Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (28 page)

With my encouragement, Danny's mom and dad took him to the Duke Cancer Center for evaluation. A biopsy confirmed the diagnosis of a type of cancer called osteocarcinoma. We all had hoped and prayed that the amputation of his arm would have brought a cure. And for nearly eight months there had been no sign of any recurrence.

Then I saw him in the ER for an episode of acute, severe chest pain. A chest X-ray revealed multiple tumors in Danny's ribs — with one of the ribs being fractured from the relentless erosion of the cancer. Further X-rays showed that the tumor had spread to little Danny's spine and skull.

The pediatric oncologists at Duke had tried the strongest chemotherapy that was available. It caused little Danny to become bald and to lose weight and muscle strength — but not his incredible sense of humor or his astounding spiritual faith.

All the boys in his class at Bryson City Elementary School had shaved their heads in support and solidarity for their classmate. And for his first office visit after losing his hair, we all wore bald headpieces, which made Danny laugh and laugh — especially when he saw Rick with his bald head and thick beard.

Danny and his family were active members of a small country church. Their church was an important part of their life, and their pastor, Harold Shook, was an important source of encouragement to Danny and the family as they fought for his life — along with the best medical care and prayers I could offer. Danny's mom, Myrtle, believed with all her heart that God was going to heal Danny, with either our therapy or the Lord's direct intervention.

Sadly, his cancer outpaced our medicines, and the Lord apparently said no to the family's prayers for a miraculous healing. Nevertheless, as Danny became increasingly weak and emaciated physically, his emotional and spiritual energy seemed to surge.

Danny ran out of the physical stamina to continue school, so I recommended to Danny's family that they allow hospice to provide home care. Initially, Myrtle and her family resisted my recommendation, but when the administration of the medications for pain and nausea became more complicated, the family relented.

I would regularly make a home visit to see Danny — at least once a week, as well as whenever something urgent would come up. One particular evening, I had stopped by the house. Danny's dad had taken his sisters into town. Myrtle had met me at the door.

“Evenin', Doc.”

“Evening, Myrtle.”

I could see that her eyes were puffy and suspected she had been crying.

“Come on in. Danny's been sleepin' most of the day. Can I offer you a soft drink or a cup of coffee?”

Myrtle was ever the gracious host, and her graciousness again bubbled up, even from the depths of her grief.

“A cup of coffee would be very nice, thank you.”

I closed the front door and followed her to the kitchen. She motioned to the kitchen table. I set my black bag on the table and sat down.

Myrtle poured two cups of coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Both.”

After doctoring the coffee, she delivered my cup and sat down.

“Myrtle,” I began, “you look sad.”

She looked down at her coffee and nodded.

“What are you thinking?”

Myrtle thought for a moment as she stared at her coffee. “Doc, I'm just upset about my Danny.”

I nodded to myself. “I can't even imagine how difficult it is to care for a young child on his deathbed. The closest Barb and I came was before Kate's surgery. The anesthesiologist wasn't sure Kate would survive the anesthesia. So while she was in surgery we prayed and prayed,
not knowing if we'd get her back or not.”

Myrtle looked up at me. “So God answered your prayers.”

I nodded. “He did.”

“You must have great faith. Pastor Shook says that if we have enough faith and pray with enough persistence, the Lord
will
answer our prayers. He told us God wants Danny to be healed, and that if we ask him to heal Danny, he will.”

Myrtle took a sip of coffee and then continued. “He says all we gotta do is ask him in God's holy name and with belief and with persistence. He says that if we just say the word — if we just declare it and profess it — and claim God's great promise to heal Danny's stripes, he'll do it.”

I took a sip of coffee, trying to formulate a response. I was
not
a pastor, and I had no theological education, but what she was being taught just didn't line up with the Bible I read every morning. I sensed a soft, quiet voice encouraging me to share a thought.

“Myrtle, the God I know is a God who loves us more than we could ever imagine. He's a just and sovereign God, and, most of all, he's good. But I know for a fact that he doesn't answer our
every
prayer with a yes. Sometimes he says no, and sometimes he says wait.”

“Doc, our pastor says Danny's cancer came from the sickness of sin. And he says me and my husband gotta confess our sins. He says the only thing keepin' God from healin' Danny is either our failure to admit and confess all of our sins or our lack of faith to claim God's healin' for Danny.”

“Barb and I once had a pastor tell us the same thing about Kate's cerebral palsy. In our heart of hearts, we
knew
he was wrong. Think about it, Myrtle — would a loving God blame Danny's cancer on your lack of faith or on your sin?”

Myrtle looked down at her coffee. I could see the wheels turning. And I was sure she was conflicted. I suspected she wanted to believe what I was saying — but it just didn't jibe with her pastor's theology.

“Myrtle,” I continued, “even though God chose not to answer our prayers to heal Kate, he's given us an even greater gift.”

Myrtle looked up, surprise registering in her eyes. “What's that?”

“He showed us that he could take this horrible disorder in Kate's life and bring good from it. The issue wasn't how much faith Barb and I had or didn't have; it was what God wanted to do in and through each of us — including Kate.”

“But doesn't he want us to be faithful — to sacrifice for him?”

“The Bible says that if we love God and if we are called according to his purposes, then
all
things work for good. He can take good things and bad things and work them together for good. What makes it happen is our love for God and our love for each other. It happens when we're called to his purpose and not to our own.”

“But the pastor says that by Christ's stripes we'll be healed.”

“Myrtle, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Right?”

“Right,” Myrtle replied.

“But did Lazarus live forever? Is he alive today?”

Myrtle smiled. “I don't think so.”

“I don't either. Every person who is miraculously healed from some illness or disease will die at some later time in life. The Bible says there is a time appointed for each of us to die.”

She took a sip of coffee and then looked up from her cup. “The pastor comes over every week after church. And we kneel at Danny's bed, and he has us ask God to forgive our sins — even those of which we're not yet convicted. Then he lays his hands on our Danny's head and claims God's healin' for Danny. Then he has us thank God for the healin' that only he can bring. He tells us we're to expect Danny's cancer to melt away. We are to believe it with all our faith. We are to continue to claim it in prayer every day. He tells us Satan will be defeated — along with the disease he causes.”

“Myrtle, I'm not sure that's exactly what the Bible says. I believe it does say that one day we'll all be free from disease. But that will only happen in heaven. In the meantime, I think it's important to seek as much strength as we can from the Lord — no matter how
he
chooses to answer our prayers.”

Myrtle gazed away for a moment as she thought about what I had said. Then her head bowed, and she began to weep. For a few minutes I just sat silently. I reached in my pocket for my handkerchief and handed it to her.

“I just can't shake the pastor sayin' that my sin might be makin' my child sick. Doc, I don't want my child to die 'cause of me!”

I thought for a moment, again not sure how to respond. Then a thought came to my mind. I reached over to my black bag and opened it. I pulled out the small pocket Bible I carried with me and flipped through the pages. I was so hoping I could find the verses that had come to mind. I thought they were in the gospel of John. I quickly flipped through the pages and finally found what I was looking for in John 9. I handed the open Bible to Myrtle.

“Here, Myrtle. Read the first three verses of John 9. Can you read out loud to us both?”

Myrtle nodded, took the Bible, located the verses, and began to read. “As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?' ”

Myrtle paused and looked at me. I could see the amazement in her eyes.

“Keep reading,” I encouraged.

Myrtle looked down at the Bible and continued. “ ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,' said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.' ”

Myrtle put the Bible down and looked at me again. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “It's like Jesus is speakin' directly to me.”

I smiled. “He is, Myrtle. He is.”

I picked up my black bag from the kitchen table.

“I best go take a look at Danny. Would that be OK?”

Myrtle nodded. “Mind if I stay here and read this passage a bit more?”

“That'd be fine.”

I left the kitchen, crossed the dining room, and walked down the hall toward Danny's bedroom. At the open door, I knocked on the doorjamb and looked in. Danny was lying on his back. I stopped at the door, surprised at how old Danny looked. I knew he was fading fast, and, apart from a miracle, I'd likely be attending his funeral in the near future.

I walked across the room and pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. I placed my black bag on the floor. I surveyed Danny's room. The wall was covered with Swain County and University of Tennessee football posters — one of each signed by the players of both teams. Next to his bed was a football signed by the Swain County coach, Boyce Dietz. Above the coach's scrawled signature, Boyce had written, “Get well quick. I'll need you on my future team.”

I smiled. Boyce Dietz was preparing every young boy in our county to either play for his team or root for them.

The IV pole next to the bed held a small IV bag. The label indicated that the contents contained morphine. Danny had been on a morphine drip for a couple of weeks. It caused him to sleep most of the time but kept his pain under control.

I looked at his arms. The skin was thin and fragile, and the outline of the bones was easy to discern, given how much muscle mass he had lost. His breathing was deep and slow. I knew his time was limited.

I reached into my black bag and pulled out my stethoscope. After placing the earpieces in my ears, I took a deep breath and slowly blew a puff of air on the head of the stethoscope to warm it up. I always hated it
when a doctor put a cold stethoscope on my chest, and since my medical school days, I tried to avoid doing the same. I placed the diaphragm of the stethoscope on Danny's chest and listened, moving the stethoscope over his entire anterior chest and then over his abdomen. His lungs were clear, and his heart had a regular beat with normal heart sounds. Likewise, his abdominal sounds were normal.

Danny stirred and opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to focus on me, but when he recognized me, he smiled. With all the enthusiasm he could muster, he greeted me. “How ya doin', Doc?”

I smiled back. His zest, even on his deathbed, was amazing.

“I'm well, Danny. Mind if I poke on your tummy?”

“Nope.”

My hand felt across his abdomen, which was soft. But I could easily feel the edge of the liver protruding down from behind the edge of the rib cage. I looked at his eyes and could see a hint of jaundice. His body was telling me that the cancer had spread to his liver. This was not a good sign.

“Any trouble with your bowel movements or voiding?”

Danny smiled. “My pee and poop businesses are open and operational.”

I laughed. I knew that the morphine could lead to severe constipation, so I had coached Danny's mom in being sure he stayed hydrated and took a stool softener and a laxative.

“How's your appetite doing? Any nausea or vomiting?”

“Haven't been that hungry, Doc. But I like the milkshakes Mom makes for me.”

“The Ensure shakes?”

Danny smiled. “Don't really like them too much. So Mom just gets me chocolate shakes from Na-ber's Drive-In or J. J.'s. They're good, but I can't drink too much at a time.”

“Do you miss eating food?”

“Not really, Doc. I miss going to church. And most of all I miss my Sunday school class — a lot! But I really enjoy talking to my main visitor.”

“Is it a kid from your Sunday school who comes to visit?”

Danny looked at me strangely. “No!”

“A visitor from church?”

Danny smiled, “No!”

“The pastor?”

“No!” Danny exclaimed, now smiling at me.

“Then who?”

“My angel!”

“Angel?”

“Uh-huh.” Danny nodded.