The Vern Stephens Operation

  “So what’s up, Bill? I thought you retired,” Frank said, as he took his chair behind the desk and motioned Doc to a vacant chair in front of the desk.

  “I did sort of, Frank. Officially, I retired a few years ago, but I keep my license up and I just can’t quit. I have nothing without the little work I still do. With Emma gone I’m a lonely and crotchety old man.”

  “Yes. I heard about that, Bill and I’m sorry. No warning? Nothing?”

  “Oh there were warnings, but I didn’t know about them. Emma had to have known, but she never let on to me. I’m sure she was afraid that if she did I would stop practicing to take care of her. She was probably afraid my patients would suffer because of her, so she said nothing.

  “One night we went to bed as usual, and as usual, I woke up, but Emma didn’t. I never even had a chance to try and save her, Frank. All of my medical skill and I never had a chance to use them for Emma. It took me a while to get over that. In fact, I guess I’m still not over it,” Doc ended in a sad tone.

  Frank responded calmly, “Yeah. That’s the tough part about our job. Sometimes when we help it isn’t enough and other times when we could help we never get the chance. It was her time, Bill, that’s the long and the short of it.”

  Doc thought about that and knew it was true, after all hadn’t he told Mike Maltby about the same thing? But it didn’t help him feel any better about losing Emma. After a moment of contemplation he snapped back to the present and said, “I need a favor, Frank. That is, I might need a favor. I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, but I might like to ask you to perform a surgery for me for free.”

  Frank Moss raised his eyebrows and said with genuine concern in his voice, “Something wrong with you, Bill?”

  “No, I’m fine or at least as fine as I can be for my age, but a friend of mine may need brain surgery to relieve pressure from an old injury. Here are some notes I made from his hospitalization a few years ago and I believe they give a pretty good picture of the problem,” Doc said as he handed Frank the notes.

  Frank Moss quickly scanned the notes, handed them back, and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Piece of cake, Bill. Eight hours tops, including prep and recovery. Should be out of the hospital in one week to ten days and full recovery in three months, with proper follow up care and providing a secondary infection does not set in or no post-op leak occurs,” Moss said in a no-nonsense tone and continued, “also providing that a recent examination of the patient is consistent with the hospital records you reviewed. I could not go into this without that. I have to know what, if any, changes have occurred since the last exam in the hospital. A new CT scan is imperative.”

  “You are as good as they say,” Doc said with genuine awe in his voice.

  “Thanks to you, Bill. I meant what I said out there. I would never have recognized which symptoms meant what condition on that exam if you hadn’t spent all those hours with me on semiology. You need a surgery performed you just name the time and place and you got it. If you need it for free, then you got that, too,” Frank said with finality.

  “I may need you to operate on this man, but I’m not sure at this point. I have to convince him to let me examine him first, which is vital, as you pointed out,” Doc said and continued, “when I said for free I didn’t mean you wouldn’t get paid. I meant that as far as anyone in this office or the hospital or the patient was concerned, you were doing it for free. You’ll get paid, I guarantee it.”

  “Okay, Bill, whatever you say, but I meant it when I said I would do it for free, if you need it done that way.”

  “I appreciate that, but let me tell you the whole plan and then I think you will understand.”

  When he had finished telling Frank the whole story, right down to Doc’s talk with the hospital administrator just an hour or so ago, Frank was smiling from ear to ear.

  “Bill, I want in on this so bad that I will do it for free, for real. You tell Maltby that if he tries to pay me he will make an enemy for life. My lips are sealed, Bill. No one will ever know, but I’m going to enjoy every minute of this one.”

  “Thanks, Frank. I’ll let you know if it is a ‘go’ as soon as I can,” he said as he rose to leave and extended his hand. “I’ll think about what you said about Emma’s death, too. You’re a good friend, Frank.”

  On his way through the reception area he said. “thank you, Miss. I’m sorry to have interrupted the doctor’s schedule.”

  The receptionist just stared with rapture at the man who was so intimate with “her” doctor and who had coached him through semiology, whatever that was, and obviously had saved “her” doctor’s career.

  Three

  Mike saw Doc’s old 1968 Plymouth Valiant a mile down the road and coming on slowly. These days Doc rarely went anywhere fast. Mike had heard that the farmers hated to get behind him.

  Even on their tractors they could go faster than Doc, but passing with a tractor just wasn’t done. When Doc was on the road in that old 1968 Valiant the farmers took any road they could find, except the one Doc was on. The car itself was older than most of the farmers around here.

  Finally, Doc made it to Mike’s drive, slowly turned in as a farm truck rapidly accelerated once the road was clear and waved at Doc’s rearview mirror. Doc drove up the lane even with where Mike was sitting. Mike watched him ease out of the car and slowly walk up to the table.

  “Howdy, Doc, how’s it going?”

  “All set, Mike. I looked at the records and talked to Frank Moss. He is one of the best head cutters around the country. He says that if the final exam is consistent with the records then a full recovery should be expected.”

  “Good! How about the final exam, Doc?” Mike ventured.

  With a shrug Doc responded, “I’m on my way there now so we’ll know pretty soon. I’ll try and talk Vern into letting me examine him today. If all goes well he could be in the hospital in two days and out in ten. Fully recovered and operating normally again in three to four months. Providing he buys into this deal. He’s cagy as well as stubborn, he might suspect something.”

  “You’re a whiz, Doc, he’ll never know what hit him,” Mike said with encouragement.

  “I don’t feel like a whiz,” Doc said tiredly.

  “You do look a little peaked today, Doc. You feeling okay?”

  “I feel just fine, except that at my age, feeling just fine is a might short of being dead. I’ll soon be seventy you know and the body is wearing out.”

  “After this caper you should get some rest, Doc.”

  “Rest! All I do is rest anymore. I sit under that shade tree every nice day of the year! When you get as old as me all the rest in the world won’t help. Rest can’t make you young again and that’s what I need.”

  “You want to do it all over again, Doc?”

  “No! I said I needed to be young to feel good, but I don’t want to live my life again. Once around is enough for me. I’ve seen and done about all that’s worth doing here anyway. It’s a mystery to me why I’ve lived this long.”

  Mike finally responded, “Well I don’t know about all that, but I want you to stick around long enough to talk Vern Stephens into that operation,” Mike ended with a chuckle.

  “Always thinking of yourself!” Doc said sarcastically and began laughing. As he laughed he couldn’t help but wonder about Mike’s part in all this. What did he really have to gain?

  “Okay, Mike, I’ll be on my way. Wish me luck,” he said as he stood and headed for his car.

  Mike waved a farewell as the car backed out of the lane. By the time Doc had made the hard road Mike decided that Doc sat out under that shade tree thinking of Emma too much. Then it struck him that he also sat out under this shade tree thinking too much of Mary and of a past he could not change.

  ~*~

  Doc turned his car down the long lane that dipped into the flood plain of Bottom Creek. The Stephens lived along the side of Bottom Creek on a slight knoll which is all that saved the house during spring
flooding. The Stephens’ lane consisted of large rocks and gravel. It was still almost washed out in several places. The Stephens didn’t own the lane, as it was actually a Township road, but since they were the only ones to live on the road and it was a dead end, it did not get high priority when it came time for road maintenance.

  Upon reaching the Stephens’ house, he turned in the short gravel drive and stopped his car under a convenient shade tree. There were lots of shade trees around the rundown house that looked like it hadn’t seen a paintbrush in decades. Junk littered the front yard and what was left of the picket fence wouldn’t make a good campfire. Before Vern’s accident the place was in much better shape, at least is wasn’t junky looking, but Doc couldn’t say it was ever in good shape. There just wasn’t money for that kind of maintenance, even in a good year and Vern had few of those.

  Doc was afraid he would have a hard time getting to see Vern, since he spent most of his time in bed and the children were very protective of his privacy. However, as he pulled to a stop he saw that Vern was sitting on the front porch, with his head held between his hands, staring at the porch floor. Suffering through a headache no doubt, Doc surmised.

  As he got out of the car two mongrel dogs immediately greeted him with barks and howls. He wasn’t sure if the dogs would bite, but they sure sounded like they would. Slowly, he eased around the front of the car and toward the porch. The dogs began to back toward the house, all the while barking their fool heads off. At that instant, Billy came running out of the house and shooed the dogs away, all the while apologizing, not to Doc, but to his father, for the noise the dogs were making.

  Billy said to Doc, “Howdy, Doctor Collins. What can I do for you?”

  “Came to see your pa, Billy,” he responded amiably.

  “Don’t want no doctors around here!” Vern rasped out and continued, “ain’t got no money for doctors. I ain’t paying you to come out here and cluck over me. Didn’t call you and I ain’t paying for no house call!” Vern ended pressing his hands tighter against his skull and wincing. Doc noticed that during his tirade, he had never even looked up. Doc could now see that he did not even have his eyes open and was not really staring at the porch floor, he just had his head down.

  Doc answered evenly switching to his backwoods vernacular, a country doctor had to know how to talk the language of his patients. “I know, Vern. I ain’t asking you to pay me. I came to ask you a favor.”

  “Don’t give me no malarkey, Collins. I got nothing the likes of you would want. I’m in no shape to do anything for anyone. This is the first time I been out of bed for a whole week. Couldn’t lay there no more. Had to get up,” he ended dismally, his short stocky frame almost quivering from the pain he was very obviously experiencing.

  “That’s the favor, Vern.”

  “What!” Vern yelled looking up for the first time with pain written all over his face.

  “The favor is that I need a guinea pig and it pays money, too,” Doc said.

  “Guinea pig! I got no time for nonsense! I’m going back to bed,” he said disgustedly and stood up.

  “Wait! I mean it. The job pays five thousand and all you got to do is let some doctor up at the hospital look at you,” he said and that much was true, but also knew that Frank Moss was going to do a lot more than look. Still, no sense in flushing the game right away—he needed to get a little closer for a better shot.

  Vern sat back down and said, “okay tell me about it, but this better be good. I’m in no mood for games.”

  Doc came in a little closer, lowered his voice a couple of octaves, and said, “the hospital needs a certain type of case right now for an experimental program. They need someone with a particular type of head injury. When I heard that, your name popped right into my head. It would be a favor to me, Vern. If I find the patient they are looking for it would be a feather in my cap with the hospital staff. I like people owing me favors.”

  When he got no immediate response he said, “look, Vern, what can it hurt? They look at you and if your condition qualifies for treatment they pay you. Might even do you some good,” Doc knew he would qualify, of course, it was only a question of the recovery percentage and risk of surgery.

  “What’s the catch?” Vern said skeptically and continued, “I get five thousand if I fit and they charge me ten thousand to look at me, huh?”

  “No. The exam and any treatment won’t cost you a cent and you get five thousand on top of it,” Doc said truthfully, knowing the treatment wasn’t free, but it wouldn’t cost Vern a cent. He didn’t need to know why it wouldn’t cost him a cent. That was part of the plan. Then he continued, “Like I said. It’s an experimental program and they need a certain type of case. You might be it.”

  “I got no way to get to the hospital for an exam,” Vern said and Doc saw hope in that statement.

  “No need. The hospital has authorized me to examine you right here and report to them. If you qualify for treatment…” Which you will, he did not say, and continued, “…then they will transport you up there for more tests and maybe the treatment.”

  “What kind of treatment?” Vern asked now and Doc thought he was somewhat interested, anything had to be better than spending all of your days in bed with constant pain.

  “That I can’t say for sure,” he answered truthfully and thought, after all, surgery might be out, depending upon the exam, some other treatment might be needed.

  “Don’t like the sound of that,” Vern stated and pressed his hands even tighter around his head while massaging his temples.

  “It depends upon what the exam findings are, Vern. Maybe a lot of things could be done to help you. What do you care anyway? It isn’t going to cost you anything and it might help ease your pain. If it does then you don’t have to sit out here trying to crush your skull with your hands. Plus, it pays you five thousand dollars and don’t tell me you couldn’t use the money. I know better than that,” he ended a little on the harsh side, just to be sure he had Vern’s attention.

  “What kind of exam?”

  Doc responded calmly, “Not much of one, I’m afraid. There just isn’t a lot I can do out here with my black bag, but enough to tell the hospital you qualify. If you do qualify they will examine you more thoroughly and run some tests, I’m sure. All at no cost to you,” he hurriedly put in.

  “Okay, I guess. We sure could use the money. I ain’t been able to turn a lick since I got out of the hospital. When you want to start?”

  “How about now? We can use your bedroom, just let me get my bag out of the car,” Doc said and hurried over to his car before Vern changed his mind.

  Vern went in ahead of him, and Billy ushered Doc through the cluttered living room, containing several threadbare chairs and one sofa that looked like it came out of the local dump. The place was clean though, he noted. Poor they might be, but inside Vern’s wife kept the place as clean as she could with two kids running in and out and her working all the time.

  Doc closed the bedroom door and motioned Vern to sit on the edge of the bed as he opened his little bag. He examined Vern with all the fanfare he could fake. He thumped and pressed, and grunted, and hem and hawed for several minutes. After the exam was completed and he had all of his notes tucked safely in his coat pocket he told Vern that he would get the notes to the hospital and let him know just as soon as possible if he qualified or not.

  Doc went out to his car, leaving Vern to rest in bed and waved good-bye to Billy, who sat on his front porch with a wondering look. Doc figured Billy was no dummy and might have figured out what was going on, or part of it, but if he suspected anything he’d keep quiet. Doc was sure Billy wasn’t going to say anything to cause his family to lose out on five thousand dollars.

  Out on the hard road again and on his way to his house, Doc thought, why not just take these notes right on up to Frank? Usually, a doctor would dictate a cold letter and enclose the notes when referring a patient to another doctor, but this was not the usual case. After seeing
how Vern was suffering Doc wanted to speed things up as much as possible. Doctors had a reputation for being cold, but that wasn’t true, they often suffered right along with their patients, they just tried not to show it.

  ~*~

  This time when Doc entered Doctor Moss’ reception area the receptionist beamed a bright smile and said, “why hello again, Doctor Collins. Please, just a moment and I will tell Doctor Moss you are here.”

  He had barely had time to reach the receptionist’s window before she was on the intercom. He was ushered straight back to Frank’s office and by the time he arrived Frank was coming in the door.

  “Well?” Moss asked as the door closed behind him.

  “Here are the notes of the exam. You tell me, Frank,” Doc said nervously as he handed Frank his meager notes.

  Frank scanned them deftly and said, “a little sketchy, but not bad for a country saw bones with just a black bag.”

  “What do you think? I have a feeling time is short,” Doc said, still a little nervously.

  “No. Not according to these notes, if my recollection of the hospital records is accurate. This man is definitely a candidate for surgery and I think a full recovery is very possible. I’ll need more tests and a more thorough exam before I operate though. CT scan first thing.”

  “No problem. I give him the word that he ‘qualifies’ and we send an ambulance to transport him to the hospital. Admit him and do all the tests and exams you want, but do not let on that this is not a ‘freebee’ for you and the hospital.”

  Frank smiled and said, “but it is a ‘freebee’ for me. How about the hospital?”

  “Taken care of,” Doc said simply.

  Frank did not ask, but he was almighty curious about how Doc and Maltby had gotten the hospital to cooperate. Doc left that part out of his earlier explanation.

  ~*~

  Two weeks later Mike was sitting under the tree in his front yard drinking his morning coffee when he saw Billy Stephens turn his bike up the drive.