138 Emergency

Both the sesshin and the Saturday morning dharma study were cancelled. I saw the master at 4:00 p.m. and I spoke with his nurse. The master had an obstruction in his large bowel, discovered during his colonoscopy that morning. His doctors believed that the obstruction was either acute diverticulitis or a cancerous mass but they did not yet know for sure what the problem was. They had taken a biopsy in the morning but there were no results by the time of my visit. At 5:30 the nurse started the master on an antibiotic. If the obstruction were diverticulitis, an infection, she said, then the master should experience relief within twenty-four hours. Either way there would be surgery, doctors thought, but the nurse did not know yet if it would come sooner or later. No room had been available.

I found the master propped awkwardly in a recliner in a remote corner of the hospital corridor.

"Hi, Kudo."

The master was very sick.

He looked.

"Hi, Bob," he whispered.

The phone rang.

I answered.

Nananda called to wish him well.

"Do you want to speak with Nananda?" I asked the master.

Silence.

I waited.

Silence.

He shook his head no.

I explained to Nananda that the master was too sick to talk on the phone and also too sick to be moved by ambulance to another hospital where, the nurse told me, he probably would be moved when he felt better.

The master looked awful.

Critical.

The color of his flesh was an alarming combination of yellow, white, pink, green, and gray.

I sat in a hard plastic chair and kept him company.

I watched.

The nurse assisted him as he sat up, gagged, and retched, deeply, painfully, into a plastic bowl.

His vomit was dark brown.

Again.

Purple.

Again.

Dark brown.

I thought he might die.

"Should I come?" Nananda asked.

"I think so," I said.

Nananda said she would make immediately the necessary arrangements.

"The doctors are trying to cool down his stomach," the nurse explained. "Nausea is the immediate problem."

I relayed this information to Nananda.

"I feel terrible," the master told me.

We spoke only briefly.

The master expressed his appreciation for the help he was receiving. Medication for his pain and for his nausea finally allowed him to sleep in his recliner while orderlies prepared a room. For hours now none had been available. The master would stay the night at the hospital. Nurses were preparing to move him to his room just before I left at 6:00 p.m. I returned later that evening to see how he was doing. The master dozed in bed while I sat and watched.

Breath.

Breath.

Breath.

When he did not stir for fifteen minutes I left.

Back home I emailed the sangha the news. At 4:30 the next morning I arrived at the temple in case someone showed up for the sesshin. No one did. I knew I had contacted everyone with the news but I wanted to be sure that no one was left hanging. At 6:00 I sat for an hour by myself in the zendo and then alone I performed the morning service.

Just as I finished the master called.

"Hi, Bob."

He was much improved.

"Kudo?"

I was astonished by the confidence and vigor in his voice.

The master wanted me to bring him some things from the temple. His nausea had passed, he had slept well, and he was sitting up, the master said, and walking, and reading the morning newspaper and Main Street by Sinclair Lewis.

"I feel good."

"What!"

He laughed.

The master had not seen his doctor yet that morning nor had he learned the results of the biopsy but he hoped to hear more in an hour or two. Doctors expected to perform surgery to remove the obstruction, whatever it was, but the master did not know when. He was in excellent spirits. By contrast with what I had witnessed the night before, I considered his recovery miraculous. I emailed the sangha the news and told everyone that the master could talk on the phone and see visitors.

At 2:00 he called me.

"I'm being released and sent home."

At 3:00 I picked him up. We stopped at a nearby pharmacy for the prescribed antibiotic and then drove to the temple. The master was weak, tired, and hungry but given the gravity of the crisis just hours earlier he was in very good shape. He ate a bowl of soup and went upstairs to nap. Nananda would arrive around 6:00. It was too bad she'd had to make such a long drive but I knew she would be glad to find the master in much better health than expected. It would be Tuesday, the master had been told, before he would know the results of the biopsy, but his doctor believed that the problem was diverticulitis and, if the antibiotic was effective, it now appeared there was even a chance that no surgery might be necessary at all.

Good news.

On Sunday the master slept late. He ate a little breakfast. During service he rested in his room.

Nananda moderated group discussion after the World Peace Ceremony and stayed two days more at the temple before she returned to Laugh Out Loud in Philadelphia. Tuesday she and the master learned the results of the biopsy.

No cancer.