Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (35 page)

On one side was my desire to make Mickey pay — not only for his evil but for his completely unrepentant spirit. I wanted to break his stiff neck. I wanted his dad and mom to be forced to face what their child had done. I believed that when they got past his incredible denial, the truth would lead them to want to get Mickey the help he so desperately needed.

On the other side of the coin was the fear I had about what this would do to Kate and Scott. The therapists told us that with some counseling — for us and them — they thought there would be no scars left on our children's souls or spirits. But dragging them through a public trial — or having John Thompson drag them across the barbed wire of the local gossip lines for untold years to come — was of deep concern to me.

Then there was the fact that Rick was leaving and there were barely enough paying patients to support one of us. While the state supplemented our salaries and office expenses, I was still making less money than I did as a medical resident — and it was unlikely that any of this was going to change any time soon. Recruiting a new doctor would likely be difficult as long as the older docs continued to provide care for the insured and paying patients. And there were no retirements or deaths likely in the foreseeable future.

Nevertheless, I told him, I was sure the Lord had called me to Bryson City, and I was willing to tough it out — for as long as it took — as long as that was the Lord's will.

By the time I had finished pouring out my story, we were at the base of Indian Falls.

“What advice do you have for me, Arthur? What do you think I should do?”

Arthur motioned at a log bench, and we had a seat together. He was quiet for a while as we absorbed the stillness of the forest and the soothing sounds of the ice-cold torrent pouring over the cascade of ancient rock. After a few moments he asked, slowly and softly, “Doc, what's the easy decision?”

“I guess the easy one would be to stay and fight. It wouldn't really matter what Mickey's father said in the community; the local newspaper and the court testimony would reveal the truth.”

“So,” he asked, “you see leaving as the hard decision?”

I nodded. “I think it is. I'm leaving my practice — my
first
practice. Rick and I have worked so hard to build it up — against all odds. We've had to struggle upstream in so many ways. I've come to love Bryson City and her people. I guess it would be hard —really hard — to leave.”

“Walt, I'm truly sorry you're having to walk this path. And I'm probably the last person on earth you should ask for help. I'm just a simple man — a naturalist. I'm not skilled at law or politics or theology. I just know nature and what her Creator teaches me through her.”

Arthur looked up at the sky for several minutes as he thought. Finally he looked down and continued.

“Let me tell you a story about something that happened the other day. It was as remarkable a thing as I've seen in many a decade of wandering this park. I was out on a trail in a lonely valley deep in the park, walking through a thick grove of rhododendrons. It was cool and dark in the grove — and totally quiet. Up ahead of me, I could see a small clearing that was awash in warm sunlight. And in the middle of the clearing was a great big rattlesnake a sunnin' on top of a flat rock — just trying to warm up. All of a sudden, that old snake and I heard something — a noise in the brush. He immediately coiled up into a defensive stance, and his tongue was lashing in and out, searching for scents. I could see his rattles pointing straight up in the air.”

Arthur was suddenly quiet — staring at the waterfall. I wasn't sure if he had forgotten the story or was just reliving it in his mind's eye. After a moment, he continued.

“Then I smelled 'em. I knew then there were some hogs moving through the brush — Russian boar. I was praying they wouldn't see me and spook — or be spooked by that rattler and hightail it up the trail toward me. Pigs like that, when angry or spooked, can use their nasty tusks to gore a man something terrible.”

I nodded, having cared for men and dogs that had been gored. The wounds were nasty indeed.

“Anyway, they came into view — a big boar with several females and a bunch of piglets. Well, those piglets saw that snake and started to squeal and jump around. Seems they either wanted to attack the snake or play with him — and
either
would have been a fatal mistake.”

Arthur took another deep breath and stared into the waterfall for another several moments.

My impatience overcame me. “So what happened?”

Arthur smiled at me. “Well, that old daddy hog was wise beyond his years. He immediately began herding his piglets and the females around that snake. He knew it wasn't the time to deal with that venomous serpent head-on. So he led his charges in a wide circle around that rock — keeping those pigs a safe distance away. Then they disappeared into the woods behind the snake. And for a moment, all was quiet.”

“For a moment — ”

Arthur smiled. “You knew there was more, didn't ya?”

“I suspected.”

“Well, that snake didn't think that. He relaxed and spread himself out on that rock, not realizing that old boar was in the woods
right behind him — waiting and watching. And then it happened — ” Arthur was quiet, looking at the falls. I knew he was waiting for my question, as any great storyteller would.

“OK,” I chuckled, “I give up. What happened?”

“Before that snake could react, that boar charged out of the woods, straight from behind him. And before that old snake could even hiss, that boar had him in his jaws — he'd bitten him right across his neck, just behind his head. Then that boar went into a frenzy, whippin' that snake one way and then the other. Finally he stopped and dropped the snake dead — at his feet — with its head nearly bitten off. Then that boar did something I'd never seen and never heard about. He reared up on his hind legs and then crashed his front hooves on that snake's head. He crushed its head into the dirt. Then the boar looked down, snorted, and trotted off into the woods.”

I was fascinated by the story. The way he told it, I could actually see it happening as he shared. But I had no idea what he was trying to tell me. I think he knew that. After a few minutes, he mercifully interpreted his story for me.

“Walt,” he began, “think for a moment about one of those sows. Perhaps she had two little piglets who were in danger. Do you think that her walking around that snake and leaving it be was the easy decision or the hard one? You think it was easy for her to just walk away from that fight — to leave that snake to possibly bite another piglet on another day?” He paused and then answered his own question. “Nope. Those sows are made to fight. That's their nature. But in this case, like in most, the hard decision and the right decision were the same.”

He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “The way I see it, you're like one of those sows. You wanna attack the snake that's after your kids. You wanna be sure he doesn't hurt anyone else's kids. You wanna see him put away — defanged and drained of his poison — crushed. Isn't that right?”

“Yes!”

“Well, maybe the Lord's like that wise old boar. He knows that doing so will actually endanger you and your kids. He knows that snake is riled up and just daring you to attack. He knows his venom could kill or cripple one or both of your kids. So maybe he's leading you away from a fight that's likely to hurt you and your family. Maybe he's leading you away to protect you — to keep you all from harm. And then, when that old snake is cocksure and relaxed, then the vengeance comes. But it comes from another one, Walt — not from you.”

“Are you saying I should press charges later?”

“Nope. But it sounds like Mr. Buchanan is telling you to leave that viper alone for right now. He's telling you to protect your wife and your kids. And he's telling you
he'll
be watching that monster, and when the moment is right, he'll crush its head under his heel.”

His lesson was beginning to sink in as he reached his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “It wasn't easy for the parent of those piglets not to attack. But it would have been foolish. The mother pig wisely left the vengeance to one who was stronger and able to extract the maximum penalty. In the end, walking away wasn't only wise — it was lifesaving.”

I sat for a long time on the bench behind our home that night.

For several hours, I pondered the advice of three very wise men — one with a lifetime of training in the practice of law, of dealing with evil at every turn; the second with formal theological training and pastoral wisdom beyond his years; and the third with a lifetime of observing the goodness and the righteousness of the Creator, of surveying the wonder of his beauty and majesty as revealed through his creation.

Each had come from a different perspective in counseling me — but each came from a life of continual learning and abundant living — and each had offered me wisdom in unique ways. But I was still confused about the meaning of the Bible story Ken had read me.

So that night, on the bench, I sought wisdom from the highest of sources. As I sat at my Creator's feet, lost in wonder at the magnificence and splendor of his universe — a universe that couldn't even contain his goodness — I sensed his confirmation of the words of his wise servants.

Then I sensed his giving me a thought — an idea. I left the bench and rushed back inside. I walked to the living room and turned on the lamp by my quiet-time chair. Picking up my Bible, I turned to 1 Samuel and read the passage Ken had shared with me a number of times. Slowly, its meaning for me became clearer.

I knew I could stay and fight, as David's son Absalom would later choose to do — and in doing so, he lost his life and his inheritance. Or, like David, I could choose to quickly and quietly leave a dangerous situation. I would be leaving my calling, but I would also be leaving the evil that seemed bound and determined to destroy my practice, my wife and me, and my children. Like King Saul, there were those who clearly wanted to hurl spears at us and our kids. I knew, at that moment, that like David before me, I would have to silently and swiftly leave the “spear throwers” behind.

I knew that by making this decision I'd be choosing to leave my vengeance to others. That night, I realized and accepted that my Creator was more than willing to take that responsibility from me — and that he was mightily capable to carry it out.

At that moment, my decision was final.

chapter thirty-four

LEAVING

T
here was surprisingly little negative reaction to my and Rick's announcements at the next medical staff meeting. We had met earlier during the day with the hospital administrator, Earl Douthit, and the chairman of the board of trustees, attorney Fred Moody.

Both had tried to talk us into staying, vowing to do whatever they could to make our future experiences pleasurable. But Rick had determined to leave the private practice of medicine and move to Asheville to teach. In the meantime, I had accepted a position with Dr. John Hartman and his new group, Family Practice Associates, in Kissimmee, Florida.

Barb and I had flown to Kissimmee on three occasions in the previous six weeks to interview, tour the community, and look for a home. John and Cleta Hartman were ecstatic about our joining their practice. I would be the fourth family physician in the group. We had also looked at opportunities in Asheville, just sixty miles away, but felt it was too close to the snakes and nightmares we desired to leave behind.

Our office staff was apoplectic. They were convinced we were being forced out of town by the older doctors — a sentiment shared by Gary Ayers, the morning deejay at Bryson City's only radio station, WBHN, and Pete Lawson, the editor of the
Smoky Mountain Times
.

Don and Billy, the EMTs, came to see us, along with Millie, the dispatcher. They were as angry as hornets and ready to call a grand jury investigation of our being “kicked out of the county.”

The coaching staff of the football team encouraged us to stay and fight those who were, in their view, running us out of town — and they vowed to do everything in their power to help us. No amount of discussion seemed to change their sentiments. But, truth be told, my story did sound fairly lame.

Rick's story was that he was being called into another form of medicine — one just as noble. My public reason was that I needed to relocate for family reasons — especially to be close to a center that took care of the special needs of children with cerebral palsy. My story was the truth — but, unlike Rick's story, mine was not the
whole
truth.

Those who were the saddest to hear about our leaving were our patients. The doctor-patient relationship is one of the most special of all human relationships. It's a relationship founded in trust when the patient seeks a doctor's help and the doctor agrees to give that help. In fact, it's more than a relationship — it's a special covenant. The patient agrees to take the doctor into his or her confidence, to reveal even the most secret
and intimate information related to his or her health. The doctor, in turn, agrees to honor that trust and to become the patient's advocate in all matters related to health — physical, emotional, relational, and spiritual.