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

by Walt Larimore, MD

  When the laughter began to ebb, the “minister” began. “My friends, I come before you, with malice and forethought, to act as party of the third part in this suspicious — I mean, auspicious —occasion.”

  As the audience giggled, James Coggins looked over the group, with his glasses at the tip of his nose, and continued. “Not one of you — not even the overjoyed parents — know how this helpless little flower must feel as she gives her heart with unenduring imbecility — I mean, infidelity — to this stalwart man.”

  He cleared his throat as folks continued to laugh.

  “Now soaks,” he continued, “I mean, folks. Who among you — yea, I say, who among this lean and hungry gathering will step forward and give the bride away?”

  As best man, Coach McKinney called out, “I could, parson —but I won’t.”

  The father of the bride stepped forward. “I’ll give ’er away —gladly!” He placed Tiny’s right hand on the groom’s left arm and retired to his seat.

  The minister looked sourly at the bride and then back at the father of the bride. “Brother, I don’t blame you.”

  Then the minister looked over the crowd and began. “Now, sistern and brethren, before this goes any further, does anyone know any reason — truth or hearsay — why these two hunks of humanity should not be welded in the unseemly legal lock of ‘git the money’?”

  Coach Rod White, the defensive coordinator for the football team, playing the role of Ubika Scratchfield, the jilted sweetheart, came down the aisle to the roars and catcalls of the audience as the crowd recognized him.

  “I do, parson, for lots of reasons!” Coach White, I mean, Ubika, began to weep out loud.

  The minister reached out to pat her shoulder as Ubika continued to cry softly. “Weep no more, good sister, weep no more! What are your reasons?”

  Ubika faced the audience and pointed to the groom, played by James Coggins’s son — who was actually the smallest person on stage.

  “That — that big overbearin’, cow-faced brute has broken my heart!”

  The crowd erupted in laughter.

  “Your honor, I was just a poor, innocent, unsheltered maid. Why — why, I never had but one father and mother!” Coach White blew his nose as he continued to point to the groom and dramatically stammer out the explanation. “He said he loved me — even swore he couldn’t live with me — I mean, without me. And that’s not all — he — oh, I can’t tell it — I mustn’t!”

  Mrs. Nosey, a member of the audience played by WBHN’s morning radio deejay, Gary Ayers, counseled Ubika, “Just tell them what happened, darlin’.”

  Ubika composed herself and then said, “Well — one night he — ”

  All of the characters on the stage leaned forward expectantly.

  Ubika continued. “He even went so far as to — ” he paused for a moment and you could hear a pin drop in the theater — “to hold my hand!”

  All of the “women” relaxed disappointedly as the crowd laughed.

  Ubika went on. “And now look at him! Money has done drived him into the arms of another.” Ubika turned on the groom venomously. “You viper! You cradle-snatcher. I hope you have nuthin’ to eat but food for the rest of yer life.” Ubika dissolved into tears as the audience dissolved into laughter.

  The minister asked, “Gentlemen, what is your verdict?”

  The grandpa of the bride yelled out, “I move he marrien both uv’em!”

  The minister piped up. “Objection overruled!” Looking carefully at the bride, he added, “His punishment is sufficient. Let us proceed.”

  He turned to the groom. “Young man, do you walk willingly into this trap?”

  The groom looked at the minister and replied, “Yes, Dad. I mean, I do, sir!”

  The minister looked at the bride. “Young woman, do you really want this sorry wad?”

  The bride giggled, as did the crowd — and the bridal party as well. “You’ll never know how bad,” David Rowland answered.

  The minister continued. “Very well, but remember, you brought it on yourselves. Join lunch-grabbers, please.”

  The bride and groom joined hands as the minister went on. “My friends, this couple has vowed before unreliable witnesses that they feloniously desire to sail the malicious ship of ‘git the money.’ Therefore, I know nuthin’ else to do but proceed.”

  The minister paused for a moment and then looked at the groom. “J. Flivverton Barley, do you take this relic — I mean, this woman — for better or worse?”

  The groom turned to look at the bride. “I’ll take her for better, Pastor. If she gits any worse, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

  The minister turned to the bride. “And now, Tiny Oats, do you take this souse — I mean, spouse — for better or worse?”

  “I’ll take him till I can find better!”

  “Very good! Then in the name of ‘I wouldn’t a thought it,’ I pronounce you man and — ” The minister paused and then exclaimed, “Two dollars and seventy-five cents, please!”

  As the audience roared, the groom pulled the money from his pocket and asked, “What’s the seventy-five for? You promised to splice us for two dollars.”

  The minister took the money and replied, “It’s for having to look at the bride all during the ceremony.”

  Just then, the ring bearer came forward. “Say, what about the ring?”

  The minister looked at the ring and exclaimed, “Give it back to the groom; he’ll have it in the pawnshop half the time anyway.” Then Coggins raised his hands and declared, “Now blessing be upon you, my children!”

  The hulking bride hugged the diminutive groom as the audience once again erupted in laughter and cheers. As the new couple and the bridal party left the theater, the organ played and the crowd threw rice, mixed with plenty of insults and catcalls.

  The event raised more money for the youth athletic fund than had been raised in many a year. And, once again, I appreciated my actual gender and the fact that I wouldn’t have to wrestle with makeup, panty hose, and a dress — ever again. At least, that’s what I thought until Barb and I turned out the lights for bed that night. Barb turned to give me a hug and some horrible news.

  “Only five more months until you have to dress as a woman again.”

  “What?!” I exclaimed.

  “Well,” Barb explained, “in July you have to crown the new Miss Flame. After all, you are last year’s winner!”

  “No way, Barb!” I exclaimed. “I’m never doing that again. Never!”

  Barb laughed softly and snuggled next to me. “When Kate and Scott get married someday, you could be father of the groom or bride and the flower girl.”

  “Not funny!” was all I could muster. At least all this was for a good cause! I thought.

  But I had decided I would never wear a dress again. And I never did.

  chapter eighteen

  A GLORIOUS SADNESS

  May is one of the most wonderful months in the Smokies. It’s a time of rushing, tumbling streams and abundant wildflowers. Some say that North America’s greatest diversity of wildflower species occurs in the Smokies — and I, for one, wouldn’t put up a peep of argument.

  That year, as new life exploded across the park, it also broke out in the gardens of Bryson City. But of most glorious significance to the young Larimore family, new life also began in Barb’s womb that spring.

  One wonderful afternoon at the office nearly a month earlier, Rick and Patty were standing side by side at my dictation station with gigantic smiles on their faces when I walked out of a patient’s room. I was immediately curious.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  They looked at each other and then stepped apart. There on my desk was a small pregnancy test with two distinct, dark-blue lines indicating a positive pregnancy test.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “It’s a positive pregnancy test, Doctor.” Patty answered. “Do you need to go back to school?” she giggled.

  Since both Ri
ck and Patty were single, I immediately ruled them out as suspects and began thinking of our patients who were trying to get pregnant.

  “Whose test is this?” I asked.

  Then, as doctor and nurse silently smiled, I heard a soft voice from behind me — from my office. “It’s mine!”

  I turned to see Barb sitting in my desk chair, her radiant smile beaming across the room. I quickly walked over to her and pulled her into a long embrace.

  Even today it’s hard for me to describe the emotion a father experiences when he hears that his soul mate is carrying their child. It’s a feeling that penetrates to the deepest part of a man’s soul and reverberates around his core until it seeps out both eyes in the form of gloriously happy tears. On that particular day, my tears were sweet indeed.

  The next poignant moment of the pregnancy occurred when I peered, along with Barb, into the depths of her womb via the magnificent technology called ultrasound. To see our little one’s heartbeat — to see life in its earliest stages — is, well, miraculous.

  Barb squeezed my hand as we stared at the screen of the ultrasound monitor. Our baby — Kate and Scott’s little brother or sister — was frolicking in a warm, welcoming womb — watched by a mom and dad already aching to hold and hug and snuggle with him or her.

  “Can we bring Kate and Scott to the next ultrasound?” Barb asked Shirley, the ultrasound technician.

  “Of course!” she exclaimed. “It’s great fun to watch kids see their brother or sister for the first time,” she explained as our eyes remained transfixed on our little one.

  “A beautiful little person this is,” Shirley commented.

  I must have furrowed my brow for a moment. For some reason that I can’t explain and I’m mighty embarrassed to admit now, I had never thought of the unborn as a person. My first year in practice, I had the epiphany that even the smallest unborn child was fully human — a growing, developing, and completely unique human being with full and glorious potential — an unborn baby that Scripture taught me carried God’s image from the moment of conception, a child that God himself was weaving together in the womb. I guess that with any critical consideration, I’m sure I would have come to the obvious conclusion that an unborn child is indeed a person. It’s just that I hadn’t given it much thought, leading to me commenting, more to myself than anyone else, “Person?”

  Shirley chuckled again. “Well, yes. At least according to Dr. Seuss.”

  “Dr. Seuss?” I asked, looking at her.

  “You don’t follow the good doctor’s writings?” she inquired, continuing the ultrasound. Assuming the answer was no, she went on to explain. “In the book Horton Hears A Who! which is one of my kid’s favorite books, an elephant named Horton hears a voice yelling at him from a tiny speck of dust floating over the pool he’s frolicking in. Horton decides there must be a little person sitting on top of that speck of dust, scared to death of blowing into the pool. Horton decides to save that little person and says — ” and with that, Shirley lowered her chin and her voice as she pretended to be Horton the elephant:

  “He’s alone in the universe! I’ll just have to save him. Because after all — ”

  She paused for a moment and then whispered a line that has influenced my view of the unborn for more than two decades: “a person’s a person, no matter how small.”

  A few days later, as I finished seeing my last patient of the afternoon, I exited the room and was met by Bonnie, who looked worried.

  “You better go down to your office, Dr. Larimore.”

  I handed her the patient’s chart and walked down the hall, wondering what would be waiting for me. As I entered the office, I saw Barb sitting with her face in her hands. As I entered the room, in rapid succession Barb looked at me, burst into tears, stood, crossed the room, and fell into my arms, softly weeping.

  “What’s the matter, honey?”

  She just held on to me, as if for dear life, and began to sob. I guided her across the room, and we sat down on the sofa. After a few moments of deep, soul-wrenching sobs, Barb began to compose herself and was able to get a few words out between continuing sobs as she explained, “This morning, after you left for the office, I noticed that our baby wasn’t moving like usual. I came to see Rick this afternoon, and he listened to my lower abdomen with the fetascope. Walt, he couldn’t hear the heartbeat!” Barb dissolved once again into uncontrollable tears. I found myself holding on to her for dear life.

  My mind was swirling with the possibilities. Maybe the baby was just lying below the placenta and couldn’t be heard. Maybe Rick had the fetascope on the wrong part of Barb’s abdomen. I couldn’t even begin to think about the possibility that our little baby was no longer alive. It was not possible. O God! I thought, don’t let it be!

  I sat on the office sofa and pulled Barb onto my lap, hugging and holding her close for what seemed like an eternity, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Rick. He gave my shoulder a squeeze and turned to pull up a chair. “You guys OK?”

  We both shook our heads.

  Rick nodded. “I can’t imagine the shock this is to you both.”

  We nodded.

  “Well, hopefully the position of the baby is such that I’m just not hearing the heartbeat. I’ve certainly had that happen before, and I know you have too, Walt. But I’d like Barb to go to the hospital. Patty called over and asked Shirley if she’d stay late and do an ultrasound so we can know for sure.”

  Rick paused for a moment to let his words sink in. I had always admired his sensitivity and compassion to others, and now I was experiencing it firsthand — and it led me to appreciate and admire him even more than I already did.

  Our bedroom was pitch-dark — maybe darker than it had ever been. Barb had finally cried herself to sleep. I was too numb to sleep — or even to cry. I just lay there with the events of the day swirling in my head.

  Shirley had found our little one lying quietly against the back wall of Barb’s womb, legs crossed Indian-style and arms resting gently on a chest devoid of any heartbeat — a little body whose person had apparently left for what I hoped was his or her heavenly home.

  Rick and Ray Cunningham had come to see us at the hospital. They had recommended we consider a D&C, but Ray suggested we wait a day.

  Ray’s words echoed in my head. “I need to be absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, 100 percent sure, that your little one is no longer with us.”

  I thought his choice of words was sensitive and caring. I’ve heard less compassionate doctors use much harsher language with patients.

  He continued. “There’s no harm to wait the night. We’ll do a serum pregnancy test in the morning, and if it shows falling levels of the HCG hormone and the ultrasound still sees no heartbeat, we can do the D&C then. I just could never forgive myself if — ” He didn’t finish the statement, and he didn’t have to.

  I think both Rick and Ray knew what we knew: our child was gone. Nevertheless, I appreciated their care, concern, and conservative approach. I, too, would never want to purposefully end the life of a little person — no matter how small.

  Now, without any doubt, it would have been emotionally much easier to have had the D&C that night and gotten it behind us. But we both agreed it was better to be safe than sorry.

  I found myself thinking, for the first time in my life and career, about the fathers of babies lost to miscarriage or, as was our case, what we doctors euphemistically called an “intrauterine demise.” I had cared for dozens of moms who had lost babies. I always tried to be sensitive to their loss and was thankful for the special time of ministry these losses provided for me as a family physician. Every woman handled the loss of a child differently, but every case was just as tragic a loss of life as any other.

  For some reason, however, I had never considered the loss from the father’s perspective. I guess I had assumed the loss of the baby would be less painful and less agonizing for him. That night, I realized how horribly blind and wrong I had been.
I wondered how many dads I had failed. And I was thankful for a medical partner who was so much more sensitive than I.

  Barb and I had prayed together before she went to sleep. I prayed as we embraced. I had no idea what to pray. Should I pray that the ultrasound was a mistake? If it was not mistaken in its grave finding, should I pray that God would bring our little one back? He was a God who could resurrect the dead. He had done it before. Why not now?

  Or should I pray in faith, believing for a miracle in order that God could be praised for what only he could do? Or would a prayer like that be presumptuous and presuming? I didn’t know — and I still don’t.

  But I do remember praying that we could and would eventually accept God’s will for us and for our little one. I prayed for wisdom for Rick and Ray. I prayed for our little one and thanked God that I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that one day in the future, in another home — a heavenly home — I would meet and hug and hold him or her. With that prayer and that assurance, I fell into what would turn out to be a fitful night of intermittent slumber.

  The next morning was somber in our home. We tried to be cheerful for the kids, but it was hard. Barb took Kate to preschool at the local Head Start, and I took Scott over to the Tanager’s home. Laura agreed to watch Scott for the day, and Sam would watch him that afternoon. “The boys will have a lot of fun together,” she assured me as I left him at her home.

  Barb bore the discomfort of a distended bladder one more time during the ultrasound examination. Our baby looked no different in his or her watery coffin — still tiny, still quiet. No movement. No heartbeat. No hope of a birth or becoming a living, breathing part of our family. Together Barb and I said good-bye. Before Louise transported Barb back to the operating room, where Rick and Ray were waiting, we softly kissed, our lips moistened with our mingled tears.

  Once we were home, Barb slept all afternoon and into the evening. Laura called to check on us and kindly offered to keep Kate and Scott for the night. I was grateful for her kindness. Having a quiet night at home without the children would be just what the doctor ordered for Barb. What I didn’t realize was how much I needed some processing time as well.