Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (25 page)

Vanessa took a deep breath as she looked out the hospital window and across the lush lawn. “I just feel like I'm an old cellar that's had the lights turned on and the trash cleaned out. And when you say I can, I'm gonna be baptized in the river and begin my life over again.”

I was taken aback by her vast, renewed energy and enthusiasm. “Is this the same woman who was wrestling with the evil spirits just a few days ago?” I asked her.

Her smile lit up the room. “It is, Doc! It is!”

“Well, I'm happy for you. I really am.”

She smiled. “I'm happy for me too! And I need to know when I can get baptized. When's it safe?”

“How 'bout this — next week I'll see you in the office, and we'll get the staples out of your skin. You can tell the pastor he should be able to baptize you in a couple of weeks. That be OK?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Vanessa, how do you feel about the legal stuff?”

The smile left her face, and she became serious. “Well, first of all, I feel real good 'bout my little girl havin' a mother and a father. The pastor and Mrs. Fox told me that whenever possible a child should have a mother
and
a father to raise them and love them. I think they're right. Social Services would be glad to help me raise the child, but I've seen so many other girls try to be single moms. I won't do that to my girl. I think it's great she's gonna have a mom and a dad to raise her. And she'll be safe from the Satan gang.”

“How about the DA? What's going to happen there?”

“I've agreed to press charges. They're gonna run the tests. When they can prove he's the father, they're gonna charge him with statutory rape and a bunch of other things. I told 'em I kept the threatenin' notes he wrote me, and I kept tapes from my answerin' machine. They say that's enough to put him away for a long time. I feel good about it.”

I was quiet for a moment. I could see tears forming in her eyes. “Doc, they tell me he's done this to other girls — some a lot younger than I am. But
I'm
the one that can stop him. So I'm gonna.”

I nodded and reached out to take her hand in mine. “What you're
doing is courageous, Vanessa. And it's right. But I've gotta tell you something very, very important. If you want to heal from this horrible wrong, you'll have to convert this wrong done to you to something right and good and noble.”

She looked deeply into my eyes. “What's that, Dr. Larimore?”

I shook my head. “I don't know the answer for you, Vanessa. But I do believe this: the Lord will not cause or allow anything to happen to one of his children that he will not turn to good. If you love him and trust him and serve him, he's going to help you take this terrible wrong and make something terribly good. Your suffering
will
be redeemed.”

She gave my hand a squeeze and then let go. She reached over to her bedside table and picked up a quilt.

“That's what Mrs. Fox and the pastor both told me. In fact, look at this!”

She unfolded a small handmade quilt — a magnificent work of art. I helped her spread it across her lap.

“It's from Mrs. Fox. She was led to make it for someone. She didn't know who when she started. But now she does, and she's given it to me. See here — ” she pointed to the center of the blanket. “This is the Cherokee symbol for new life. Today I leave the old life behind, and I'll begin my new life. A life with hope. A life with my church and a new life with God. Dr. Larimore, this quilt will remind me of today — forever.”

As I admired the quilt, I had a sudden realization that almost took my breath away. Vanessa was lying in the same bed that another patient of mine, Evan, had lain in when he died of what I later learned was HIV/AIDS. It was Christmas morning only two years earlier when Evan had chosen to begin a personal relationship with his Creator. From this bed he had stepped into a hopeful and joyful eternity. And on this same bed Vanessa was beginning her new life. In a way, our ICU had become a spiritual nursery.

At the nurses' station, I finished my notes and orders and then dictated Vanessa's discharge summary. It seemed terribly incomplete. Oh, it was medically accurate, all right — just terribly insufficient to tell the
real
story. On the discharge summary, it sounded like there had been only one birth during this hospitalization; in actuality, there had been two.

The second annual Bryson City Fireman's Day was the first one I could actually enjoy. After suffering through a year of giggling and snide comments at my “victory” in the Miss Flame contest, I was eager to have a new contestant assume all the grief that came with the crown.

Downtown was packed. There were booths selling crafts and cookies and pies of all kinds. Kate and Scott had fun climbing into the big red fire engine, and we all enjoyed a caramel apple after the community lunch had been served. We ate and laughed and visited with friend after friend. After four years in this small mountain town, we finally felt we were not only an accepted part of the community but also a wanted part of the town's life and times.

And my most vivid memory of that year's Fireman's Day was an incredible quilt. No, not the one Mrs. Fox made for Vanessa — the one representing new life — but the one at a crafter's booth that Rick pointed out to me.

“Wow. Look there, Walt!” he exclaimed as he pointed to the back of the booth.

It was hanging on the back wall of the booth. Embroidered across this spectacularly detailed work of quilting and embroidery was a series of names — seven to be exact — including my and Rick's names. On the top it said OUR DOCTORS; on the bottom it said PRICELESS GIFTS FROM THE GREAT PHYSICIAN.

The quilt was not for sale. But to Rick and me it was a priceless affirmation and blessing that God was indeed using us in the way he was crafting our lives and the lives of our patients into a remarkable and masterfully woven quilt.

part three

chapter twenty-four

THE GOLDEN HOUR

B
onnie walked quickly back to my dictation station.

“Louise called, Dr. Larimore. There's a trauma case coming to the ER. She wants you there, stat. Mitch is on his way up.”

I dropped my pen and quickly left the office. My rapid walk escalated to a run as I heard the ambulance coming up the back of Hospital Hill.

I arrived at the ER as Billy was backing the rig up to the ER entrance. I ran to the back of the ambulance, where I was met by Louise. As soon as it stopped, we each grabbed a door and threw them open.

Our mouths fell open in astonishment. Don was in the back, sitting at the side of a bloodied patient. Draped across the patient's feet, on the stretcher with him, was a whining, blood-covered golden retriever. It was Dan McGill and Samson!

“I'll get another gurney!” Louise cried out as she spun around and raced inside.

“Some fool tourist was speeding through town on Main Street,” Don explained. “Hit Dan and Samson in the crosswalk. Someone said Samson tried to drag Dan out of the way — but it was too late.”

As Louise wheeled the gurney toward me, Don and I carefully transferred Samson. I could feel the broken ribs crackling under his chest wall as we lifted him. He whined in pain. I tried to comfort him with an “It's OK, boy” as we turned and gently placed him on the stretcher. Louise quickly wheeled him into the ER.

Don turned to help Billy unload Dan, who was unconscious. His right arm and head were heavily bandaged with blood-soaked gauze, and an IV was running into his left arm.

“I think he has a broken arm and leg, Doc!” Don exclaimed as they unloaded the stretcher. “He's unconscious, but his pupils are equal and reactive,” Don noted as we rushed Dan into the ER.

I did a quick exam, confirming Don's findings. Although Dan was covered with deep abrasions, especially on his arms, the palpable fractures of his right humerus and femur were closed — in other words, the bones weren't protruding through the skin. When I examined his right leg, Dan began to moan and to wake up and shake his head. I moved up the gurney so I could be next to him.

“Dan, this is Dr. Larimore. Can you hear me?”

His eyes began to focus on me. “Where am I?”

“You're in the ER, Dan.”

“What happened?”

“I'm told you were hit by a car downtown.”

His eyes widened as he exclaimed, “Samson!” and tried to sit up. But as soon as he tried to push up with his right arm, he yelped in pain and collapsed back onto the pillow. “Where's Samson?”

We both heard a bark from the next cubicle.

“He's in the next cubicle, Dan.”

“How is he, Doc?”

“I'm not sure. I was tending to you first. I think you've got a broken arm and leg. We'll need to get you X-rayed to see how bad the damage is. OK?”

“He's fine!” I turned to see Dr. Mitchell as he entered the cubicle.

“That you, Dr. Mitchell?” Dan cried out. I instantly knew Dan's hearing was intact.

Mitch walked up opposite me and took Dan's left hand. “It's me, friend. I took a quick look at Samson. He's got some broken ribs and a collapsed lung, so he'll need a chest tube. And his left front leg is broken. He's gonna need surgery.”

“Oh no!” Dan exclaimed. “Is he going to make it, Doc?”

Samson barked again as I heard Carroll Stevenson rolling the portable X-ray machine into the ER.

“We'll do everything we can, Dan,” Mitch said, reassuringly. But
as is the case with any major trauma, the first hour is what we call “the golden hour” — it's the most critical time. We'll just have to see.

Mitch checked Dan's X-rays as I placed Samson's chest tube. He was just as compliant a patient with his chest tube as Tommy had been with his. Of course, the morphine that Mitch had asked Louise to give Samson through his IV helped a great deal.

When Mitch had suggested I place Samson's chest tube, I wanted to exclaim, “But Mitch, I'm not a vet!” But I knew it would be for naught. In my four years in Bryson City, I had delivered a calf; sown up pig-gored dogs; reviewed ultrasound images of pregnant cats, dogs, and cattle; artificially impregnated fertile cows on Mitch's farm; and removed a trapped bovine placenta. This was just
another
step in my unofficial veterinary training.

Once the tube was in place and connected to suction, Samson's collapsed lung immediately inflated and his breathing normalized. I couldn't help but smile as I looked down on him — a human oxygen mask covering his nose. He took a deep breath and then fell asleep.

“Here's the X-ray,” Carroll called as I heard him snap the films onto the view box. “Look's like a bad fracture, Doc.”

Mitch and I met at the view box. I was expecting to see Dan's X-ray but was obviously looking at Samson's.

“His forefoot is even more busted up than Dan's,” Carroll explained as he placed Dan's X-rays next to the dog's.

Indeed, the middle of Samson's humerus was broken into over a dozen small pieces. At least the ball-and-socket joint appeared normal. I turned my attention to Dan's X-rays. His humerus was also broken in mid-shaft, but there were only three or four major pieces. His femur X-ray showed a mid-shaft spiral fracture.

“What do you think the plan should be?” I asked Mitch.

He looked at the X-rays for a few more moments and then answered decisively. “Let's admit them both to a semiprivate room. One bed for Dan and one for Samson. We'll observe them for the next few hours, and if everything's stable, we'll take them to the OR this evening.”

“Them
!
”
I exclaimed.

“Yep,” Mitch replied, as he turned back to the view box. “We'll need to place pins in the bones and then cast them up. Dan should heal as good as new. And we'll do the best we can on Samson. But my guess is he'll do fine too.”

“We're going to take
a dog
to the OR?”

Mitch cocked his head at me and then asked the question I'd frequently heard in my first year of practice but hadn't heard for nearly a year now. “You stupid?” His ear-to-ear smile indicated that the question was in jest this time. “Seriously, Walt, why not?” he asked.