“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 stran
gely. “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.
I was quiet for a moment, remembering back to my pediatric rotation at Charity Hospital in New Orleans during medical school. I had cared for two children who both claimed to be visited by angels. And another had told me about his conversations with God. None of my medical professors had given these stories any credence, but when I did a rotation in Baton Rouge with pediatrician James Upp, M.D., he had told me that these were not rare occurrences among his severely ill pediatric patients.
“Walt,” he had told me, “kids just seem to be so much more spiritual than most adults. They seem more comfortable talking about God. They seem to be able to hear his voice much easier than adults. And I’ve had dozens of young cancer patients tell me that the angels visit them, talk to them, and comfort them.”
“What do they tell the kids?” I had asked Dr. Upp.
“Lots of things,” he had replied. “But most of all the kids say the angels tell them about God and about Jesus and about heaven.”
“Do you think these are visions or hallucinations?” I had responded.
The question had caused Dr. Upp to pause to think for a moment. “Nope, Walt,” he had said. “I believe they really see and talk to angels. You see, I believe in angels. And for some reason, I think kids are just better at seeing and hearing them than we are. I like the words of Jesus when he said, ‘I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.’ And remember, it was Jesus who told us, ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.’ So instead of ignoring what these kids say, or just blowing them off, I really listen to them.”
I remembered asking Dr. Upp if the children with these experiences were children raised in religious homes. He had told me that wasn’t necessarily the case at all.
“How often does the angel come?” I asked Danny.
“He’s here most of the time now. His name is Azar.”
“What does that mean?”
“He says his name means ‘to hold close.’ That’s what he does for me.”
“What’s he like?” I asked.
Danny’s eyes widened. “Oh, he’s really, really nice. He’s tall and strong and has a bright, flowing robe he wears. He’s a warrior, and he carries a big ole sword. He even lets me touch his sword.”
“Really! What’s it feel like?”
“I thought it would be cold, but it was warm, just like his touch.”
“He touches you?” I asked.
“Yep. Sometimes when we talk, I’ll cry a bit. He cries with me and wipes away my tears. He makes me feel happy.”
“He does?”
“Yep,” Danny responded matter-of-factly. “He tells me that there’s a place waiting for me in heaven. That there’s a home there for me with lots of other kids, and they’re all waiting for me.”
“Will he be with you in heaven?” I asked.
“Oh no!” Danny answered. “He told me his job is to stay here and help care for Momma, Daddy, and my sisters — until he’s told to bring them home to heaven. That makes me feel happy —knowing that God himself has assigned a mighty warrior to watch out for my mom and dad and sisters, and that we’ll all be together again some day.”
I felt my eyes filling with tears. This little boy’s faith dwarfed mine, and I felt honored to be in his presence.
He looked at me with understanding eyes. “Don’t be sad, Dr. Larimore. Azar says that there’s a place in heaven for you and your family. So our families are going to be together forever. That’s not bad. That’s good!”
I smiled at him. “So Azar knows the Larimores?”
“Oh yes!” Danny emphatically explained. “He has several children he protects. But he protects their parents too.”
“Is Azar my guardian?” I wondered out loud.
Danny looked at me incredulously. “Didn’t you know?”
“I had no idea, Danny.”
Danny laughed — as if he knew we adults were far more clueless than he. Then he became serious. “We all need our guardian angels, Dr. Larimore. And Azar’s watching you especially close.”
I sensed he was concerned. “Why, Danny?”
Danny shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Azar says there’s some danger ahead for you. He’s told me he thinks there’s something — or someone — that wants to hurt your family.”
I felt a chill go down my spine. Danny’s voice lowered, as if telling a secret. “He also told me about your baby.”
“My baby?”
Danny’s eyes widened. “Oh yes! The one in heaven.”
The pain of the loss of our baby filled my soul, and I felt tears trickle down my cheek. Yet for some reason I didn’t feel any embarrassment around this special child.
Danny smiled at me, slowly sat up, and reached out toward me with his little hand. I leaned forward, and he wiped the tear off my cheek. “Azar’s done that before with you, hasn’t he?”
“Done what?”
Danny smiled. I wondered if he thought me daft. “Cried with you,” he explained.
“What are you talking about, Danny?”
He smiled at me. “Azar told me about it. He said that one day you were very sad, Dr. Larimore. Azar told me he was with you. And he said that after you had wrestled with him all afternoon, you finally crawled up in his lap, and he held you close while you cried. He told me he cried with you. He told me all about it, Dr. Larimore. I was happy for you.”
“When? How do you know? Danny — ” I was reeling.
He continued to smile. “When your baby went to heaven, Dr. Larimore. Azar took your baby to heaven, and then he came back and was with you that day. He comforted you. And he would do that for you if he were here right now.”
I smiled as I felt my lip quivering, and more tears tumbled down my cheeks. I could not remember telling anyone the story of my afternoon after the loss of our unborn child — not even Barb. It was just too painful — too raw. How could he know this secret of secrets? Did his parents say something? Did he hear something in the office. Or —
Danny grimaced in pain and settled back on his pillow. “Dr. Larimore — ” he began as he closed his eyes. “Dr. Larimore, before you go, will you give me a kiss good-night — and a good-bye kiss?”
At first I was taken aback by his request, but then I smiled and leaned over and kissed his forehead. When I straightened up, his eyes were closed, and he looked relaxed — almost angelic.
“I’m gonna miss you, Danny,” I whispered through quivering lips. “You’ve been a real example to me of faith, my little friend. You’ve blessed me in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”
Without opening his eyes, Danny reached out, took my hand, and gave it a squeeze. I held his hand, silent in my own thoughts for a few moments. When I focused back on him, he had fallen asleep.
chapter twenty-eight
THE ULTIMATE
HEALING
I was suddenly transported back to the office. I could feel tears filling my eyes — which happened every time I thought back on that remarkable day with my young friend.
Rick continued his report on Danny. “The ER called over this afternoon. Louise said the EMTs had brought Danny in. Apparently he’s in a coma and very close to death. His grandmother didn’t want him dying at home. So she made the family send him to the hospital to die. I had Louise admit Danny to your service. OK?”
I nodded. “Thanks, partner.”
Rick reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. “I can see you’re upset. I know you’re close to the little guy. Anything I can do?”
I smiled at him, de
spite the tears. “No, I’ll be glad to take it from here. You have a good evening with Katherine.”
“I will. But if you need me, will you call?”
I nodded. Rick turned and went down the hall to his office. I left my charts and my office to walk over to the hospital.
I went immediately to the nurses’ station. Maxine stood when I walked in. As uncomfortable as I was with this old custom, it was one that would continue long after I left Bryson City.
“Evenin’, Dr. Larimore. Here to see Danny?”
“I am. How’s he doing?”
“I don’t think he’ll last the night. The parents have asked for no feeding tube and no code should his heart stop.”
“Is he off his morphine drip or IV fluids?”
“Nope. He’s still gettin’ IV fluids and his drip.”
“Why’d they bring him here, Maxine?”
“Doc, it’s just the way of the mountain folk. For generations, people died at home. And after they died, the family would call the community healer or herbalist or midwife to be sure the loved one was dead — as there weren’t many doctors out in the hills. Sometimes the pastor would serve the role. Anyways, the local church bell would ring. Three quick rings told the community that someone had died. Then there’d be one slow ring for each year of the dead person’s life. Since most everyone knew who was deathly sick, this would be the way the news would spread.”
“They don’t do that anymore, do they?”
“Nope. Not around here anyways. But back then it was common for the family to dress the dearly departed and put him or her in a coffin that would be brought to the house by the buryin’ men. These were volunteers who always provided their services and a coffin without charge. Given the number of rings on the church bell, they would know whether to make a coffin for a child or an adult. Once the body was placed in the coffin, it would be sprinkled with sweet bubby powder.”
“I had a friend tell me about sweet bubby. Isn’t that the plant that, when dried and powdered, has a pleasant smell?”
“That’s right!” Maxine confirmed. “You are learnin’ local ways, Dr. Larimore! Anyways, the old-timers said sweet bubby powder kept the smell of death down, and they needed it because they’d put the open coffin on the kitchen table and leave it there for a one- or two-day wake. If the body didn’t show signs of life, then the burial would follow — usually in the family plot.”
Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains Page 20
