb, she responded
to Asa before pressing behind him into a revolving door. "We must
talk about this." When they exited into the lobby, she completed
her thought. "But when we can spend the time it deserves, without
interruptions."

A color-coded directory map in the main lobby
described the six-floor complex. The Burn Rehabilitation Center was
located on the third floor, with the supporting Intensive Care Unit
at the far end of the hall. They ascended in a slow, over-crowded
elevator that stopped on every floor.

A covey of visitors hovered in the waiting
room, some sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups, others staring at
the walls lethargically. Steady noise of equipment and voices from
the corridor made reading difficult. A TV overhead flashed images
of a college football game nobody was watching.

Gabby projected a strong voice. "Is anyone
here from the Morgenstern family?"

A stylish 40-year-old blond in a ski sweater
and riding pants, with lizard skin cowboy boots said, "I'm the
aunt. David's sister. Name's Trudy Klein. Are you friends of the
family?"

"Yes. I'm Rabbi Lewyn and this is Rabbi
Folkman from Congregation Ohav Shalom. Can you tell us about the
girls?"

Trudy Klein wagged her head sideways to study
an overweight, bulldog of a man beside her. "Janean is in serious
respiratory trouble. Flames singed her lungs and breathing
passages. Things are better for Tybee. If they can control
infection, they say she'll be all right. She's young and the
doctors say that reconstruction is likely to produce a good
result."

The bulldog-looking man with a shock of
reddish hair around his ears and freckled skin was Uncle Angus
Klein. A rumpled dark gray business suit hugged his bulk like a
corset and a black necktie flapped loosely over his chest, the knot
a full three inches from the unbuttoned collar open at the throat.
He offered an outstretched hand, but pulled back the moment his
wife said, "Why did you come here? Doctors are fighting for our
Janean's life. If you hadn't tried to evangelize them, they
wouldn't be here now. Pushy Jews are no more tolerable than pushy
Christians. Coming here is unmitigated
chutzpah
. Hasn't enough damage been done? It's too
late to save their souls? My advice is to leave immediately. The
family doesn't need more rabbis."

"My colleague and I came to offer a prayer
and to tell David and Laura how we feel for them," Gabby said,
controlling a flush of anger.

"Too late for sorrow," interrupted Trudy
Klein. "You should have thought about the results of your meddling
before. You've injured my niece; you've injured my brother and my
sister-in-law."

Gabby struggled to suppress resentment. "I'm
afraid you've got the facts twisted. We didn't come to meddle. We
came because we cherish the girls and won't be dismissed by anybody
but David or Laura. Please tell them that Rabbi Folkman and Rabbi
Lewyn have come to offer a prayer."

Grandmother Nora Morgenstern stepped
alongside Gabby. Silver-haired and forty pounds overweight, yet
fully painted with mascara and rouge, she was unaware of any
controversy and, from an older school, was inclined to regard
rabbis reverently. Her offer to fetch her son and daughter-in-law
angered Angus Klein.

Asa tugged at Gabby's arm – teams of
physicians in loose-fitting blue surgical gowns were marching
through double doors of the ICU, conversing with each other in
muted voices. Their smooth, purposeful steps conveyed professional
ease. He said to Gabby, "I'm tired of this bullshit. You can go
anywhere in this hospital with a blue gown and a clipboard. I'm
going in."

She shifted weight from her injured hip
before studying him as though a painting on exhibition. "It's my
job. You've already put in time, Asa." She turned to a plump nurse
in a flowered gown flapping like an unbuttoned overcoat who trailed
the physicians. "I'm Rabbi Lewyn. Can you please update us about
the Morgenstern girls?"
The nurse regarded the question as an
unnecessary intrusion into her business, yet sounded empathetic.
From a repertoire of canned responses employed with nervous family
asking too many questions about the patients, she said, "If there's
anything that can be done, we'll do it. Don't you worry about
that."

"Of course. May I enter?"
The nurse
hesitated. Clergy often frequented the ICU, sometimes as valuable
partners with the medical staff. But when Janean's life hung in the
balance, she failed to think of how a clergywoman might be of
assistance.

Uncle Angus Klein marched into the corridor
to stop Gabby, but Asa blocked him with classic basketball
pick-and-roll footwork.

Unhappy about being outflanked, Angus
bellowed through the corridor. "Rabbi. Leave us alone. If you
persist, I'll call hospital security."

"That's not your decision," Asa responded.
"We're all on the same side here. Please don't interfere with
us."

Trudy Klein joined her husband in pursuit.
"The family is coping with a lot of pain. I beseech you both,
please don't add to it."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Gabby invested
one last effort to diffuse the conflict. "We have no desire to
cause injury. Now please..." She left the sentence dangling. What
was the purpose? Only a stainless steel door barred entry to the
ICU.

The ICU consisted of a glass-partitioned nursing
station surrounded on four sides by individual treatment and
examination rooms. To Gabby's left extended a debridement theater
for removing destroyed skin from burn victims and, to her right, a
larger clinic with huge stainless steel Hubbard tanks for sterile
baths. Like jungle vines, a matrix of pulleys and lifts to maneuver
patients dangled from the ceiling. Near the nursing station, a
bearded physician in a faded green gown and white surgical shoes
was talking to Laura Morgenstern, whose eyes were staring
motionless over his shoulder as if too exhausted to refocus. Behind
them, Gabby regarded medical personnel adjusting respiratory
devices and intravenous bottles in a glass paneled treatment
room.

As Gabby stepped forward to greet Laura, her
eyes caught sight of a child in a neighboring room. Sterile
dressings covered the entire face, except for portals for the
mouth, nose and eyes. Could this be Tybee? she wondered, tempted to
walk over for a closer look. But after a half-dozen steps she
elected to first talk with Laura.

At the same moment, David Morgenstern exited
from another treatment room to confer with his wife. His features
seemed lost in a bog of unshaven whiskers. Laura turned from the
physician to gather him near.

"You can hear our baby wheezing," he cried in
a heavy, broken voice. "She's leaving us, Laur… I know it. God be
my witness: I want our daughter, but I can't bear to see her suffer
like this." 
Gabby stood in place, giving the parents time for
their sorrow. The mother's eyes eventually encompassed her, quickly
communicating hatred.

Recognition came to David a moment later.
"You? You?" he addressed Gabby in a biting tone, "after what you've
done to us!"

"I understand how you feel, David," Gabby
replied. "I've come to recite prayers for Janean and Tybee.
Whatever you may think of me or my associate, your children deserve
God's attention. I come with a humble and sincere prayer to implore
His favor upon them. From time to time we all need prayers."

"They have enough of
your
prayers." His throat gargled saliva.

"Are you certain of that?" she countered,
feeling diminished by the severity of her remark. "Rabbi Folkman
was in the waiting room all last night. He's there now. We have
come to provide comfort and seek God's help. I'd like to see Janean
and Tybee."

"They don't need you or Folkman. Go away.
Please!"

The cacophony of voices from inside Janean's
room interrupted Gabby's desolation. Nurses at nearby workbenches
immediately rose to be of service. Two green-gowned doctors
appeared from the outside corridor and merged immediately into
others around their patient. David Morgenstern returned to the
congested room, elbowing his way forward.

A hand on Gabby's upper arm gently tugged in
the direction of the exit. It belonged to Asa, the only person she
believed might understand how she felt. How was it possible to
become so marginalized?

He guided her out of the ICU into the
hospital corrido. "I've tried; you've tried. It's no use. Whatever
we have to give, they don't want it." Once near the waiting room,
he said, "I feel like I want to sleep until this nightmare is over.
But I know it won't end."

Once distanced from the ICU, she felt
stronger. "Let's go to the cafeteria for a cup of tea. We need to
clear our heads."