It's Mother's Day 2006, and I thought what better time to post this? Where will it go? Ah that's the beauty of a W.I.P. it could go anywhere. A word of explanation: Mariah Bess Harte is the mother of Richard Harte, based on Richard Sirois's character. Rina Kansumi is the mother of Yoriko; the last name is courtesy of CaptainKodak. The nerve gas attack really happened, and I thought made an excellent backdrop for the story of the Coeur de Lion.
Love your mother, or your mother surrogate, and let her know it.
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PRELUDE; FROM CHPT 2 OF K.P. AND THE LIONHEART, "AS MOTHERS WILL DO":
On March 20, 1995 Mariah Bess Harte's and Rina Kansumi's lives intersected with destiny. The Aum cult, headed by the enigmatic Shoko Asahara, was responsible for the release of deadly sarin nerve gas in a Tokyo subway. 12 people were killed, and 5000 were injured. The women rushed home to the bosom of their families, grateful to God to be spared, and grieved for those who were not. But in a few months Mariah Bess experienced the onset of symptoms, complications, the doctors said, arising from the exposure to the nerve gas; bouts of pneumonia, congestive heart failure, loss of motor function, periods of unconsciousness. She was seen by specialists, both in Tokyo and America. She was even referred to the Tri-city Medical Center, and was examined by Dr. Possible. She read the letters of referral and studied the test results from other medical facilities. She ordered her own extensive battery of tests; she carefully reviewed the results. It was a forlorn hope at best. The entire nervous system was deteriorating; it was leading to multiple organ failure. It was known as the cascade effect; like a chain reaction, the loss of one organ function would lead to another, and another, each more severe.
This was the most solemn duty of any conscientious medical professional. The limpid blue eyes glistened with unshed tears; with great sadness, Mariah Bess Harte was told by Dr. Possible that there was nothing that she could do.
They sat and talked a moment as mothers will do. "I have a daughter: Kimmie"; she showed her a wallet-sized portrait. And Mariah Bess beheld the striking red hair, radiant as the sunrise, arranged in adorable twin ponytails. "I have a daughter her age: Daphne"; and Dr. Possible's heart was wrung; "Actually I have twins: Daphne and Richard;" and her heart was wrung anew as she thought of her own, Jim and Tim.
Mrs. Harte proudly showed the pictures of her children: Daphne wore her bright dandelion-colored hair pulled in a tight bun, and her intense blue eyes commanded proper and quiet behavior; her glasses were perched on the end of her nose; her shirt was buttoned to the collar, and her mouth was a thin little line; she looked like a little librarian; "She chose that look herself; she's so serious, you would hardly know there's a dry sense of humor behind that face." Richard also wore glasses, but here was the slender face of a poet, an artist; brown hair, and deep sensitive brown eyes, like his mother--and an apparently untameable cowlick on the back of his head; "He's a dreamer, an idealist; she's a rock hard realist; yet they're as thick as thieves; they're as close as two sides of the same coin."
Dr. Possible was grateful that Mrs. Harte was the last patient of the day. On the drive home tears, trickled down her cheeks and she sniffled. The words ran through her mind: "A daughter Kimmie's age--oh, those poor children." Ron Stoppable was visiting. Kim was fuming, as usual: "Mom, they got into my room, into my stuff! those--those tweebs!" Ron was vainly trying to placate her: "K.P., it's no big!" Without a second's hesitation she dropped to her knees and smothered her daughter in an embrace. Her self-imposed discipline crumbled and she began to weep.
"Mom?" "Mom Dr. Possible?" Kim and Ron were thoroughly confused.
"Mama, Mama's home!" the twins chimed happily; they were too wound up to notice her face etched with grief; her husband did notice and concern filled his face and voice.
"Dear, is everything okay?" She leaned her head on his shoulder; "A patient I saw today--oh Jim, it's so sad." His arms settled around her, and sympathy filled his heart; it must indeed extraordinarily sad, to touch his wife so deeply...
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THE 1ST LETTERS
Dear Mrs. Harte,
I felt impelled to write to you.
Contrary to what is taught in medical school, I have always tried to maintain personal ties with my patients, especially when I cannot offer anything hopeful in the way of conventional treatment.
Upon talking with your family physician, I find that you are not adverse to alternative therapies. I will make it my personal mission to review everything I can and keep you advised on what I think might be of some help to you. I hesitate to offer false hope, yet I can never completely abandon hope while life remains.
Again, please feel free to call me at any time.
Sincerely yours,
Annette Possible, M.D.
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Dear Dr. Possible,
How encouraging it was to hear from you
I could tell you were almost distraught that day, and my heart went out to you.
Your reputation precedes you. Our family physician and many of the neurologists we have been referred are familiar with you. I even tried reading some of your published articles before we met with you in Middleton; alas, it's all Greek to me. My children made much more headway than I did.
My husband Leo was placing great faith in my visit with you, based on the sterling reputation of your practice, and the esteem your associates hold you, in particular. To tell you the truth, I had long since given up hope; my expectations had been raised and dashed so often that I found the prospect of another consultation very depressing.
I feel very different now. Meeting with you and just sharing about our families was more healing for me than anything I have done for a long time--in fact I can't remember when I last felt just normal, not having the shadow of a terminal illness over my head.
Your lovely daughter Kim; I can see the boys flocking to your house as she grows older. I picture her father as very protective; our Daphne is the apple of of my Leo's eye.
I'm very appreciative of your offer on my behalf; you have a good heart, a better heart--I hesitate to say it--than many in the medical profession. Even more than your medical expertise, I would consider it a great privilege if we could--if I may be so bold--correspond on a personal level. That brief time of sharing in your office was so refreshing; I would feel blessed if you and I could continue in that vein.
Thank you, Dr. Possible. I went home feeling like a wife and mother again, instead of a patient, and I owe you for that. I look forward to hearing from you again.
Bless you,
Mariah Bess Harte
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In the brief handful of years between their first meetings and Mariah Bess Harte's eventual death, an intense friendship would grow between her and Dr. Annette Possible. They would never physically lay eyes on each other again. There would be some phone calls, and some e-mails; Kenjijen, Japan, was a small rural village, and at the time it did not have the facilities for such things. But the letters--dozens of letters. They would write about everything: their lives growing up, their lives as wives and mothers, their husbands and children, their marriages, their deepest fears, their fondest hopes, and by the time is was done, each would count the other as their dearest friend. The friendship would shape their lives--and the lives of their children--profoundly.