Page 60 of Plentywood
The truth was, I had bonded with several of the townsfolk. Many of them were elderly women, and an equal amount of elderly men. The patients treated me with respect and they listened to whatever advice I gave concerning their health. I’d wanted to be a doctor my entire life, but now that I was practicing in my own clinic, it was proving to be even more rewarding than I’d imagined it could be.
Something about a small town of people was more intimate and gave me occasion to be more involved with their concerns as well as their welfare. I felt needed. Even important. My dream of working in Los Angeles and meeting rich people, maybe even stars, was beginning to seem less important to me.
The citizens of Plentywood had embraced me in only a month. They brought me food. They worried if I was ‘eatingokay for a single guy.’ They offered friendly advice and encouraged my sense of belonging. And truthfully, all those things happened for the first time in my life. And what did I do? I wallowed in guilt. Major quantities of guilt. I was leaving in less than eleven months and the clinic was going to be closed when I left.
Agnes stuck her head out of the exam room and got my attention. “Can you step in for a moment, doctor?” she asked, her face registering concern.
When I stepped into the room, Julia Garson was shielding her breasts from me with a small towel. “How can I help, Agnes?”
“Can you please confirm my examination of Julia’s left breast?” she asked, far too clinically for my taste. Agnes was normally a gruff, smart-aleck wiseass, but she sounded concerned.
“Of course,” I replied, holding the edge of the towel her patient held tightly to.
“Please don’t, doc,” she insisted, tugging back.
“I’ll be respectful, Julia,” I soothed. “I’m a trained physician and I’ve done numerous breast exams.”
Her eyes darted to Agnes. “But she went to get you straightaway,” she whispered. “The nurse hasn’t done that before during my annuals.”
“I just need Dr. Hawthorne’s second opinion, dear,” Agnes interrupted.
I knew the concern the moment Agnes referred to me as Dr. Hawthorne. Normally it was Doc, or punk, or kiddo. She was alarmed by a discovery.
“I’ll be very gentle,” I soothed.
The patient burst into tears, and Agnes immediately held her in her arms. I’d never seen this side of grumpy Nurse Agnes. “I know, baby. It’s scary. And I know you’re thinking of yourmother and your grandmother, sweetheart. But Dr. Hawthorne is well informed and has more training than I do. You can trust him.”
Julia reluctantly dropped the towel, and I held her breast with both hands, trying to feel what Agnes had certainly discovered. After lifting her breast and gently massaging the tissue, I felt the lump.Stay calm, Ben. She is a young woman.
“When was Julia’s last examination, Nurse?” I asked, also getting eerily clinical all of a sudden. Agnes answered that it had been almost exactly a year to the day. “Nothing suspicious then?”
“No, Doctor. A routine exam with no other issues.”
“This can’t happen to me, Dr. Hawthorne. I have three kids. My husband is unemployed,” she sobbed. “We’re two months behind on the mortgage. This can’t happen,” she repeated. “My mom and then Gramma? I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”
I heard her pleas, but I was in doctor mode. “Family history, Nurse?”
“Her mother was diagnosed nine years ago. Her grandmother at least thirty years before that,” Agnes relayed, looking at me with concern. “Neither are alive.”
“Okay, Julia. So, here’s what we’re going to do today,” I began. “I’ll write you a referral and then I’ll personally call the physician I refer you to. And then I’ll go over your chart with them. I want you to keep this appointment and go as soon as I can get you in. Understood?”
“We don’t have the money, Doctor. I can’t do anything right now.” She started to stand, so I laid my hand on her shoulder, and she sat back. “Maybe I have some time, right? These things take time, right?” she said frantically. “I’ve got time, don’t you think?”
“Tell me about your children?” I asked, attempting to shift unpleasant thoughts to nicer ones. Possibly calm her down a bit.“Boys? Girls?” Julia stopped talking and eyed me warily. “How old is your oldest one?” I pushed.
“Eleven next week,” she whispered. “Her name is Gretchen. After my gramma.”
“And the other two?”
She turned to Agnes, who encouraged her to answer me. “Two boys. Mikey, eight, and Joseph, who’s three. Joey is named after my grampa. He’s still alive and lives over in Culbertson.”
“I bet you love your kids,” I stated. “I remember when my mother got sick. I was a teenager then, but I was still so afraid I’d lose her.”
“Did she die?” Julia asked.
“Yes, she did,” I answered, beginning to well-up and fighting the memory so I wouldn’t. My mother hadn’t exactly been the motherly type, but I’d suffered greatly at her loss. My father did nothing to console me except to say, ‘Grow up.’
“I’m so sorry, Doctor. I lost my mom, too.”
