Get Well Party for Jess Mabon

True Friendship:

A True Story About San Francisco Opera’s Jess Mabon and Tom Taffel

(ball point pens, wheel chairs and Europe’s worst heat wave)

On the second day of our “Capitals Of Europe" group cruise we sailed into Marseille. Jess strained to lift his sister’s heavy bag and suddenly required immediate surgery to save his life. The ship's doctor told Jess he had one hour to disembark the ship. His strangulated hernia required emergency surgery at the nearest hospital, “L'Hopital Nord,” France's second largest hospital. He didn’t know, nor was anyone told, this was a teaching hospital as well as a general assistance hospital ("Assistance Publique Hopitaux de Marseille"), for which French citizens normally pay two Euros a day.

Jess’ sister, his 98 year-old Mother and Tom Taffel, (a close friend of thirty years), quickly gathered his items of necessity and escorted him to the waiting van. Sadly no one could remain in Marseille with Jess who was eighty years old and spoke no French. Jess was hugged good-bye and was assured he was loved. The security officer requested everyone to quickly re-board the ship; the gangway was about to be retracted in preparation for immediate sailing. From the open gangway, we could see the van speed off, unable to imagine what awaited Jess, his family and Tom.

Tom Taffel met Jess 32 years ago ushering in the boxes at the San Francisco Opera House. Back then, Jess was his “mentor.” Today, they are colleagues and just as close. Tom now manages the San Francisco Opera and Ballet’s Intermezzo Lounge, located adjacent to Jess in the boxes on the Mezzanine level.

Jess is an avid world cruiser often sailing three times a year with “San Francisco Opera Group Cruises.” For the duration of the cruise, Tom kept in constant communication with the hospital, hoping Jess would be released a few days after his operation and would rejoin the cruise in Amsterdam. But Peritonitis set in and a second surgery was required to once again save his life. To complicate matters, Jess' kidneys were close to failing and he would not be released in time to rejoin the cruise in Amsterdam nor could he be allowed to leave the hospital in time to fly home with the group.

With no air conditioning (or even a fan), just a slightly open window, Jess' hospital room was unbearably sultry. After twenty-five days of hospitalization, Jess lost twenty-five pounds. Although his condition was classified as "stable," he was not improving. The doctor, (and professor of internal medicine), wanted Jess to return home. There was nothing more he could do. For whatever reason, Jess was no longer receiving intravenous liquids. In addition to being malnourished, he was seriously dehydrated, and remember, the summer of 2003 was the worst heat wave in the history of France and Europe.

On day twenty-five, as Tom was busy uploading future cruises (www.TomsGroupCruises.com), Jess’ sister called asking if he could fly to Marseille to bring Jess home. Tom was the only one they knew who could deal with all the various issues and complications involved

Jeff Coyne, San Francisco Opera House Manager, gave Tom three days off to bring Jess home. He then made arrangements to fly to Marseille to get Jess back to San Francisco. Before departing, Tom bought $109 worth of beautifully boxed and gift-wrapped ballpoint pens. He had a feeling these pens would come in handy and his intuition subsequently proved to be correct.

Tom arrived at the hospital late the next afternoon. His heart sank when the driver pointed out, (what appeared to be a prison was in fact), the hospital. Entering the dimly lit, smoke-filled lobby as the lobby lights began to flicker and die, he asked the receptionist for Jess Mabon’s room … and if France was having yet another strike.

Walking down the sweltering, bare, bleak and noisy halls, the din of construction was all around. Unlike an American hospital where a wing would be shut down for construction, jackhammers and torches worked around the patients. The public bathrooms’ toilets had no toilet seats, but remember … this was a general assistance hospital.

Tom found Jess’ room and knocked on the closed, hollow, double-steel door. Hearing nothing, he opened the door slowly to hear a weak voice cry out: "Hi Ho, is that my friend from San Francisco?" The room felt like a sauna. There was Jess, weighing twenty-five pounds less than a month ago. He was pale, ashen gray, and dehydrated. He wanted to come home.

Jess was so glad to see Tom, he didn't want to lose eye contact for a second, however Tom still had a lot to do -- quickly. Having been in frequent e-mail communication with Holland America’s port agent in France, he knew that he would not be allowed to spend the night in the hospital.

By American standards, the nurses' station was depressing -- to say the least. Drenched in perspiration he began speaking in his best (high school) French. Tom explained he was there to bring Jess back to the United States. He will never forget their sad, understanding expression and was soon to learn the deeper meaning of those compassionate, forced smiles.

Believing Jess should not be left alone that night and knowing the hospital rules, Tom was hesitant but asked anyway if he could spend the night in Jess’ room? The answer was an expected, "ce n'est pas possible." Tom presented both nurses with beautifully wrapped pens. They were at first reluctant, then receptive, then delighted. A quiet conversation between the nurses ensued. Then one nurse left abruptly. The other nurse put her finger to her lips and said: "… en silence." Tom understood, completely.

A "chaise roulantes" (wheel chair) was requested for their departure at10:00am the next morning. The nurse made a notation in the logbook for the morning shift. By the time Tom returned to Jess' room, a cot had been rolled in and made up.

In spite of Jess’ weaken condition and difficulty standing, the hope Tom saw in Jess' eyes - will never be forgotten. He felt an incredible bond and couldn’t and wouldn’t fail Jess. They were in this together and their common goal was clear…but how to achieve it was the arduous task ahead.

Soon “dinner” arrived. Jess couldn't eat. He asked Tom to share his meager dinner. It consisted of a small container of what we would call "Ensure" but tasted more like warm flavored chalk water. Jess was dehydrated, but to what extent, Tom could never have imagined at the time.

After only two hours sleep both were up, dressed and started preparing for the journey. But first, breakfast arrived: a bowl of warm water and granulated chocolate. The chocolate would not go into solution but just floated on the surface of the bowl. Also, there was Melba toast and a piece of butter.

Two nurses arrived to instruct Tom how to change Jess' dressing – (while standing in the airplane lavatory at 39,000 feet). Because of the Peritonitis, a gaping incision in his side had to be left open in order to allow drainage and healing from within. They gave Tom extra gauze and antiseptic to take along. They just couldn’t have been nicer, more helpful or caring.

It was 9:00am, and still no wheel chair. The nurses were reminded a wheel chair would be needed soon and again they acknowledged, politely. Tom was prepared to pay Jess’ hospital bill for him. The cashier was polite and took his credit card, but it did not go through. Asked to try again-- it did not go through and that was that! There was no room for complications at this point. Tom reached into his pocket and presented a gift-wrapped ballpoint pen. She made a third attempt and "voila," success.

It was now 9:40am and still no wheel chair. There was another plea for one to be delivered, immediately.

The scope of the challenges became clear. Jess was just too weak, malnourished and dehydrated for a fifteen hour journey. His draining incision was not healed enough to travel…but there was no other choice. Jess would need to rally his frail body to a feat beyond his physical strength and endurance.

Tom’s explicit instructions were to return with Jess' complete medical records and proof of payment or Kaiser would not reimburse Jess’ expenses, but the two morning nurses were forbidden to give him any hospital records. The last two pens came in handy. They called the doctor. Fortunately he spoke better English than Tom spoke French. Understanding the payment dilemma, he authorized the photo copying of Jess’ file and the release of his X-rays.

The doctor was a very kind, gentle man and wanted to give Jess hope. He wrote a note to Lufthansa's flight surgeon which he felt would certainly allow Jess to board the plane in spite of his physical condition. They did all that could be done and he wished them well on their long journey home.

At 10:55am a wheel chair arrived and soon they were on their way to Marseille’s International Airport where the temperature had already reached ninety degrees.

The van driver immediately went into the terminal and called for a wheel chair. Jess remained in the air-conditioned van while Tom checked in at the Lufthansa counter. The wheel chair service was delayed and they could not be certain if it would arrive in time. Together they sat and waited twenty more minutes in the van until time had finally run out. They couldn't wait any longer and they couldn’t turn back. There were no alternatives. There was no space on any other Lufthansa flights out of Marseille.

Tom left and found a baggage trolley, made a makeshift seat out of their two carry-on bags and sat Jess facing backward. He was too weak to hold on, so Tom held his hands tightly around the trolley frame as he pushed him briskly through the airport concourse toward their gate.

Boarding the small commuter jet was a slow and tedious chore, especially the steps. Jess collapsed in his seat. Tom buckled him in and immediately encouraged him to drink as much liquid as possible throughout the flight to Munich.

Adieu Marseille!

In Munich, Lufthansa was totally wonderful. The pilots, (aware of the situation), had requested a special van to transport Jess to the waiting Airbus 340 bound for San Francisco. They deplaned and waited for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually a van arrived and whisked them across the tarmac to the main terminal.

In spite of a completely sold out flight, Lufthansa upgraded them to business class seats adjacent to the lavatory. A wheel chair was requested upon arrival at SFO. But once again that was not to be. The wheel chair was waiting at the wrong door. After all passengers had deplaned the wheel chair was redirected to the correct door. Wheel chairs proved to be very problematic.

Hendrik, Jess' and long-time friend who lives and works in Sonoma, was waiting to drive him to Kaiser Hospital. In spite of all the fluids he had been drinking on the flight, Jess was diagnosed with severe dehydration. He was attached to two I.V.’s, had his incision cleaned and re-bandaged and within three days was hydrated, nourished and released.

Jess received 623 get-well cards. He is now the picture of health.