“I’m Hannah. I met you a couple of months ago when I came by to see Uri.”
“Oh, yes, Hannah, what are you doing here?” he asked with a brittleness in his tone.
Feeling slighted by his reaction, Hannah lost control of her emotions and began to cry.
“What is it my dear?" Dr. Geller responded, now with genuine compassion.
“My dad is here. In the ICU. I don’t know which way to go.”
“Which room is he in?”
“I don’t remember. . .913, I think?”
“Follow me, my dear,” Dr. Geller said as he gave a nod to the woman beside him.
Hannah followed him though what seemed like a dozen doors until they finally arrived at one with a buzzer. He pushed it but there was no answer. Mumbling to himself, he picked up the telephone next to the buzzer and dialed some digits.
“Yes,” he told the person on the other end of the line. This is Dr. Avi Geller. I need access to see. . .” He looked at Hannah, cueing her to tell him the name of her father.
“Michael Hagen.”
Dr. Geller nodded and repeated the name. There was a pause before the door buzzed open. He led her past a maze of rooms before stopping in front of room 913.
His expression changed as he read a sign on the door.
“Hannah, my dear, you will need to wear a mask before entering.”
He handed her a face mask, which she put on upside down. After washing his hands in a sink outside the room, he made a gesture towards her face.
“May I?” he asked.
She had no idea what he was talking about, but he took the mask off her face and adjusted it. “You’ll want to wash your hands as well.”
She quickly did what she was told.
“You can go in now,” he told her.
“Thank you,” she responded, but found herself frozen, afraid of what she would see inside.
“Would you like me to go in with you?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she answered, letting him open the door.
Once in the room, she opened a set of curtains where she saw her mother, also in a mask sitting next to her father, holding his hand. A full oxygen mask covered his face. An IV was connected to his arm, along with other machines that monitored his heart rate and respiration.
“Hannah!” her mother stood up to give her a hug. “I tried calling you at school, but you already left for the day.”
Hannah’s mother looked at Dr. Geller. “Are you another one of Mike’s doctors?”
“No, Mrs. Hagen,” he replied. “Your daughter and my son are acquaintances at school and I simply helped Hannah find her way to the room.”
Hannah’s mother nodded. “What type of doctor are you?”
“I am an internist, so I may be paying your husband a visit eventually, depending on where I am assigned.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve spoken to the pulmonologist. I have some questions for him,” Hannah’s mother said.
“I will see what I can do, '' replied Dr. Geller. “I will check in with you later.”
“Thank you, Dr. Geller,” Hannah replied.
He left the room and the heavy door closed noisily behind him.
“Mom, what’s wrong with Daddy?” Hannah asked, trying not to cry again. Her mother often fell apart in upsetting situations. Hannah tried her best not to add to her stress.
“He has a serious case of pneumonia. They’ve started him on an antibiotic, but they’re doing more tests to see if another drug will work better. This is really going to hurt his chances of staying on the transplant list.” She began to cry, adding to Hannah’s distress.
Hannah turned her attention to her father. His eyes closed and his breathing labored, Hannah was unsure if he was conscious.
“Is he sleeping? Can I talk to him?” she asked her mom.
“Of course, you can talk to him,” her mother responded, blowing her nose.
Hannah sat beside her father, who looked frail in the hospital bed, his thin arms filled with bruises.
“Daddy? It’s me, Hannah.”
Mike Hagen opened his eyes and looked at his daughter. His blue eyes contrasted with his pale green hospital gown.
“Hi Punkin,” he said, using the nickname he gave her the day she was born.
Hannah cleared her throat. Trying her best to hold in her tears, she hid her expressions behind her facemask.
“How do you feel Daddy?”
“Oh, I’m doing ok,” her father said. His voice was extra raspy, and Hannah could tell that talking made it more difficult to breathe.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too Punkin,” he said between deep breaths. “You look pretty today.”
No matter how Hannah looked, her father always told her she was pretty. Even when she shaved her head in the 8th grade during her punk rock phase, her father told her she was beautiful.
“You should rest now, Daddy. Mom and I are here.”
He squeezed her hand and closed his eyes.
“Mom, do you want to go get something to eat? I’ll stay here with Dad.”
Her mother looked at the clock.
“I don’t want to miss the doctor when he comes back in,” she said.
“I know what to ask the doctors," Hannah replied. "You could go get something to go and bring it back to the room.”
“I could use a Diet Coke, '' her mother replied. “I’ll run down to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?”
Hannah shook her head no.
“Ok, I’ll be right back.” Hannah heard the same loud thump of the door as her mother left.
Alone with her father, she felt like she should pray. Her dad was a lifelong agnostic, and Hannah felt uncomfortable praying in front of him. She wished Uri were with her. He would know the right words to say.
Quietly in her head she recited the words:
HaShem, maker of the world, please heal my father. Please give him strength. Please give strength to my mother. Please take away my father’s suffering. Amen.
She sat with him in silence for a few more minutes when she heard a knock on the door. A doctor she didn’t recognize entered the room, followed by Dr. Geller and Hannah’s mother.
The new doctor introduced himself as Dr. Cooper, the pulmonologist.
“Since Dr. Geller has a connection to your family and has been assigned his internist, I felt it would be beneficial to have him here too,” he said.
Dr. Cooper touched Hannah’s father lightly on the arm.
“Mr. Hagen, '' he said loudly. “Can you hear me sir?”
Hannah’s father opened his eyes nodded. He struggled to say the word “yes.”
“It’s ok, sir. You don’t have to talk,” said Dr. Cooper.
Dr. Cooper addressed Mr. Hagen loudly, though it was obvious that the information was really intended for Hannah and her mother.
“Mr. Hagen, you have a serious case of bacterial pneumonia. As you know, this can be quite the problem given the severity of your COPD. We took what we call a sputum culture to identify the type of bacteria that is making you sick. We should have the results of that tomorrow.
“When we get the results, we’ll be better able to identify the best antibiotic to use for treatment. In the meantime, we’ll continue to treat you with the Zithromax until we know more. We are also going to up your steroid dosage to help with your breathing. The good news is your oxygen level has stabilized in the last few hours, and your fever hasn’t increased.”
“Are there any questions I can answer for you?” he turned to Hannah and her mother.
“Will this hurt his place on the transplant list?” Hannah’s mother immediately asked.
“As long as he recovers fully, I don’t see any reason why it would jeopardize his place on the list,” Dr. Cooper answered confidently.
“Is he really uncomfortable?” asked Hannah. “It looks like it hurts for him to breathe.”
Dr. Cooper walked closer to her father’s bed and took out h
is stethoscope. He listened to his heart and lungs.
“His breathing is labored, which is to be expected. But we can give him some drugs that will help relax him breathe easier. The additional steroids will help as well.”
After answering a few more questions from Hannah’s mother, the doctors left, assuring them that they would have more information and better prognosis in the morning.
Hannah wanted to catch Dr. Geller before he left the ICU.
“Mom, I’ll be right back,” she said. “I need to tell Dr. Geller something.”
She quickly left the room and pulled down her face mask. Dr. Geller was standing at a nurse’s station looking at what appeared to be a file.
“Dr. Geller, can I talk with you for a moment?”
“Of course, Hannah, what can I do for you, my dear?”
“I know my dad’s situation is serious. I was afraid to ask this in front of my mother. But do you think my dad will pull through this?”
Dr. Geller looked compassionately at Hannah, feeling sympathy for the young girl who stood before him. A girl this young should not have to face a dying parent, he thought to himself.
“The next 24 hours are critical,” Dr. Geller answered honestly. “If he remains stable, there is no reason we can’t hope for the best.”
Hannah said she understood, while tears starting to build up again.
“Could I ask you one more thing. . .well actually, two more things?”
“Ask me anything, dear.”
Hannah seemed reluctant before speaking. “Will you pray for my father?”
Dr. Geller looked warmly at Hannah, almost as if he wanted to hug her.
“I already have,” he responded, “and I will continue to do so.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I am so grateful I ran into you this afternoon.” She paused again. “Could you tell Uri that I won’t be at school tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you, Dr. Geller. And Chanukah sameach.”
Hannah returned to the room, leaving a stunned Dr. Geller at the nurse’s station. He was unaware that the young girl had taken the Jewish faith seriously—or at least seriously enough to learn some Hebrew. He found himself feeling more tenderness towards her. Perhaps he misjudged her intentions.
Hannah stayed with her mother until her sister Leah arrived. While her mother insisted on staying the night, the nurses assured her that Mike was stable and sleeping, and the best thing she could do for him now was to get some rest herself.
Hannah, her mother, and sister arrived home to a cold, dark house. Once again, Hannah retreated to her room with Tully, wishing she could be with Uri.
LATER THAT NIGHT, DR. Geller returned home from his shift, celebrated the second night of Chanukah with his family, and took a late evening nap. He awoke around 10:30, put on his coat and shoes and started the car.
“Where are you going, Avi?” Devorah asked. It was unusual for her husband to go out so late after a shift.
“Back to the hospital for a while, my dear. There is a patient I need to check on.”
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Geller found himself pushing the ninth button in the hospital elevator. The hospital floor was quiet now, with the only sounds of machines and monitors.
He walked to Michael Hagen’s room. Mike Hagen was sleeping, his breathing still labored, but his vital signs hadn’t changed since Avi last saw him. He stood at the end of his bed and bowed his head, reciting Tehillim for the sick. He softly moved his lips and bowed his head continuously as he prayed a portion of Psalm 6 in Hebrew.
“Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I languish away; heal me, O Lord, for my bones tremble in fear. My soul is panic- stricken; and You, O Lord, how long for Your help. Relent, O Lord, deliver my soul; save me for the sake of Your kindness. . .”
17
Hannah Hagen revealed her deepest secret to Uri Geller on a cold, dreary December day.
It was the morning after her father’s hospitalization, and Hannah awoke to the smell of scrambled eggs and coffee. She walked upstairs to the kitchen to find Leah preparing breakfast.
“Hey,” Leah greeted her. “I called and excused you from school.”
“Can you do that?” Hannah asked curiously.
“I don’t know, but I did. Mom called from the hospital and she said that Dad had a good night. No major changes. They are going to try different antibiotics that should fight off the infection better.”
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. “Maybe the prayers worked,” she said out loud, suddenly regretting that she made the comment in front of her sister.
“Since when have you been one to pray?” Leah asked suspiciously.
“What, are you the prayer police? It’s none of your business if I pray or not.” Hannah shot back, quickly reverting to her childhood habit of arguing over everything her sister said.
“Whatever,” replied Leah. “Just eat and get ready so we can go, ok?”
They took Leah’s car, a Toyota Camry with a working heater, Hannah was grateful for a warm morning commute.
When they arrived at the hospital room, their mother was talking with Dr. Cooper.
He politely greeted the girls. “I was just explaining to your mother that your father had a good night. We have switched him to a stronger antibiotic that we think will work better against the bacteria. We’ll plan on doing another X-Ray tomorrow to see how things are progressing.”
He looked at his clipboard before continuing. “For now, the best thing for your father is rest and hydration. We’ll continue with the other meds to keep his breathing comfortable. I’ll be back later this afternoon to check on him, ok?”
He shook Kathleen Hagen’s hand and left the room.
“Thank God,” said her mother as she sat back in the chair next to her husband. She took his hand and whispered softly, “You’re going to be ok, Mike.” He opened his eyes, appeared to give her a smile under his large oxygen mask, and squeezed her hand.
After an hour of sitting quietly with coffee and watching game shows on low volume, someone knocked on the door.
“Good to see you all this morning,” Dr. Geller greeted them. “And even better to see that Mr. Hagen had a good night. Mrs. Hagen, is there anything that you or your family needs?”
“Please, call me Kathleen,” she said. “And no, I think we are doing well now. We’re anxious to see if this new antibiotic will kick-in.”
Dr. Geller nodded. “Kathleen, would it be all right if I borrowed Hannah for a few minutes? She has a friend here who would like to see her.”
Hannah’s mother gave her a look of surprise. “What friend would be here at this time of day; is it Faith?”
“Actually, Mrs. Hagen—excuse me, Kathleen—the person waiting for her is my son. They share a class together and I understand they have become quite good friends.”
“Really?” Hannah’s mother seemed stunned. “Hannah, I’ve never heard you mention him.”
“Yeah, Hannah,” said Leah accusingly. "This is news to me, too.”
Wanting to end the inquisition, Hannah spoke up. “Is it okay if I go, Mom? I won’t be gone long.”
“Of course,” her mother offered a slight smile, mostly out of politeness to Dr. Geller.
Hannah took off her mask and followed Dr. Geller down the hallway into a room labeled “Family Meeting Area.” There were several people lounging in chairs and small television blared on the wall beside a soda machine. Next to it sat Uri. He was looking down when they entered the room, restlessly tapping his foot.
“Uri,” Dr. Geller said, startling his son from his daydream. “I have brought you your friend. Your mother will meet you in the lobby downstairs in twenty minutes. I trust you know that you and Hannah are not permitted to leave the room together?”
“Yes, Abba. Thank you.”
Dr. Geller’s pager beeped as he nodded at Uri and left the room.
“Uri! How did you convince your father to bring you here?” Dizzy with relief, she
wanted to sink into his arms.
Knowing that his father could walk by the room or check in at any moment, Uri pulled Hannah’s hand next to his, holding it closely by his side.
“Oddly enough, it was his suggestion that I come.”
“What?” Hannah responded so loudly that the sound of her own voice startled her.
“Yeah, you must have made some sort of impression on him. He said that you could use some cheering up. Of course, my mother was against it, but when my father assured her that we would be in a room with other people she reluctantly agreed.” Uri gave Hannah a tender look. “How is your dad? I prayed for him last night.”
“I knew you would,” Hannah responded, squeezing his hand. “He is holding steady and he made it through the most critical part of the night. Now we’re hoping these new meds will work.” She let out a weary sigh. “I wish you could meet him. Maybe when he’s better, you can.”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” Uri said. They sat in silence for a while as Uri caressed her hand.
“I’m really sorry you’re going through this, Hannah. You are incredibly stro—"
“Uri, I need to tell you something,” Hannah interrupted him. “It’s weird to tell you this here, but I don’t when or where I’ll get another chance to be alone with you, and I can’t keep this from you any longer.”
“Okay. . .what is it?” Uri’s brows furrowed at Hannah’s urgency.
Hannah sighed and looked around the room. A young couple slouched on a couch with a sleeping toddler between them. Another man slept in a chair, quietly snoring. An older woman sat reading a magazine.
Hannah let go of Uri’s hand, and sat back in her chair, distancing herself from him.
Uri swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Hannah, what is it that you want to tell me?”
“I don’t want to tell you,” she replied. “I don’t want to tell you at all. But I need to tell you,” Hannah said in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about things. You’ve made me think about things. About God and prayer and about conversion. And if I did choose to convert, I couldn’t do it without telling you this.”
“You’re really thinking about conversion?” Uri asked with a sense of hope in his voice.
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