The Life and Death of Arthur Lasker

1

December, 1972

“Pretend this is a normal lung.” The doctor loosened his grip on the mouth of a red balloon and a whoosh of air escaped. “It has a nice flow of oxygen that can easily reach the body's extremities.”

He held the balloon to his lips and refilled it. “This, I'm afraid, is how Arthur's lungs work.” He pinched the tip with both thumbs and stretched the latex between his fingers. The air escaped with a high-pitched squeal. “As you can see, the narrow valves put extra strain on the lungs.”

Joseph Lasker nearly scoffed out loud. This is insulting, he thought. We're not children! He looked at Anna sitting beside him. She was still wearing the mandatory hospital garb over her polka-dot blouse, and her hair fell against her shoulders in dark-red waves that left water spots on the crest of the paper gown. Her face was shiny without makeup, but Joe didn't care. His wife had wide eyes and delicate features and didn’t need powder to look beautiful. It was only two months ago that she turned nineteen.

“I want to see my son,” she said.

“He’s resting now, Mrs. Lasker. Arthur had a busy night.”

Joe shook his head. “A busy night of what?”

The doctor didn’t blink. “Your son has Hyaline Membrane Disease. It’s inoperable.”

Inoperable? Joe thought he said the word out loud, then found it lodged in the back of his throat. He looked at Anna as if she could speak for him, but her face was white. He took her hand.

“The balloon demonstration is simplistic, of course,” Doctor Benton continued, “but it can help you understand what we're dealing with.” He studied Anna's face, then answered her question before she could ask it. “There was nothing you could have done to prevent this.”

Joseph caught himself wringing his tie and forced his hand to his lap. How could this be happening? This was Doctor Timothy Benton! The man who delivered Judy Hansworth's kids, the man who played golf with Anna's father every Saturday for twelve years, the man who promised them a healthy baby boy. Joe glanced at the plethora of framed credentials above the mahogany filing cabinets in this rich dill-rod’s corner office. Just another day at work for Doctor Benton.

It took tremendous coordination between Joe’s brain and lungs to force out the next two words. “How long?”

“Weeks. Maybe less... depending on how it develops.”

“What are our options?” Anna asked. Joe was surprised by her inquiry and wondered how she was still sitting straight.

“The safest option is to keep Arthur in our infant care unit. We have a state-of-the-art neonatal intensive care unit, and I can assure you he will be very comfortable.”

“When can we visit?”

“Immediate family is always welcome. Friends and extended family can stay during visiting hours.” 

“When are visiting hours?”

“I believe they’re every day between noon and six.”

“How many visitors are allowed at a time?”

Joe patted her hand. “Honey—”

“How many visitors?” she asked again.

“Four,” replied the doctor.

Joe watched his wife’s expression for early signs of a meltdown. If she cried, he’d know how to comfort her. But she remained stoic, and Joe caught himself wringing his tie for a second time.

“Can we take him home?” she asked.

Doctor Benton opened his middle desk drawer and traded the red balloon for a gold cigarette case. “At Saint Francis, we have the equipment and facilities to meet Arthur's needs.” He leaned forward and offered the case to the couple, but Joe politely declined and Anna looked at the floor. The man flipped open a lighter, snapped the flint, and held the flame to his cigarette. “If we keep Arthur here, he'll be comfortable for a couple weeks.”

“And if he goes home?” Anna asked.

“With oxygen... seven days. Ten if he’s lucky. You would need to rent the necessary equipment—”

“We have insurance,” she replied. “Joseph is a manager now, and—”

“The expense isn’t the issue…” Doctor Benton had been tiptoeing around the word “death,” and Joe appreciated the bedside manner. “Symptoms are minimal now, Mrs. Lasker, but HMD moves quickly. I know how hard this is, folks.”

Joe’s mind leapt into business mode. He only had a week of vacation left after seven years as a bagger, stock-boy, and manager of Lasker’s Department Store. He already planned on cashing it in to spend time with Anna and the baby, but maybe he could ask his father to distribute the vacation days over the next two weeks. (Dad was a stickler for scheduling, but these were extreme circumstances.) Anna's parents would help on weekends, and with all the doctors and nurses—

“We're taking him home,” Anna said.

Joe squirmed in his seat. “Sweetheart, Tim is saying it's best to keep him here…” He looked to the doctor for support. “Right?”

He nodded. “Our neonatal facilities are the best in Illinois—”

“No.” Anna shook her head and stood. She gathered her composure, inhaled sharply, and said, “With all due respect, Doctor Benton, Arthur is my child and he's coming home today.”