From The New England Journal of Medicine
"What kept me going was, I think, that writing for me is a way of understanding what is happening to me, of thinking hard things out," the poet May Sarton wrote. ". . . Perhaps it is the need to remake order out of chaos over and over again. For art is order, but it is made out of the chaos of life" (At Seventy: A Journal. New York: W.W. Norton, 1984). This quotation from one of Sarton's journals might well serve as an introduction to the genre of modern memoir, and it is a particularly apt description of Laura Rothenberg's Breathing for a Living. The most obvious difference between the books of the two women is that the excerpt above was written when Sarton was in her 70s and still deeply engaged in a life of creativity and observation, whereas Rothenberg died of cystic fibrosis when she was 22. And yet the two women had similar impulses: to probe, to find out "what is happening to me," and in so doing, to forge literary vessels that make sense of the lives they lived. There are many reasons to read a memoir, but ultimately it is the voice of the memoirist that makes the experience valuable. He or she may write of a simple, prosaic life or of a life of privilege or historical significance. But how well the author uses written language to allow others to inhabit his or her life is what elevates a memoir beyond the commonplace. Rothenberg's voice is strong and honest. The reader moves quickly through the stages of curiosity and empathy and within the first few pages has made a commitment to the author; her voice echoes in the reader's mind long after the book is closed. Rothenberg's memoir covers a period of several years and is presented in the form of dated journal entries that she wrote before, during, and after she received a lung transplant. The entries have been edited so that the reader receives enough information about the young woman's life and about her disease to move in step with her as she struggles with the decision to accept a transplant. We stick by her through the weeks and months of waiting, the medical complications, and the lulls and crises that follow. From the epilogue we learn -- and we rejoice in the fact -- that she had a brief reprieve from hospital life to move into an apartment in the city with her boyfriend. What is striking about Breathing for a Living is that the author is actually quite unremarkable. She is a college student from a middle-class family in New York City; the daughter of a doctor; a smart, creative, and gregarious young woman -- and she is living with a chronic illness. She might be anyone's daughter, anyone's niece, anyone's pal. She might even be me or you, because what she confronts and writes about in her journal is what we all know: we are living on borrowed time. For people working in health care, Breathing for a Living is perhaps most powerful as a statement about the world of a perpetual patient. For much of Rothenberg's life, hospital rooms were her home, and her childhood playmates were other kids and teenagers with cystic fibrosis. Year after year, she lost many of her dearest friends to the ravages of the disease. She had close relationships with her doctors, her pulmonary team, nurses, and others in the medical world; they were -- for better or worse -- her intimates. Some handled her gingerly, and some callously; some treated her as though she were a puzzle to be solved, and some gave themselves back to her as completely as she entrusted herself to them. She suffered neither fools nor discourteous residents gladly, but the smart ones, the funny ones, the sweet ones received the gift of her friendship. Photographs in the book attest to a sunny smile; portions of her journal show her gift for irony, her compassion, and her wry sense of humor. She must have been a terrific friend. The final devastation of Rothenberg's disease is not mentioned in the book, which was published just a few months after her death. Following the journal entries in Breathing for a Living, there is a section of testimony from family, friends, and medical personnel about their involvement with Rothenberg and her illness, especially during the time of her transplantation. Their comments are sad, brave, poignant, and haunting. Rothenberg's father, Jon, a physician, touches briefly on his own struggle for order in a vast ocean of feelings. We sense in him that same restless intelligence that his daughter gives voice to in her memoir. It's a voice that stays with you. Susan T. Landry
Copyright © 2003 Massachusetts Medical Society. All rights reserved. The New England Journal of Medicine is a registered trademark of the MMS.
Review
"An immense courage is on display here, a marvelous and rare courage." -- Washington Post Book World
"It provokes a rush of feeling . . ." -- San Francisco Chronicle
"Moving for all the right reasons." -- Kirkus Reviews
"Remarkably clear-eyed." -- Entertainment Weekly
"The Laura Rothenberg that lingers in the mind is a . . . witty and precocious New Yorker." -- San Diego Tribune
"Through the patient and painstaking detail of her plight, Rothenberg manages to convey a sense of who she was." -- Boston Globe
About the Author
Laura Rothenberg was born and raised in New York City and attended the Chapin School and Brown University. She died in March of 2003.Part of Laura Rothenberg's story was recorded and shared on NPR's Radio Diaries. To listen to it, link to www.Radiodiaries.com.
