Is it really possible to have, be, and do whatever you will or desire? Here, Lester Levenson, truly a modern American master in the personal-development realm, tells of going from his deathbed to finding the answers for achieving health, happiness and prosperity -- and how you can do it, too.At the end of two weeks, Dr. Schultz arrived for his regular morning visit and, after examining his patient, pulled up a chair and sat down.
"I'm discharging you today. Your condition is stable, and there's no reason to keep you here any longer. Now that doesn't mean you're well. Far from it. You need an indefinite period of convalescence, as well as checkups at regular intervals. But you don't need to be in the hospital any longer. You can continue with bed rest and medication at home."
The doctor went on to outline his patient's at-home program of rest, medication, and regular office visits; his diet; social activities [none]; even his sex life [also none]. Lester was surprised, but determined to follow doctor's orders.
"How long will this go on, Doc?" he asked. "How long do I have to take it easy like this? I realize you can't tell me exactly, but can you give me some idea?" He watched the doctor carefully as he waited for an answer. It seemed like a long time before Dr. Schultz spoke.
"How old are you, son?"
That wasn't what he expected. He wondered what was coming next. There was something in the doctor's manner he didn't like. "Forty-two," he answered and waited.
Dr. Schultz looked out the window, his face impassive as he sat lost in thought. After a long moment, during which neither man moved, the doctor nodded his head once, a sharp decisive movement which frightened Lester, and spoke abruptly and with finality.
"From now on, I'm afraid."
"What do you mean, from now on?" A very sick feeling was rising from Lester's gut, up into his stomach.
"I mean that you cannot expect to live a normal life from here on." He went on quickly when he saw Lester's shocked look. "You've just had a very serious coronary; you're lucky to be alive at all. Anyone else would have been dead by now with the severity of this attack."
The doctor paused, then cleared his throat. "I realize how difficult it must be for you to hear this." he said. "But, I assure you, it isn't pleasant for me, either."
He got up abruptly and walked to the window, his back to Lester. "I wish there were something else I could say. I wish I could tell you that, in a few months, you'd be back to normal and could pick up your life where you left off."
He paused, then turned to face Lester quietly. "But, I can't. In all good conscience, I can't tell you that. And I'm sorry."
Lester was angry now. "You're sorry? Well, so am I! You saved my life...for what? So that I can be an invalid for the rest of it? What the hell kind of life are you giving me back, anyway?"
Once started, he couldn't stop. He raved on and on. All his frustration, rage and anger poured out until the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach finally rose to his throat and he began to cough and choke. The doctor held a basin for him while he gagged and heaved, then finally fell back, exhausted, onto the pillows. His hand shook as he reached up to wipe his mouth.
The doctor was shaking, too, as he carried the soiled basin to the bathroom. He carefully placed it on the floor, then hunched over the sink, one hand on each side of it to support his weight, his forehead touching the cold mirror of the medicine chest on the wall.
In spite of all his years of practice, these situations still affected him. He thought of home and wished he were there now, his day over, relaxing before dinner with a drink or two. With a deep sigh, he pulled himself erect and walked back into the room.
"I'll sign the discharge papers today, but you can stay on if you want," he said quietly "If you need more time to make your arrangements, I'll tell the nurse it's okay." He didn't know what else to say.
Lester answered, "No, that's all right. I'll leave today, this afternoon. There doesn't seem to be any point in prolonging it."
"All right -- whatever you decide is all right," assured the doctor. "But remember that you can change your mind and stay a bit longer if you want."
He stood in silence for a moment while he closely examined Lester's ashen face. "Please be sure to take it easy when you get home; I can't overemphasize the importance of that. You shouldn't climb any stairs at all. And do you have shoes without laces -- you know, loafers?"
"Loafers? No, why?"
"You might want to have someone buy you a pair. It's better if you don't have to bend over to tie your shoes. It puts an additional strain on your heart when you get into that position."
The idea struck Lester as ridiculous, but all he said was, "Okay. Whatever you say." He'd always hated loafers, but it didn't matter now.
Then, as he watched the doctor walk toward the door, a question occurred to him. "Doc?" he asked. "I'm not going to die, am I? I mean, I might have to kind of take it easy from here on, but I'm not going to die, right?"
Dr. Schultz stopped. "I don't know," he answered, then turned to face Lester. "I wish I could give you a positive answer, but I can't. The truth is that I simply don't know. You've had a massive heart attack and you could live for another year or two -- or you could go tomorrow. I just don't know."
"Thanks for being honest with me, Doc. I'll be seeing you."
Lester goes home. Read on...
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