It is good to live next door to a doctor. I guess. One day I asked my dad why we never did use him. I had three siblings plus my mom was always going to Ada for some malady or other. Well, he said, we just never needed to. He stays busy. Stonewall was lucky to get him Dad went on.

I realized that Dad had sort of dodged my question and started an inquiry of my own. I went to one of my more reliable friends, Glenn Elkins, and asked him some questions about the doctor. Glenn expressed some wonder that I did not know about the doctor. What I did not know (and Glenn and everyone else knew) was the good doctor had murdered a man some years before. The dead man and the doctor’s wife had been involved somehow in an illicit love affair and when the showdown came there was a fight. It ended with the other man dead. A court found the good doctor guilty of Murder-2 and the penalty was several years in prison down at McAlester. The doctor lost his license, too.

Time went by and after several appeals he managed a pardon from the governor. The doctor got his license back and he moved to Stonewall—still with the original wife, so Glenn said. I knew the doctor and his wife well. His nurse-wife helped in giving medical exams to the Stonewall schools’ athletes. Gerald and I knew them both. And Gerald had an ingrown toenail on his big toe.

I asked Gerald why didn’t he get his toenail fixed? I knew that Dr. Barnes* had fixed another boy’s toe and he was doing well. Gerald said he would eventually get it fixed, but he did not want to bother right now. He would take care of it himself. Since the thing was sore and swollen, he was soaking it in some salts in a pan but nothing that I could see was helping him. I asked Dad why he did not take my big brother down to the doctor’s office and have it fixed. I also told him that I knew the doctor knew how to do it too, as he had fixed my friend’s toenail. Just trying to help.

A night or two later Dad told Gerald that he had himself seen Dr. Barnes* and he said Gerald had an appointment this very evening at the Doctor’s home and that he and the doctor’s wife would fix it for him. So as soon as we finished supper, Gerald and I walked toward the doctor’s house. Gerald had a noticeable limp and had turned noticeably pale when Dad told him about his destiny. But Dad left and I guess that is the reason I was tagging along. One of my big toes was sore too and I felt that it rated an inspection. I too had my concerns as I limped up the alley with my big brother.

Now my brother was tough. I had seen him back in 2 ^nd grade when he suffered a compound break in his leg where the bone protruded, and blood was abundant. But as I said, he was tough. When we reached the doctor’s porch, he turned and gave me his best Humphrey Bogart look and said, “scram.” I did but I cowered out of sight behind a pair of Arbor Vitae bushes, just listening. The windows were open. Hearing everything said was easy. Finally, they had him in chair and when the cutting started, so did the screaming. But the two of them were able to hold him down and do the job.

The neighbors heard too until Gerald’s ordeal was finished. Our neighborhood now knew Gerald had good lungs as well as a painful toe. The surgery was a success, but Mama was not pleased about the excess pain. Dad said, “I should have taken him to Ada and let them numb it.” Our suddenly compassionate Dad then went on to say, “I would not let that guy work on my cow after this.”

The very next Sunday found me sick. Extremely sick. Lots of pain from Sunday’s dinner I suppose. Mom put me to bed. I was not expecting to live (my prognosis) but when I woke, Dr. Barnes* was hovering over me. He was thumping my belly then made me swallow the largest pill I ever saw. I heard mom say to him as he left, “I am glad Cecil was able to find you doctor. Thank you.” As he left, I wondered if he had doctored our cow, too. I lived.

Do not forget to go to Church Sunday. And I still have my ingrown toenail.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

cwaynebullard@gmail.com

*Name Changed To Protect The Innocent