Leaves from the Tree of Life
by Noel Preston, M.D. 

   I believe in God, who made heaven and earth. And I believe in Jesus, who died that we might live. When I was a boy, my grandmother told me that if you had as little faith as a mustard seed you could move mountains, so I thought if I prayed, "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost I command a scorpion to die," that in that instant somewhere in the world a scorpion really would die. I believed in the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory; that Good would prevail over Evil; that the meek would inherit the earth; and that the Righteous would stand in the courts of the Lord forever. My grandmother said, and I believed her, that when good people died and went to heaven they could take leaves from the Tree of Life and bring them down to earth to heal sick people, even people on the verge of death itself.
   And then came my divorce. I lost my four daughters. I lost most of my medical practice. I lost money and my interest in music and gardening and I nearly lost my mind. For a long time I thought God either hated me or didn't care what happened to me.

Susan and Noel     in Colorado.

    Then I met Susan, and life was a lot more fun than it had been. We went to strawberry festivals in Alabama and county fairs in Maine. We went to plays and concerts. We cut down our own Christmas trees and ate in ethnic restaurants. We saw international ballroom dancing in Asheville and country and western dancing in Tucson. I love being with Susan and I don't want it to stop. My daughters and I are closer than we ever have been. Maybe God has a plan after all. 
   But now Susan is in an intensive care unit. She's had a heart attack and has been unconscious almost 18 hours. Her heart stopped beating for at least ten minutes, and the paramedics had to use the defibrillator four times before she gained only an irregular pulse. She didn't need anesthesia when the cardiologist threaded wires through her heart to relieve an obstruction in one of her coronary arteries. She's as white as a statue, her eyes are rolled up towards the back of her head, and her hands and fingers writhe backwards constantly. There's an endotracheal tube down her throat and a central venous line in her chest. Her pupils are fixed and dilated, and she doesn't blink when the nurse touches her eyeball with a wisp of cotton. A machine is doing her breathing for her, and she looks as if she's about to die. When her eyes finally do open, they flit rapidly about the room without focusing on anything or anybody.
   It's four o'clock in the morning, and I want to pray to God to save Susan's life, but I'm afraid to. I keep thinking of an old Anglican prayer and trying to get it out of my mind: "Depart, O Christian soul, out of this world…" and I keep trying to erase it. NO! Do not depart! Stay! Stay here! Stay with me and do not depart! Do not die!
   What a hole in my life there will be if she dies! I can't stand to think about it, but I can't stop thinking about it. If she does die, what music would she want? "Simple Gifts" is one of her favorites. So is "Lord of the Dance." And "Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise." Stop this! I have to stop thinking such terrible ideas! If I could will scorpions to death as a child, I might be bringing on her death by thinking about her funeral! What could be God's plan in this horrible sadness? 

Risen with healing in his wings,
Light and life to all he brings.

   I want my Grandma to bring leaves from the Tree of Life and make Susan well. Please.
   I want to say, "Please, God, don't let her die," but I can't. I won't. But I want her to live. Please. Please, Susan, live. LIVE!!
   At last, this wretched night comes to an end, and Susan is still alive. She has come out of her coma. She's in shock and cannot recognize people, but she's still here. The next day the doctors take out her endotracheal tube and she can speak a few words. She knows some of her friends, but cannot remember her son's middle name. Five days have passed and she can now sit in a chair and use a walker. She is out of the intensive care unit and stabs with her fork, wearily and without success, at a boiled potato on a plastic plate. She is convinced she is in New York instead of Atlanta, and she cannot remember which nephew is married and has children or which friend lives in Baltimore or Chicago.
   Ten days after the heart attack Susan is her friendly, cheerful, inquisitive self once again. She can button her clothes, write, and walk without help. A few days later she leaves for a rehabilitation hospital to help rebuild her memory. She doesn't recall her mother dying 14 years ago, but she does remember who came to see her yesterday. She can read a newspaper and knows she lives in Atlanta and argues that she wants to go home.
   Now, one month after her heart was stopped dead for ten minutes, she can make an omelette and balance her checkbook and go out for lunch with her friends. How in the world could she have survived this attack and be so free of harm?
   Tonight, as I walk into her kitchen, I ask Susan, "What is Robert's middle name?" and she smiles at me and says, "Eugene." I whisper, "Thank you, Grandma," and know that somewhere in the world a scorpion just died.
   Amen.

E. Noel Preston, M.D. is a pediatrician in solo practice in Peachtree Corners. 6063 Peachtree Parkway, Suite 202-A, Norcross. (770) 448-1553.