The Ear of the Heart: An Actress' Journey From Hollywood to Holy Vows (65 page)

I think I had just about every known test in the world, including an MRI of my brain that revealed nothing abnormal. Yet I could barely stand or walk. On those occasions when I was taken to a doctor’s appointment, I had to use a wheelchair. But that didn’t work for maneuvering inside the monastery building. As the halls are too narrow, the wheelchair didn’t work except in the large common room
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There was no time when the pain subsided. Even when lying down it was so sharp that I developed TMJ from clenching my teeth during fitful sleep. This caused difficulty in eating, which, in turn, resulted in continuing weight loss. The burning in my feet traveled up my legs into the pelvic area. It was depleting my strength, leaving me in a weakened state, susceptible to infection. Recurring mouth ulcers appeared as well as urinary tract infections
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Dr. Biondi felt that specially built shoes molded to my feet would help reduce the pain. Over the years a dozen or more were handmade, first by an old-fashioned shoemaker, Mr. Ron Pelletier in Monroe, and later by Jon Rood of Footprints in Newington, and they did have some short-term benefit
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—I was often so embarrassed to call these people and tell them the shoes were not helping that I finally wrote out an apology, memorized it so that I wouldn’t forget anything and performed it on the telephone
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With each doctor, each diagnosis, medications were prescribed and many interacted to cause other problems—cold sweats, hemolytic anemia and tinnitus that got so bad I could not bear the sound of the Community chanting in the church and even found the quiet of my cell invaded by a cacophony of ringing inside my head. The minute the flu hit the East Coast, I was struck full force and developed pneumonia. Whatever was going on, my immune system was not doing its job
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I religiously followed through on the prescribed remedies while trying to maintain my work and prayer schedule. But there were days I would sit through a chapter meeting or a homily at Mass and the only thing I could think of was getting my feet into a hot bath—soaking in a tub relieved the pain a little. I fought giving up my job as portress. I was scared that it would take me out of association with the Community, but eventually I was forced to admit that I was unable to fulfill those duties
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I refused to give up my commitment as dean of education. The women had concerns that needed to be addressed, and they were unaware of the level of pain I was living with. Personal health problems were not spoken of or made common knowledge in the monastery. Certainly Mother Irene was kept informed, but she was involved then with our seriously ill Lady Abbess at the Tower
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Mother David and Mother Simonetta Morfesi were the only two who were living through it with me. Mother David visited my cell to bring me notes from the Community and massage my feet with a salve, and Mother Simonetta, who worked in our infirmary, took on the roles of nurse, counselor, friend and watchdog
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—Mother Simonetta did it all with such grace. She never made me feel like an invalid. With all her other duties, I know she did not get to bed until eleven or twelve each night. It was a tremendous service to me and a great hardship for her
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I did manage to meet with each sister in the Education Deanery, though the meetings were held in my cell, not in Corpus Christi. I was rarely out of my cell except for those Offices I was occasionally able to attend. I took all of my meals in my cell, and I had to be helped to the bathroom and in and out of the tub. I used to pray, “Oh, to have the liberty to take a shower again!
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—You know, the fact that the nuns were in the dark about the extent of my pain was the best thing in the world. I found that by listening to their problems, I could turn off my own for a while. If they had known, their concern would have barred the door to the honest way of communicating we had established
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   What about prayer?

I think common prayer, the Office, is very good for dealing with pain. It’s where you know you are in union with others and with their prayers. But to be constantly praying by yourself when you feel pain, well, all you do is go back into yourself. You can do it for a while—two or three days—but, after that, all you can do is try to put your mind somewhere else. God did not create us to suffer. He made us for joy and goodness, and He made the body to be a container of beauty. I believe He wants our body to be a treasure. If not, why would God want His Son to be part of humanity? When we are in pain our only answer is to stay in that identification with God’s Son, who transformed pain through love. You start to identify your pain as the prayer itself
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In the times when I was alone, one of the best friends I had was Toby. It was good to be with another creature that didn’t care what pain was, didn’t care at all. He wanted his head stroked or a peanut. And I was beholden to Bob Rehme for the Academy movies. I could watch them on the little DVD player in my cell. Movies are a good way to get into some other place
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“Mother Dolores continued to meet with me during this period,” Joyce Arbib remembered, “so I became aware of her illness. I knew just from speaking to her that she was in hell, and yet she would see me each visit because she understood the importance of continuity in our meetings the closer it got to my decision to enter.

“I knew she was going from doctor to doctor close by the abbey. But being a New York girl and used to going straight to the top whenever I could, I consulted a neurologist friend who said, without hesitation, ‘There’s only one person Mother Dolores should see: Dr. Norman Latov, a neurologist at Columbia Presbyterian.’

“I called Dr. Latov and explained Mother’s situation. He set up an appointment. Mother Dolores got permission to travel to New York, so I picked her up and drove her into Manhattan and was with her when she met him. He seemed to know right away what she was going through. And from the beginning she trusted him.”

Given my symptoms and all the proffered diagnoses, Dr. Latov had a strong feeling that I had a nerve disease called neuropathy—a new word for me. But New York City was two hours away; since I would need a driver, I could not see Dr. Latov regularly. I continued with the cadre of physicians nearer to home, following through with each one because I felt I couldn’t drop a person in midstream
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The year 1999 began at the lowest point imaginable—the death of our friend Tom Pomposello. I felt the only way I could come to terms with Tom’s passing would be to make his coffin, and that was now impossible. Brother Iain Highet offered to do it for me
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Brother Iain remembered, “I had never made a coffin before, but she guided me through it. It was a case of
being
Mother’s body. Jeff Havill made some fine metal handles—sort of jazzy, with swirls—and Tom’s wife, Pat, brought friends to stain the box a turquoise color. We did together what Mother Dolores had done alone before. It was a good example of how Mother’s limitations called out the gifts of others, how the one centers the many, which is the general succession pattern of the continuity of life here.”

At one point, two doctors agreed that Mother Dolores had tarsal tunnel syndrome and recommended immediate surgery. In fact, a date for the operation was scheduled. But Dr. Kaplove intervened, requesting that surgery be delayed until more information could be gained from a lumbar puncture, a spinal tap. This was performed without a problem and proved normal. But, in the days following this procedure, there can be a possibility of leakage of spinal fluid, causing severe headache. For that reason patients are cautioned to be careful and rest for a day or so after the procedure.

I was not careful. I had a marathon of parlors, and as a result I felt as though I was hit over the head with a sledgehammer. I took a medication prescribed by a previous doctor, which interacted calamitously with other medications in my system. My body simply could not sustain whatever was going on. I collapsed and wound up in the emergency room at Saint Mary’s Hospital
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A blood patch—injection of drawn blood into the spine to form a clot—was administered to stop the headache, and it was essential that Mother Dolores not lose consciousness during the procedure. She heard the doctor’s voice ordering her to count backward from ten but couldn’t seem to follow his directions. She was fading.

Then I heard Mother David’s voice calling frantically, “Mother, don’t go! Don’t go!
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Go where?” I thought, “I’m not going anywhere. Does she mean I’m going to die? I can’t die. I don’t feel well enough to meet all those people I haven’t seen in so long
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“
Count backward from ten”, she ordered. “Count! Ten . . 
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I repeated
ten
but couldn’t remember what number came before ten. Eight? Seven? “Can I start with seven?” I asked
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The patch was successful. The doctors, however, were appalled that Mother Dolores was a walking pharmacy. She had to get off many medications. She sought refuge through alternative medicine at the Holistic Health Center in Southbury, where for the next several months she underwent acupuncture therapy, which did provide some relief from pain—but only during the sessions.

—With no positive results during this long period, did it ever occur to you that this could be what you were facing for the rest of your life?

   
I did have the feeling that it was forever, but I knew that was the evil spirit telling me it will never go away
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Did you believe it anyway?

   
Yes
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One evening at a social event in Manhattan, Maria Janis found herself seated next to Dr. Luc Montagnier, the French virologist who ten years hence would be a joint recipient of the 2008 Nobel Prize for his discovery of the Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV). Maria found a moment to introduce Mother Dolores seemingly unsolvable medical mystery to Dr. Montagnier. He suggested she call him while he was in New York City.

Mother Dolores again got the help of Joyce Arbib, who was fluent in French, to make the arrangements with Montagnier. Joyce was now a postulant at Regina Laudis, having entered in November 1998, becoming the abbey’s second Jewish woman to do so.

Dr. Montagnier proceeded to treat, by long distance, mycoplasma penetrans in Mother Dolores blood, thinking that bacteria could have entered her system during the root canal and was wreaking havoc with her immune system. Under Montagnier’s treatment, the persistent sores in her mouth completely cleared and did not return. But that had been the only positive result. The pain in her feet continued to flare up, and she began to experience new symptoms.

The passing months were now bringing frequent headaches, difficulties in speaking and shifting areas of pain, sometimes in my hips and bladder, sometimes in my hands. I had difficulty grasping and holding objects. I could not snap my fingers. Sometimes I felt as if I had menthol in my eyes. I was frequently nauseated and seemed to live in a fog, finding it hard to think
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