Dorothy let Fred tuck her into bed and brush the hair back from her face. She hoped he didn’t see the tear she struggled to hide. How could she explain to him that this was a necessary part of the brutal joy she derived from practicing medicine. The hardest part. The part that shredded her even as it kept her whole.
Fred’s letter home
Have just put Dor to bed where I hope she gets a much deserved rest. She has had a hard day and one that has brought considerable sorrow to her because of loss of two patients. These experiences take almost as much energy as the hard labor she put into the work.
There is a sunny side to her work and I think she is getting off to a good start. They have already adopted her technique for sewing up an incision. Then there was a case in where the wound was not healing and the patient had been in for some time, so Dor put her hand to the difficulty and the case went out within a few days in good condition. Her handling of a number of children patients has met with almost immediate success. So, with the losses there are the gains.
Losses. Gains. He was always totting them up for her, hoping it might somehow help. Like keeping score. It seemed such a clinical assessment. How did one tally a life lost against a life saved?
Dorothy fought sleep, trying to pull her mind back into the kind of order she’d prided herself upon all those years in India. She’d weathered her first hysterectomy here this week, feeling slow on the uptake as she worked her way through it for the first time in nearly four years. But the patient was recovering beautifully.
The four-day-old child with the imperforate anus came through surgery with flying colors. It was an easy reconstruct. Still, things in a delicate newborn could easily go awry.
She had already lost two cases to tetanus in her short tenure at Iloilo Mission Hospital. Both died about six hours after admission. But the cleft lip surgery on the lovely twenty-year-old had gone splendidly, all done with local anesthesia, because for some reason Filipinos tolerated local anesthesia exceptionally well.
Scenes flashed and split and patched themselves together in disjointed fashion as her mind labored to shut down. She tried to recall each surgical procedure, each stitch, each clamp, searching for a mistake.
Had she been too long away from the practice of medicine? Everyone had advised her not to go back to work so quickly after her illness and the trauma of a surgical birth. Had she not been healthy enough to stay on the razor edge she needed to inhabit when holding dear lives in her hands? An infant and a mere boy?
“No mistakes,” she muttered. “No mistakes...”
The images swirling in her head became muzzy, slipping away as did the familiar sounds of the house settling down for the night. Dorothy’s breathing finally slowed, relaxing her limbs and letting the jumble of words fall into a pattern she recognized. A verse. A passage she’d written down just the day before and shoved into the pocket of her white coat.
But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Philippians 3:12-14
I press on. That was it. Just press on. That was all He asked.
She could do that. She could get up in the morning, mother her children and let them feed her soul. She could hold their tiny faces in her heart as she walked the wards, reassuring her patients, tending to their needs, putting their bodies back together.
She would see to them in the surgery. In the nursery. In the new office with the black glass above the door that read Dr. Dorothy Chambers.
The door with the hook on the back of it where at the end of the day she would hang her white coat and know that in a few hours she’d don it again.
And she would press on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
NONSENSE AND NUISANCE
“Fred, this can’t be right.”
“Hm?”
“I mean it, Fred. Look at this?”
Dorothy handed him the newspaper and within a moment he was putting down his coffee cup and grasping the paper with both hands.
June 13, 1940
The war news is surely terrifying these days. Today’s report was that the fall of Paris was imminent, but that German gains were being had at the terrific sacrifice of men. Just where it will all end is a mystery.
“So many lives. And Paris! It’s unfathomable.” Dorothy growled.
Fred shook his head slowly. “And in the end what will it achieve other than the obliteration of families and two decimated countries.”
“What deshy-mate-a, Daddy?”
Carol’s inquisitive voice brought them back from the world’s turmoil.
“Decimated? It means ruined. Broken. Like when you accidentally dropped Mommy’s pitcher and it broke, right?”
“In alla-hunderded-many pieces. I sorry, Mommy.”
Dorothy laughed. “I know, precious. I’m just glad you didn’t hurt yourself. We can always buy another pitcher, can’t we?”
Carol clapped her hands. “Maybe get wubber?”
Now Fred joined the laughter. “A rubber pitcher. My stars, wouldn’t that be a grand thing to have?”
“Den Caro not deshy-mate-a Mommy’s wubber pitcher!”
“Too right, little one. When in the world did you get so smart?”
“Oh I smaht alla-time, Daddy-boy.”
Those words were truer than her almost three-year-old little self could have known. And as the days passed, Dorothy and Fred found themselves being more and more careful in the conversations about the war that was escalating far beyond their imaginings in Europe.
Their experience aboard a belligerent’s boat had made them fully aware of war tensions in the world. But when Japan began to creep more visibly into the picture, they took grave note.
July 4, 1940
So far war conditions surely sound bad, altho there is not much doing here as yet. Some 5–7,000 British and Americans—women and children mostly—have landed or are shortly to land in Baguio and Manila from Hong Kong. Papers here say there is no immediate danger there, but that they have been advised to get out now rather than waiting until the emergency arises. It will surely put a strain on Manila. Everything seems so screwy!
In fact, tensions were now visible even in their own community as ‘friend or foe’ choices began to creep into the minds of Filipino and foreigner alike.
“Rosa, be a dear and see what Bobby is hollering about, would you?”
“Hollering?” Rosa looked up from the pot she was stirring.
“Yelling...bellowing...shouting...” Dorothy coached.
“Ah, yes! Shouting! Yes, I understand.”
Rosa wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the nursery to check on the baby. If the strength of his voice were any indication, he was just a hungry, healthy nine-month-old.
Normally, Rosa would have been off in a flash to look after him. But she’d been unusually upset today, and in the last few minutes Dorothy had discovered why. Rosa had taken in some sewing from one of the Jewish ladies new to Iloilo. In fact, Dorothy knew the woman’s husband, as he had begun volunteering at the college immediately after arriving from Germany.
Now Rosa was worried that she shouldn’t be associating with the woman. Dorothy had given her a gentle lecture about the Jewish people and the need to preserve their dignity, as they had been uprooted from their homes and were trying to make a new life here. To which Rosa replied that she herself had no problem with the woman being Jewish. But her mother had told her they were probably “fifth column” and Rosa shouldn’t go anywhere near their home.
Fifth column.
Balderdash.
They were no more subversives planted here by Germany than she was. Where did people get these ridiculous notions? And what more did those poor displaced people have to suffer?
She couldn’t help thinking the Jewish refugees were lucky to have come to Iloilo. It was a lovely, serene place, and so very civilized. Bu
t even Dorothy was not foolish enough to believe that serenity could not be unseated with little warning.
July 12, 1940
The war news gets screwier every day and just what is the next thing no one knows. Japan is just itching for excuses, apparently, and Germany is sitting on a tack and we hope perhaps Russia can keep her there until Britain can act. Doesn’t sound very neutral does it, to take sides, but one can’t help it, altho I still hope that the U.S. will stay out. She will lose more than she gains if she goes in, I am afraid. Filipinos are beginning to think that many of the so called refugees from Germany are not Jews but “Fifth Column” folks. The poor Jews!
She knew Fred saw even more ‘rushes to judgment’ at the college than she did at the hospital. If a person was too quiet, they were suspected of harboring subversive thoughts. Too vocal, and their motive was called into question. Striking a neutral pose was becoming increasingly harder. Loyalty was everything, and betrayal was thought to lie behind every closed door. Smiles were studied for their authenticity and even small courtesies were often suspect.
As were small slights.
Did the Chinese merchant undercharge her to show his allegiance to the U.S.? Did the Japanese cobbler intentionally sell her defective soles simply to show his disdain and superiority?
It was impossible to know. And the increasing uneasiness made Dorothy feel there was intention behind many of those acts.
But within the band of missionaries who populated the island there was always trust. She and Fred had formed a tight-knit group with the Waters and the Covells in particular. How lucky they were, Dorothy thought, to have such a dear group to whom they could turn if ever in need.
September 27, 1940
Today marks our first anniversary. One year ago today we arrived in Iloilo. I said to Fred this morning that there were a lot of funny feelings going thru me as we steamed up to the dock here—sort of homesick, apprehensive, etc. However, altho the year has been hard in spots, we surely are enjoying the work here and the people. I said something to Fred the other day about being a bit homesick for India and he said that there were so many doors open here and so many opportunities and that he was having so much fun with these students that he didn’t have time to be homesick for anything (unless occasionally it might be for Colorado). The fellowship of this group is surely fine, and we do enjoy them. Will enjoy it still more when the Waters get back.
Dorothy watched Rosa return to the kitchen and set about her chores with baby Bobby on her hip. He jabbered and sang as he played with the long, straight, silky black hair that hung across the girl’s shoulders. Her heart expanded at the sight. He was the dearest child. And he adored Rosa and Carol Joy. Dorothy could easily watch him for hours, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she pulled her attention back to the medical journal that lay before her on the table. Yet even as she focused upon drawing a pictorial illustration of the range of symptoms for dengue fever, concern over the simmering war news lurked close to the surface and could not be silenced.
November 14, 1940
Papers announced lately that it was not considered necessary now for further evacuation from Hong Kong—but that those who had gone home would not be returned for a while. Today’s news about the fact that the convoy of 39 ships was not entirely sunk but that thirty had already reported, and the damage done the Italian Naval base, seemed to indicate that Britain was keeping her head and shoulders well above water. Just what Russia is going to do, and what Japan will decide to do, is yet to be seen. Don’t worry about us, however. We are all well—I haven’t felt so well in years as I have since Bobby arrived, —are getting our salary regularly, have plenty to eat, and if Japan does strike we won’t be any worse off than millions of others—but I rather doubt if Japan really goes thru with it—she is biting off an awfully big mouthful with Britain sending reinforcement with the fortification of the Islands here.
“Mommy? Mommy?”
Dorothy answered absently. “Yes, darling?”
“Mommy, I want to wear your watch. Now, peez.”
Dorothy refused to let the unexpected request completely break her concentration. Not when she was poised on the brink of illustrating a medical clue that often eluded her nurses.
She lifted her small paintbrush from the page. What a simple thing it would be to wave the child off, or slip the watch off her wrist and let Carol wear it for a bit. But that would take all the fun out of the gift Santa was bringing Carol. In fact, it should be arriving any day now. She’d ordered the little girl-sized watch in September.
“Perhaps if you would ask Santa, he would give you one for Christmas.” Oh, how smug she felt. It was getting harder and harder these days to stay a step ahead of her precocious daughter.
When Carol had no hasty comeback, Dorothy had to look up from the drawing she’d been studying with a critical eye. Carol stood before her with her arms crossed in a most familiar pose that spoke of extreme consternation.
“Santa not my frien’. He old. ‘Cuz I saw him picture.”
Dorothy laughed. Last Christmas she’d been too pregnant to completely immerse herself in making Christmas for Carol. This year, if she wasn’t careful, immersion in her work at the hospital was threatening to do the same. And that she could not allow. She dropped her brush in the tray.
“You are so right, my little elf. Santa is very old. You see, it takes a long, long, very long time to become as clever as Santa. Why don’t you get a piece of paper and pencil and I will write a letter to Santa for you. How about that?”
“I will write myself.”
“Oh. Well, then, that’s even easier. You find the paper and you may use my pencil.”
In two shakes Carol was back with a piece of paper. She lifted the pencil from the table and oh so politely looked to Dorothy for permission to use it.
“Dear Santa.” She spoke the words as she scribbled in nonsensical but surprisingly straight lines across the page. “Mommy not yet me wear her watch. Peez make her give me it.”
Oh dear. The best laid plans...
November 29, 1940
Dearest Mother, I get so hungry for you to see the kiddies sometimes that it seems that I would have to bring them home, or cable you to come out here. They are such a precious bunch of nonsense, nuisance, and indispensableness.
Dorothy held out her hand to receive the letter to Santa that Carol had so carefully penned and folded. Her former childish pout was replaced with complete trust that by handing her letter to Dorothy, it would get to the North Pole and into Santa’s hands without mishap.
With her answering smile Dorothy pushed her war worries so far below the surface that even a German submarine wouldn’t find them. They were not going to intrude upon Carol’s Christmas. Not this year. She would see to that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
INTO THE FIRE
January 3, 1941
1941 is here and I can’t help but wonder what it is going to bring. Everything is quiet here, but papers indicate that Roosevelt is getting more and more in favor of getting into the thick of things. Guess his promises can be easily broken in the “face of national emergency”. It all seems to be so senseless, and so beastly.
“Oh, don’t touch, Bobby, Mommy’s not done with this yet.”
Dorothy caught Bobby’s little hand before he could smear the wet paint she’d just applied to Bobby and Carol’s nursery window.
“These pictures are from Aesop’s Fables, and they will always remind you of very important values.” She pointed her finger like a stern teacher and held his startlingly blue eyes as long as she could before collapsing in laughter. His remarkable eyes could change from the most impish, sparkling blue to a sage and mystical, wistfully wise gaze faster than she could say Aesop’s Fables.
But today, they simply said, okee-dokey, mommy...I get it...I won’t touch the window thing again. Oh, she was going to be in so much trouble when this one learned to talk!
January
12, 1941
As I wasn’t having to go to the hospital every day I have tried to get some of the forty-leven things around the house done. Got the third coat of enamel on the kiddies beds and also the decals—and they do look adorable. They are ivory enamel with varnished mahogany panes in the center of the head and foot and it is on these that the decals have been placed. Got their toy box enameled and a row of little black silhouette figures around the bottom of it, their table and little chairs re-enameled and decorated with some cute animal decals and then put some little black silhouettes on the dresser drawers. Have ten of the Fables done and only two more to do. The room does look cute and even Bobby seems to love the pictures. Then I got the new piano bench varnished and stained, and the three panel screen for the guest room enameled and the soft plain reversible chevron cloth in jade green tacked in place. Have also begun to make our own bread and am having ever so good luck. Have been getting it from the hospital, but think I can make it cheaper and it is hard to get it now when I am not going down there regularly. Can get the Fleischman’s yeast.
Last Saturday it was storming terribly—terrific rain, wind, and had been most of the day. It was hard enough to hear with the wind and the rain, but due to the heavy rains, the low ground in front of the Baptist Missionary Training Seminary which is just across the street from us was a regular pond and several hundred thousand frogs were going at it for all they were worth. I felt as though I had about sixty grains of quinine at one dose, my ears roared so.
Sunday and Monday were busy trying to get ready for the heavy part of the week. The College was conferring an honorary degree upon one of the men who has done fine work on the revision of the Bible into Visayan. I made the hood for him, and it came out very nicely. The scarlet band with the lining in the lovely shade of blue and gold.
Then we have exchanged guests with the others (here to attend Baptist conference) so have guests at many of the meals. Today the Rounds are here for lunch, and as the Missionary group is meeting for two days, we will be busy until Monday. There is a picnic out at Arevella this evening for the bunch, and a get-together supper tomorrow night.
Courage in a White Coat Page 20