CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Benedict

I came out of an exam room and found Mrs. Howard, my very first patient when I'd arrived in Plentywood, and who used to come every Monday. I'd told her back then that her dead husband, Walter, probably wouldn't mind if she had a life now that he was gone.

"I thought we agreed you didn't need to be seen but every six months, Mrs. Howard."

She held up a bag. I heard glass thudding against glass inside of it. "You said you liked pickles, doc," she said. "Remember? So my first cukes came in and I brought you some freshly jarred pickles from my garden."

"You didn't have to do that," I answered. "But you're right. I love pickles. Any chance they're sweet pickles?"

She giggled. "Sweet. Just like you said."

My original diagnosis that she wasn't suffering from Alzheimer's had been spot on. Her memory was sharper than a tack. What she'd been was lonely after her husband passed. She'd simply needed someone's permission to start living again.

"You remembered," I said.

"I sure did," she confirmed, giving me a wink. "Well, off to Billy Landon's house. He has a mole problem in his lawn. I told him how to get rid of ‘em, but he keeps asking me to come over and check on them."

I'd also met Billy Landon. Like Mrs. Howard, he was also widowed. "And how many checks will this be now, young lady?"

She waved me off with her hand. A hand I noticed no longer had a wedding band on it. "Stop!" she exclaimed, heading for the door to the waiting room. She was halfway out when she glanced back toward me, cupping her mouth. "Fourth check," she laughed, holding up four fingers.

"Thank you for the pickles, Mrs. Howard. And say hi to Billy for me," I said. "Oh, and make sure he backs off on the salt intake."

She gave me a thumbs up and exited. Agnes cleared her throat from her desk. "What's up with you and all the old ladies in town?" she asked. "Pickles today. Baked bread yesterday. You getting attached to this town, doc?"

"You getting jealous, Agnes?"

"Pffft!" she declared. "I can make my own bread and pickles." With that, she went into an exam room and to her next patient.

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 ‘ eating okay 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 your mother 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."

Julia relaxed, so I removed my hand from her shoulder and smiled. Agnes let go of her hand and stood beside me. The words of my mentors ran through my head. Treat them as real people. Try to empathize without being too clinical in your approach.

"I truly respected my mother's decision to fight her disease," I acknowledged. "Truthfully, I needed to know she would. I felt that if she told me what was going on, maybe I had some control. I didn't really have any control, but it felt like I did. Just the knowing part," I added.

"My mom told me too," Julia said. "She'd gone through it with her mom. Mom only met one of her grandkids, Gretchen, before she passed. She was happy I named Gretchen after Gramma."

"I'm sorry about your mother and your grandmother. I truly am. And I also think it best that you find out as early as possible," I stated. "I'd like to go with you to your appointment."

"But Paul and I don't have any money," she replied. "I don't know."

"I'll personally cover your medical expenses," I said, reaching for and holding her hands. "Remember how scared you were with your own mother?" She nodded through her tears. "Let's give your children the same security we had."

"But my mom died."

"And so did mine," I stated. "But not all women die of breast cancer. Not to mention they've made great strides in early detection and treatment."

"You'll really go with me?"

"I really will," I confirmed. Julia nodded she would go for a second opinion and a biopsy. "Nurse Agnes will finish your annual and then I'll speak with her about the next step."

I left the room, leaning against the wall on the outside of it. I thought about how helpless I'd felt concerning my mother and the fear I'd lived with. I went to my desk, and after several minutes, Agnes came out and walked Julia to the exit to the waiting room. They chatted quietly, and then the patient left.

Agnes faced the door for several seconds before she turned back to me, her eyes wet. We stared at each other for what seemed like an hour before she walked to my desk. Again, we simply looked at one another before she finally spoke.

She pointed toward the exam room we'd both just come out of. "What you just did in there, Doctor" she started, shaking her head back and forth. "For that girl." She paused to keep her self-control. "You cannot leave here," she said. I opened my mouth to speak. "No! I mean it, Ben. You can't."

Agnes had never called me Ben.