Courage in a White Coat

by Mary Schwaner

  But he was gone.

  What did he just say? Double duty?

  She was bringing a new baby home and he was pulling double duty of some kind? How was she going to manage that?

  Fred. Come back.

  February 15, 1940

  Fred’s letter home

  Dear Folks:

  The refrain goes like this: “It’s a boy!” The little tyke weighed 8 lbs. 8 oz. He looks a lot like Carol, has a mouth like his Mother, is a husky little tyke with a well shaped head, more hair on his head now than Carol had in a long time. He rolled his little blue eyes at us, squinted a bit, yawned and seemed quite contented with the world as he found it up to the present.

  Love to you one and all and know we are mighty happy

  in our new son.

  Fred

  Once the initial pain was managed and Dorothy began to recover, she took greater notice of the goings on about her. It was strange, watching a hospital go about its business and not being part of it. The nurses were taking extraordinary care of her, and yet there was nothing she’d seen them do or say with her that they didn’t exhibit with their other patients. She was getting no preferred treatment. Every patient got preferred treatment.

  There was a kindness here, an order, and she knew she’d thrive within it. The insights she was gleaning from her days in hospital would go far in helping her engage with the staff in a couple of months when she began to work among them.

  It was strange watching Fred, too. He was thriving already here in Iloilo, fulfilled in ways she’d not witnessed before. He cherished her and Carol Joy and was completely smitten with the wee walla. But his professional side was being honed and nurtured here. He’d needed that for such a long time, and it warmed her heart to know he was in his element.

  She’d be going home soon, back into the bosom of her dear ones. Only now there would be four. Each time she thought of it, something nudged a memory that she couldn’t quite grasp. She’d been worried about going home, but couldn’t fathom why. It was something Fred had said. But try as she might, she could not frame the context in which he could have said anything that might have alarmed her.

  February 19, 1940

  Dearest Mother,

  Robert Bruce (Wahboots Boos) has just been in for his breakfast. He is a darling. It was a surprise to all that he weighed so much as Friday before he was born I asked Henry (Dr. Waters) how big he thought he was and he said ‘not over six or six and a half’. I didn’t think he was much bigger myself, altho I knew he was much more “filling” than Carol Joy was. He is 22” long as against C.J.’s 20½” and has two or three times as much hair as C.J. and it is darker. Hair has a suggestion of curl. Fingers are beautifully tapered. His eyes are as blue as Carol’s ever thought of being. All in all he is a darling and I’m sure you’d think he was a worthy Grandson to bear the name of Bruce.

  Fred is getting an awful wallop out of it, and you should hear Carol talk about “my big boy” and “my baby brudder”. She told Fred the other day “new tiny baby nes nike Daddy (just like daddy)”. Felt my arms and announced, “Mama hasn’t got any fever.”

  Twelve days into her hospital stay, Dorothy sat up in bed knitting a third pair of booties. The robin’s egg blue yarn slipped across the needles that clicked softly in the most satisfying way. She was once again productive.

  Even with the wonderful hours holding and nursing her newborn, her mind had begun moving forward, nudged from its pregnant doldrums to begin anticipating getting her professional feet beneath her once again.

  Each day her mental list became longer. There were uniforms to finish, laid out by the sewing machine at home, and two white coats to repair. There were the children’s clothes to get in order and the matter of training Rosa to look after both Bobby and Carol now.

  Rosa was so congenial that she had bonded with Carol rather swiftly. Now Carol would have to share, and that could be a bit of a bumpy road.

  And there were things about infant care that she needed to be certain Rosa understood and would carry out.

  February 25, 1940

  All my stitches are out and I’m sitting as straight up as I want to in bed and am to dangle my legs tomorrow. Up in a chair the next day (Tuesday is the 12th day) and home on Saturday. My, but it will be grand to get home.

  Have to begin again on C.J.’s clothes and put away or give away some as she’s growing so fast that most of her things are too short. Have material for a dress for her, and at least two of her other dresses can be lengthened. Have to get my maternity dresses revamped so I can wear them and also get about six uniforms made—all of mine were in the Assam freight.

  If they had only gotten things done sooner we wouldn’t have lost the freight. Then the rate of exchange in Rupees is up, so we are losing about $20 on the $100 from the sale of our furniture there. If only—

  But take cheerfully the spoiling of your goods.

  [Hebrews 10:34]

  Fred said he guessed this was about the only time we had really been called out to do it, and we’ve so much to be thankful for, and we’re so rich with C.J. and a son. Guess we can’t complain.

  Am beginning to feel so well that I’m really getting pepped up over the idea of doing some medical work again. Hope I can help them out here. They’ve been so grand to me here. (Made no charge for my 3½ weeks in the hospital when here in November-December because I was “on the staff” altho I hadn’t done a lick of work for them.

  The mental list was making her tired now. The whole uniform issue would have been a moot point if the freight from Assam had not been lost. She chastised herself for resenting the hours it would take to replace the lost uniforms. She would just have to get as much sleep as she could in the next four days, so she could leave here in the blush of good health with energy to spare.

  The needles stopped their clicking, and in the silence her thought swung home. Energy to spare? With two wee ones to care for now? And a medical practice to boot?

  It made her eyes droop just thinking of it.

  But it was all she’d ever wanted in her life—a place in the medical world to do the work God had intended for her, and a little family to share it with.

  Both of her dreams had taken her so far beyond her imagining that it nearly stole her breath away. The very thought of it turned her face toward the window, where the golds and blues of a perfect sunset filled the sky. There was nothing muted about that sky. It wasn’t a quiet setting but more of a dramatic scene change in a celestial drama. Golds leap-frogged across rosy hues, challenging them to rise and run higher and higher. The vivid colors streamed across the sky as if rather than settling for the night they were headed toward some glorious dawn.

  She absently dropped her knitting into the basket at her bedside. It would be a dawn for which Dorothy Kinney Chambers was more than ready.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ICE CREAM AND ANTS

  How narrow her world had become, and yet how broad. Existence seemed to encompass the distance between the smiles of the three people who made up her universe. Bobby. Carol. Fred.

  March 1, 1940

  Do wish you could hear Carol sing. Her voice is very true. Has been singing “Ha-ya-yu-ya, don de gory, Ha-ya-yu-ya Amen” (Hallelujah, Thine the Glory, Hallelujah, Amen).

  Being home again and feeling mostly recovered from the Caesarian, Dorothy delighted in returning to “normal”. In fact, this was the best she’d felt since before Carol was born. She had energy. She had motivation. She was surrounded by love.

  March 12, 1940

  We have been home from the hospital eleven days. Bobby is sleeping sweetly. He is the most active little tyke—is all over his crib and one doesn’t dare leave him on any surface where there isn’t a pillow or railing to keep him from rolling off. Laid him in the center of Carol’s crib the other day as it was cooler in her room in the afternoon than in ours where I have his bassinet. Went into the bathroom for something, and when I came ba
ck in about three or four minutes he had turned himself clear around and his feet were sticking out between the bars at the head of the bed. He holds his head up very straight for about a minute at a time.

  The tiny wee ants are so bad that I have to keep Robert’s bassinet legs sitting in tins with mothballs in them in order to keep the ants off the sheet, etc. I think that one of the hardest things to put up with in this country are the ants. They were bad enough in India, but much worse here. If you want to keep ants off your clothes, you have to keep your dressers and everything else in the same thing (tin can and mothball feet). It is getting to be habitual to first inspect any garment from a drawer or taken off a hanger for ants before putting it on. Any bit of elastic that goes “phut” seems to be especially attractive to them, and girdles, elastic shoulder straps, etc., are usually more or less infested with them.

  Was cleaning off a shelf the other day and that rubber lined diaper bag that I used for Carol was folded and lying on the shelf. Found that it had several million of the little pests in it—

  Like it or not—and she certainly did not—ants were a part of the new normal. But today even the ants couldn’t steal her thunder. She had very good news to share.

  Dorothy put the last pile of clothing in its safe place and prayed the ants wouldn’t find it. Laundry had been infinitely easier once they’d had a frame made to hold two buckets with a wringer stand between the tubs. But as it was later in her pregnancy when they installed the thing, bending over long enough to get all the family wash done had been too much for Dorothy in the sweltering heat. So she had reluctantly agreed to hire a “lavendera” to help. The woman was worth her weight in gold. But even sharing the work, getting the laundry done was a consuming process.

  And yet today it had gone particularly well, and left time to make a special dessert for Fred. For the celebration.

  First she boiled two cans of Carnation Evaporated Milk, unopened, still in the cans, for twenty minutes. Then the hot cans went into the Frigidaire for twenty minutes before she opened the cans, poured the thickened milk into a bowl, and whipped it with a Dover egg beater.

  “Caro hep Mommy? Peez?”

  Dorothy smiled at her daughter who seemed to dance through her days now that she was a big sister. Any qualms about her sharing their amah Rosa with Bobby had been put to rest.

  “Of course you may help, my little cook-in-the-making.”

  “What a cook-a-make, Mommy?”

  She laughed. “Why it’s you, Carol Joy. You are going to make a very fine cook one day.”

  “Yay! I cook-a-make!”

  “Yes, you are. And now, Carol cook-a-make, I need for you to crush these graham crackers.”

  She knew it was a risky business, handing a rolling pin to a two-and-a-half year old on a stool. And she was right. Once that experiment went awry and half the crackers ended up on the floor and another good bit of them in Carol’s tummy, Dorothy kept the job of measuring and pouring the one cup of sugar and the splash of vanilla for herself.

  And when they were done, with the concoction safely in the fridge’s freezer compartment and the counter and floor reclaimed from the ants who’d plundered the mess, Dorothy handed the last sticky spoon to Carol.

  “Oh! Oh-oh!” Carol smacked and licked and moaned in pure delight. “Tase yike fosting. What it, Mommy? What Caro make?”

  Dorothy wiped bits of goo out of her daughter’s hair. “You, mistress cook-a-make, have made your Daddy’s very favorite dessert in the whole world.”

  Carol looked up at her mother, eyes wide with wonder as she licked the last bits off her fingers. “Wha dat?”

  Dorothy bent and whispered in a dramatic fashion in Carol’s ear.

  “Ice cream.”

  “Did I hear someone say ice cream?” Fred stood at the kitchen door grinning at his two girls. He held Bobby to his chest, but facing away from him so the baby could see his mother and sister. Bobby’s feet pumped and his little fists waved happily.

  Dorothy straightened. “We’re celebrating.”

  “Celebrating what?”

  “I cook-a-make!”

  “You what?”

  Dorothy laughed. “She’s a cook-in-the-making.”

  “Ah,” Fred smiled. “And why are we making ice cream on this particular afternoon?”

  “Because it’s a beautiful day.” Dorothy took a tentative step toward Fred. “And we have a beautiful family.” She advanced another step. “And the most perfect husband-daddy-boy.” Another step and she was as close as she could get without crushing the wiggly bump they now called Bobby.

  Fred tweaked her nose. He clearly saw in her eyes that there was something more, something that had lit a fire within them.

  “You remembered.” He smiled, suddenly pleased.

  Dorothy blushed, not having a clue what he meant.

  “Well, it’s a special day, so of course your ladies would want to celebrate it.” She was fishing now. “With you.”

  He laughed. “But I thought you were so loopy from the drugs that you didn’t really hear what I was saying.”

  She brushed her hands on her apron, too embarrassed to admit she couldn’t remember. “That just shows you the vast ability of my superior mind to work under the most difficult circumstances.”

  “Indeed it does, Doctor Chambers. Indeed it does.” He moved into the kitchen. “I’ll have to take lessons if I’m going to manage all this.”

  All this.

  Dorothy remained silent, hoping for a better hint.

  “It was a good day, though,” he sighed. “Being Dean of both colleges is going to be tough, but they are my first and second loves. Academically speaking, of course. And I do find the new History faculty quite stimulating. All in all, it will be great working with them.”

  Dean of both colleges.

  Double duty.

  He was going to be Dean of both Theology and History. It would be a huge load. That’s what had worried her.

  But it was a high honor to be entrusted with the deanship of not one but two major departments.

  Dorothy busied herself putting dinner on the table, seamlessly hiding the fact that the little celebration was supposed to be for something else entirely. She’d crafted the ice cream celebration to reveal the fact that the hospital had finished her new office, complete with a black glass above the door inscribed with her name.

  Dr. Dorothy Chambers.

  April 1940

  They are getting an office fixed up for me at the hospital. It is small, but will be big enough, I think. They are putting in a lavatory, electric fan, and building an examining table, bookcase, etc. Have a nice desk.

  Expect to begin about the first of May, and hope to be able to confine my work mostly between 9:30-12:00 in the mornings. Will have a class in Gyn and Ob. (review stuff) with the senior nurses during the first semester from 4-5 on Tuesdays.

  Finally got my certificate or diploma from the Examining Board and Fred has left it to be framed. Had the other two diplomas (National Board and University of Colorado) framed for me.

  An image of the gleaming black glass name plate came vividly into her mind. How it had stolen her breath just seeing the gold letters perfectly lettered above her door. It seemed a lifetime since she’d had an actual office of her own. And now it was here, ready for her to officially resume her practice next week. A week when Fred would be finding himself busier than he’d ever known. He’d be celebrating in formal and informal settings for days.

  She felt like the celebratory rug had just been pulled out from beneath her feet.

  But she couldn’t resent it. Truly she couldn’t. She saw how proudly he wore his new mantle. Her news could wait for another day.

  Dorothy quieted herself and put both her arms around her boys.

  Carol wriggled between them to take her spot standing on her daddy’s toes. Fred kissed Dorothy on the forehead and messages flashed between them.

  Are you
ready for this?

  The rapid blinking of her eyelids couldn’t hide the tears that welled behind them. There was no sorrow at all in them. They carried pride in her husband’s accomplishments and pride in her own. In truth, she’d been too long away from healing. She knew without a doubt that she was a better mother, a better wife, a better person when she let her personhood as a healer join hands with marriage and motherhood.

  It felt right. It felt good. It was time. Just not time to celebrate it.

  She held her breath hoping he wouldn’t read her thoughts.

  Fred kissed her again and swallowed hard, his eyes misting with an emotion she rarely saw. “Your children have a remarkable mother,” he said.

  She fell speechless at the conviction in his words. Even with twice the work on his plate he could still draw a circle that drew her into the heart of it.

  Neither of them could move or speak, and left it to their daughter to break the moment.

  “Okay, evvybody.”

  Carol jumped up and down on Fred’s toes until he winced.

  “Time fo’ eye-keem!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  PRESS ON

  Dorothy shut her eyes against the face that kept floating before them. Beautiful big brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. Soft pre-pubescent lips that would never smile again.

  So many little lives had already come into her keeping, and she’d barely been at work in the hospital for a month now.

  The boy she’d just lost was only ten years old. A handsome child. His fatal folly was to try and emulate an older neighbor as they all celebrated one of the many local fiestas.

  He’d had the ingredients right. It was the proportions he botched. And when he packed a heavy charge of powder into his homemade canon and stuffed it with sticks and stones and touched a match to it, his abdomen had taken the brunt of the blast. It was devastating, catastrophic, unsurvivable.

  To heap sorrow upon sorrow, she had come out of surgery to find out that her four-month-old pneumonia case had died. It had looked as if the infant had made a turn for the better. But not so.