因為不知道要說些什麼…所以把過去試譯的東西放上來好了。

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第四章

……追求炙熱的戀情，體會生命泉源的清新，探索愛

2011年1月

化療似乎開始發揮作用了。它延緩了癌細胞的蔓延，醫生告訴我要有耐心並保持樂觀。大部分胃腸道基質瘤的患者在一次的治療過程都會花上超過十年，至於其他的就會在一年裡面就宣告無效。

我沒有放太多心思在這件事上。我開始更勤於運動，讓自己增重到一百五十磅，另外我也暗自下定決心，當我的病情好轉，我就要回到我原本在軍中的工作崗位上。

「為什麼？為什麼不把這些時間用在陪伴你的妻兒上，而非要回去工作不可？」

我的答案很簡單。身為一個軍官，工作是我所熟知的。我對明天一無所知，但我希望今天能夠在繁忙的工作之後回到家，最好工作時間長到足夠讓我懷念你們，讓我迫不及待再見到你們。說真的，如果我一整天都待在家裡會讓我渾身不自在，甚至你們也會覺得怪怪的。

克莉絲汀也不會習慣我一直待在家裡，這會讓我們有種我被強迫退休的錯覺。沒有工作來消耗我的精力的話，我就只能退而求其次，跑步去雜貨店、幫忙料理晚餐或在家裡組裝東西。

幫忙是一回事，但是相對於家務，我還是比較希望能夠投身軍務當中。我清理了冰箱、整理了儲藏室、組裝了餐車、問你們更多學校的事情，然後提出更多簡化操作的建議。

大錯特錯。

就算克莉絲汀有時候很討厭做家事，這仍是她的領域，她不喜歡做家事不代表我就應該接手。我幫忙的時候她會很高興，但家事對她而言依舊是駕輕就熟的習慣。

聖誕節前，我們大吵了一架，這半年多來頭一遭。她一直怪東怪西的，還說她已經受夠了爭執。很快地，我們開始對彼此咆嘯並拿東西起來摔。我們都知道憤怒與挫折感跟這次的爭吵沒什麼關係，但是它就是開始了，然後嘎然而止。

我突然感到頭昏眼花、喘不過氣來，她在我的身邊坐下，然後輕輕地哭了起來。

「親愛的，對不起…」她把靠在我的肩上，說：「我不是想讓你生氣…可是我又好怕，怕哪一天你就忽然不在了…」

你們也沒有因為我待在家裡的時間變長而受益。我知道一起做事可以凝聚團隊意識，所以我想了些方式好讓你們可以參與我的療程。我把清理膽汁收集容器當成每天的任務交給你們。這工作超討厭的，而你們又無法拒絕這份工作。

我不是要奴役你們，我只是希望你們不要把自己種在電視機前面。

「爸，你會回去工作嗎？」你們不只一次地問。

***

從書名來看，你們應該都會認為這本書是一本教你如何成為一個男人、一個父親和一名士兵的書籍，但不盡然，這本書也教你如何成一個愛人、一個丈夫。這是一個兩人之間的婚姻是如何被軍旅生活和癌症化療變得艱辛。事實上，我的生活從未如此完整掌握麥克阿瑟言語中的菁華。

在2010年7月22，當我們在Mayo診所的等候室裡頭枯等時，充斥在空氣中對於癌症的不確定性讓我們呼吸困難，我發現我的婚戒不見了。即便已經結婚了十六年，戴上那只戒指對我而言依然意義深重。但在那天早上五點的慌亂後，我想不起來我究竟有沒有把戒指戴上。

我應該記得我有沒有把婚戒戴上的，對吧？

但我不記得。

那天早上我把戒指戴上但後來把它搞丟了，這樣的恐懼一整天都如影隨形。這不太可能－ 戒指從來沒有從我的手指上脫落過。可是我因為癌症瘦了十磅，而戒指不在我的手上，我東張西望，試圖找到它。我回想到Mayo的幾個小時，只有一個地方戒指可能掉下來－浴室。

我馬上跟克莉絲汀的父親，艾德，說了我的猜想。兩個行動派的男人馬上進了浴室開始翻垃圾桶，小心翼翼地掏出每一張又濕又髒的紙巾。快滿出來的垃圾桶花了我們好些時間，但就當我們快挖到底部的時候，艾德手上的垃圾桶發出了聲響。我們互看一眼，而就在艾德從他手上的垃圾桶掏出了我的戒指時，我差點喜極而泣。

就如同我們婚姻中許多次曾經面對的，那些快要失去了的事情只是需要更多一點點的關心和努力就能再度回到我們手中。

我們已經認識彼此超過了十九個年頭。從很多方面來看，我們會結婚真是一件很不可思議的事情。我們都很獨立，有著截然不同的品味和氣質，我們也沒習慣。我們的婚姻之間好像沒什麼事情可以被稱之為「強烈的牽絆」，可是我們都從軍旅生活、不孕症、調派當中挺了過來，癌症應該也只會是我們的一筆紀錄而已。

--

January 2011

My cancer treatment—a daily oral chemo called Gleevec—seemed to start working immediately. It slowed the cancer’s growth, and I was told to be patient and hope for the best. There were GIST patients who got ten more years out of this single medication; others got less than one.

I didn’t dwell long on the confusing mix of information or the fact that it was going to take a year or more to recover from the surgical complications. I started exercising more, got my weight back up to about 150 pounds, and let myself believe I was going to get at least two years or more from the Gleevec. I also decided that, despite the slow-growing cancer, I would to try to return to my full-time job with the army as soon as I felt well enough to do so.

“But why? Why not take this time and spend it with your wife and children instead of going back to work?”

My answer was simple then (and remains unchanged): because being an army officer, or being otherwise hard at work, is the closest thing to normal we all know. I didn’t know anything about tomorrow, but today I looked forward to the familiar feeling of coming home after a long day at work, having been gone just long enough to miss you and getting to see you all again. In fact, being home all the time felt abnormal—to all of us—and it resulted in added stress.

Kristin was not used to my constant presence. It was as if we had been suddenly thrust into involuntary retirement. Without the churn of work to consume my energies, I turned to the environment around me. I could make runs to the grocery store, help with dinner, and organize things in the house. That’s when things got bumpy.

Helping out is one thing, but I tackled home duties as the army officer I was—in dire need of a campaign plan. I cleaned out the fridge and freezer, organized the pantry, laid out a meal chart, started tasking you boys with more chores, and proposed ideas to “streamline operations.”

Big mistake.

Upkeep of home life was Kristin’s domain, and it didn’t matter that she sometimes hated doing it. Her dislike of the daily grind of housework was not an invitation for me to take over. As much as she appreciated the help, housework was normal and familiar to her, and they were habits she wanted to keep.

Right around Christmas, we got into a heated argument—our first in more than six months. She kept picking at me, which told me she was itching for a fight. Within minutes, we were yelling and cursing about anything and everything. I think we both knew our anger and frustration had little to do with the subject that started it all, but we raged on all the same. Then it just stopped.

I was out of breath and lightheaded. She came in and sat next to me then broke into a soft cry.

“I’m sorry, Pookie,” she said as she leaned on my shoulder. “I like seeing you feisty like your old self. It helps me see you’re still in there.”

You boys were not spared the “benefit” of my constant presence, either. I knew shared hardship brought cohesion and teamwork, so I looked for ways you could be involved in my treatment and recovery. We settled on the routine task of cleaning out my bile-collection containers. That was nasty work, and just like a trio of soldiers, you couldn’t resist bragging a bit about this grim daily drama.

The downside of this “teamwork” was being greeted by a ball-busting army lieutenant colonel when you walked in the door from school. I wasn’t a slave driver, but I made sure you didn’t plop yourselves in front of the TV.

“Will you ever be going back to work, Dad?” you politely asked, more than once.

＊＊＊

Based on its title, you might think this book is solely about being a man, a father, and a soldier. Not entirely. This is also a story about being a lover and a husband. It’s about the rigors of married life—complicated by the trials of army life and the tribulations of cancer treatment—between two true individuals. In fact, no other experience in my life so completely captures the essence of MacArthur’s words on living an emotionally vigorous life.

On July 22, 2010, as we sat in the waiting room at the Mayo Clinic, absorbing the complexities and breathless uncertainties of the journey with cancer in front of us, I became aware that my wedding ring was missing. Even after 16 years of marriage, putting on that ring was a very deliberate, symbolic act every single day. But after the hustle of our 5:00 a.m. start, now I couldn’t remember if I had put it on my finger that morning.

Certainly on this day, of all days, I should remember whether I had put on my wedding ring, right?

I couldn’t remember.

I also couldn’t shake the fear that I did put it on that morning but then lost it during the day. It wasn’t likely—the ring had never fallen off my finger before. But then again, I was down ten pounds from the cancer, and if I had lost the ring, looking for it right then and there was the only chance of finding it. I retraced my steps in the few hours we’d been at Mayo. There was really only one place it could have fallen off—the bathroom.

I quietly told Kristin’s dad, Ed, about my nagging suspicions. Fellow men of action, we walked straight into that bathroom and started emptying both trash bins of their paper towels—gently unfolding each nasty, damp towel. The bins were filled to the top, so it took a while, but as soon as we approached the bottom, there was a plink sound from Ed’s bin. We froze and gave each other a quick glance as Ed reached in and pulled my ring from the bin.

I wanted to cry.

Like so many times in our marriage, what seemed lost was found again with an instinct toward just a little more care and effort. We have known each other for nineteen years now. In too many ways, a “successful” marriage between us still seems improbable. We’re both fiercely independent, with vastly different tastes and temperaments, and nothing about our lives together has ever been routine. Neither of us is certain that we’re reflective of a “strong” marriage. But our very survival of the difficulties of army life, infertility, deployments, and cancer must be an indication that we’ve done something worthy of taking note.

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喔，對了。《Tell My Son》的版權已經被賣掉了，相信很快就會有繁體中文版在台灣跟讀者朋友們見面了。