Mountain of Healing

By Geraldine Justice

While the US medical scene has recently become a hotbed of political controversy, the people who serve the sick are nameless individuals who can be swept about at a governments whim. My novel, Mountain of Healing, looks at human and government failures that can have a far-reaching impact on caregivers and patients alike.

This is set in rural Appalachia. Angela, a big-city nurse finds herself immersed in a culture where her confidence is challenged. She comes face to face with a God and savior that these simple country people adore, serve, and highly recommend.

This book is unique in that while it acknowledges the community that is healthcare at its best and worst, it also delves into decisions and secrets of past generations that bring a whole town to its knees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Feb 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781512771411

Geraldine Justice

Geraldine retired from Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte, North Carolina, where she served for years as a patient financial services specialist. She loved volunteering at the Billy Graham Library there and still visits as often as possible. Geraldine has since moved to Dallas, Texas, and enjoys time with her six grandchildren, camping, hiking, decorating, reading, and of course, writing. She loves nature and enjoys the quiet solitude of being in the mountains and the woods or at the beach. She is passionate about good medical practice and strongly believes that patient care decisions should remain between patient and physician. She has been a Christian for over three decades and is familiar with high church, cowboy church, and fundamentalist church. She says the most important day of her life was when she accepted Jesus Christ as her Savior. Her highest desire is to share that knowledge with as many people as possible, and see all her grandchildren come to know Christ.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I slowed the car as I rounded another sharp curve. I stretched, yawned, and rubbed a tired neck. The trips were getting longer and harder. My watch said it was only two pm, but I had been on the road since before daylight and awake for hours before that. I decided that if I was going to stay awake, I would have to stretch my legs. I would need to stop at the next station to fill the tank and stretch my legs to break the monotony of the drive and get directions to the Miles home. My thoughts wondered to the patient I would be serving for the next few months. Terminal cases were hard. This one would be doubly hard because of the close family ties.

The foliage surrounding the road was beginning to turn the glorious autumn tones found only in the mountains. I loved these beautiful hills with their unpredictable weather and predictable beauty. No artist’s palette could combine the startling colors I saw and treasured. My favorite was the star maple that usually looked as if it just could not make up its mind whether to change colors or not. One side, usually the ones facing morning sunlight, would turn a boisterous orange while the other continued to caress and beckon the world with its lime green color.

The uneven thump brought my thoughts back to the present. The tire that I had long pampered had gone again. The thing had certainly served it’s time, and would need to be replaced.

I smiled as I dialed the number for the motor club and gave the operator the information to pick up the car. Exactly where on this little country road was I anyhow? I glanced to the far side of the road and noticed a mailbox. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to wait in the car and maybe whoever lived there could give me directions to my new employers.

As a private duty nurse, I was used to assignments that took me well off the beaten path, but not without my car. On these roads that were little more than pathways, the GPS I had received as a gift was virtually useless.

Well, the motor club sticker was in plain sight and they could just take care of it. I was very tired and again welcomed the thought of stretching my legs. I gathered my bag, laptop, and notebooks and headed toward the driveway beside the mailbox. I had just crossed the road when an unsmiling white haired lady came into sight walking toward the mailbox.

I lifted my free hand to shield my eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun and said, Hello, there. My name is Angela and …

The dignified old woman interrupted my speech, and said, almost crossly, Yes, I know who y’ar. ‘We been expectin’ ya.

If I had not been aware of the confusion of geriatric patients in my care, I might have been taken aback by her tone.

I continued, You see, my car has broken down and I’ve called the motor service. But I thought possibly you could tell me how far it is to….

Again, I was interrupted mid-sentence.

I said I know who y’ are and yer room is ready.

Now that she had my attention, I stuttered an apology and said, Are you Mrs. Miles, perhaps?

She nodded and said, No, you mean my sister Grace. I’m Hattie and I’ll take y’ on up to the house.

Was it possible that I had stumbled into my client’s yard? What were the chances of that happening in a lifetime? I thought how lucky I was at the turn of events. I sensed that this would be a very interesting case; not so much the patient this time, but as with many cases I’d worked previously the family. Often when a relative was seriously or terminally ill a family member would be very resentful of any medical personnel they considered an intrusion into the relationship. Usually the family member was in such a state of denial that the mere hint, that they could not take care of their loved one brought out fight or flight emotions. And it was crystal clear that Miss Hattie was already spoiling for a fight.

We walked the last few yards to the small house in silence and Hattie said, Grace is out back. She’ll be in in a minute. Come in and I’ll show y ‘round, and getcha’ settled.

The dwelling was larger on the inside than it appeared from the road.

The living room was long; the whole length of the front with a nice size fire place at one end. The other end housed a large cabinet which I supposed held a television. The decor was sparse but it was clean and homey. The hardwood floor gleamed with years of careful care. I smiled as I realized how the decorator had solved the problem of whether to face the fireplace or the television with the seating. This crafty person had put two identical love seats back to back in the center of the room and added wing chairs at various angles. Large mirrors in the room reflected a simple elegance. I felt oddly relaxed.

Now that I knew where I was, even though I wasn’t quite sure how I had ended up exactly where I was supposed to be, I felt an urgency to meet the patient I was to care for.

Miss Hattie, I began, only to be interrupted the third time in about that many minutes.

The older lady came as close to a smile as I had yet seen and she said a little more easily, You kin call me Aunt Hattie. Everbody does.

Uh. Well. Ok. Aunt Hattie, when will I meet Miss Miles?

She’ll be on in a minute. Let me getcha’ settled.

But, my car; I guess I should keep an eye out for the tow truck.

Hattie shook her head and I felt somewhat like an impudent junior high student.

They know where it is and where to find you. The question is, do you know how to take care ‘o my sister?

Well, that was pretty much as clear and to the point a response as I’d ever encountered from a protective family member. I welcomed her direct approach. I’d been prepared to wade through a long list of responses and was not looking forward to a power struggle. I was refreshed by her frank manner.

However, her honesty demanded no less from me. I garnered all my prepared responses and mentally tossed them.

I spoke slowly. "I will be honest with you, Aunt Hattie. I am not a doctor or a healer, but I am here to help both of you any way I can. While we cannot know what the future holds, I can promise you that I will use everything I have ever learned to try to help your sister. I imagine that this second diagnosis has knocked the wind out of both your sails. It is a difficult time, but she can get better and she can even recover. While I cannot promise you either of those things will happen, you can be sure that while I am her nurse she will be my absolute top priority and I will use everything I know or can learn to help her."

Hattie pursed her lips and drew herself up to her full height, as she looked directly into my eyes. I know you will, and I don’t wannna’ be a bitter ole woman fer the days we got. I jus’ wudd’n ready fer this agin. We dun made so many plans when the doctor told us she was well. Her voice trailed off.

I bent slightly and set the laptop on the floor and leaned it against a table leg. I touched Hattie’s arm and said, Yeah, Life seems to happen just when we have made other plans. We will take it as it comes and battle when we have to.

I smiled and Hattie seemed to relax a bit. She pointed and led the way into a long hallway that had several doors leading away from it. Each doorway was just a bit recessed into the room and I could imagine the smile of the builder in days gone by as the novel doorways gave rise to questions and conversations. The door to my room was about halfway down the hall that ended in another sitting room that, like the first, was flooded with sunlight. The light seemed to emanate down the hall and I blinked at the surprising intensity. I sat my purse on the massive dresser and saw my bags on the bed. The company had really taken care of everything for this assignment. The wellbeing of the field nurses was important to the president of the midsized medical firm for which I worked.

He had introduced the concept of a dual medical holistic and spiritual approach to our care; teaching our patients how to live and enjoy each day, rather than how to die. If the patient did reach an impasse in their disease process, and the end was inevitable we stayed the journey. We always stayed as long as the family wanted us after the final good byes to their loved one.

I had learned over the last few years that my presence meant more to these agonizing families than the standard nursing care that I brought. The trust and companionship that seemed to pervade every assignment kept me in humble realization that my role in their journey was small indeed. The medical presence that each patient seemed to want so badly was overshadowed by some unspoken courage they gained by having someone outside their family to lean on and question.

I took my cosmetic bag toward the door which I assumed led into my bath and was very startled when I opened the door to find it led into yet another hall. There a young woman was standing in front of a long mirror with a large bottle of glass cleaner and a handful of wet newsprint. I gasped, and she instantly began to apologize. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry she repeated over and over. She moved to pick up the wet paper that had dropped on the floor looking like a frightened puppy. She was still spewing her strange litany of apologies as she groped for the paper.

I walked toward her and began to help her pick up the discarded paper. It’s ok I assured her. I was just very startled to see that there is another hall back here. I thought it was the door to my bathroom.

She grinned and a little giggle escaped her and she pointed to another door down the hall. She pushed away a strand of honey blonde hair from her face, leaving a black smudge of newsprint on her cheek. I turned toward the door and bright sunlight from the window caught me and I blinked. Boy! The sunlight is bright here! I said. By the way, my name is Angela. I’m Miss Miles nurse, so you’ll be seeing me around for a while. I paused and waited for the youngster to tell me who she was. She seemed tongue tied and embarrassed so I prompted again.

And what is your name?

I’m Amelia, she said shyly. I’m named after Aunt Grace. Amelia Grace. She smiled and as she turned I saw in horror that the dark shadow I had assumed was ink form the damp newsprint was a large bruise on her cheek. I drew a sharp breath but said only, I’m glad to meet you, Amelia. She nodded and the hair swung back to caress the bruise.

I moved into the bathroom with my bag and closed the door. This room had no windows, save for one small, square high on the wall. What a strange house, I thought again. I clenched my teeth as I thought of the bruise on Amelia’s cheek wondering if possibly it had been caused by an accident. No, I decided her fearful apologies when I startled her were those of a person who was used to swift punishment, whether she’d committed an offense or not. I’d seen it when I had worked in the Emergency Department, and as it had then, the very thought of abuse made me shaky with an anger of such absolute intolerance that it bordered on rage. And, as then, the question flooded my heart. The faith questions questions about a father who allowed such a horrible scourge on children of any age. My questions were shouted silently again. My background told me that God was loving and sovereign and not to be questioned. The shattering abuse of innocents was not the only reason I’d left mainstream medicine. I could not be a part of patching up the brokenness and sending them straight back to the same situation that had brought them to the ED, broken, bruised, and ravaged by some maniacal hand. They would be told for the hundredth time it would never happen again, and it usually didn’t- for a while.

I took a deep breath and wondered why I ran away from the hospitals and cities where the ED’s and shelters were. Was there some evil force dragging me, following me, and forcing me to feel this rage and helplessness?

I shook my head to clear the torment and focused on the coming encounter with my patient. My mind wandered over the smattering of information I had been given.

Grace Miles – 68 year old, single white female was living with an older sister, Harriett. I smiled. Aunt Hattie. Grace had been diagnosed with a second round of multiple myeloma and had opted to turn to Life Way Medical Corp instead of traditional treatment. Much of the treatment plan was the same; however the patient was able to remain in familiar surroundings while receiving the unkind treatments. The follow-up would be uploaded to a local clinic and also our own home clinicians. The database would be received by an incredibly competent and progressive staff. They would assess and direct the treatment range according to the patient’s response. I would be responsible for not only charting the treatment regime, but for taking the lab samples and sonograms that would be sent for review. In the meantime the patient and family avoided the trauma of a bustling impersonal clinical setting in the company of strangers. They would continue to see their own physician.

Observing the sadness of others in different stages of treatment was not always easy. Hence, one of the foundations of the treatment approach our company used. Every patient is unique and has a unique set of circumstances was the banner on the logo and indeed underscored the philosophy of our approach to disease. I was proud to be a part of a strong, intelligent, cutting edge medical movement. The thought brought me back to the present. I took a few moments to pull my hair back, and apply fresh lipstick, and crossed the hall back to my bedroom. I was quite ready to meet my patient. I took my bag and the bright daisy folder that I personally purchased for every patient and headed toward the kitchen where I had left Harriet…Aunt Hattie.

There was no one in the kitchen, so I turned for another door toward voices.

Hattie and her sister were sitting in old wicker chairs with a lazy cat on the ground between them. I purposely made noise as I approached, so I would not appear to be eavesdropping. I rounded the corner as Miss Miles looked toward me. Her tiny round face wreathed in smiles and she reached both hands toward me.

AH! she exclaimed in a tired sweet voice. you must be my medicine woman. She giggled slightly.

I took her hands in mine as I answered with what I hoped was an appropriately light answer.

Well, I’ve left my voodoo and powders at home, but I’m here as long as you want a nurse. I’m Angela and you are Miss Miles I take it? Your sister and I have met.

We are Aunts Angela. We are aunts to everyone on this side of the mountain. And I am Aunt Grace to you too. It sounds odd to hear Miss Miles. ‘Makes me wonder if my mama is back, er if I’ve died and jernd ‘er. You call me Aunt Grace now. Set down. Hattie tole me ‘bout the car problem. Those boys’ll have it back ‘ere fixed up by the time you need it.

I removed my hands from her and pulled a chair closer to hers. You have a beautiful place here. It is so peaceful. I almost never get to hear birds and winds and leaves…In the city we usually hear tires and sirens. I breathed deeply and felt a little guilty at having relaxed so completely. I looked over the back yard to a grove of trees that seemed to beckon to me. Beyond was the meadow and rising above it all was Siddow Mountain. Trees of every kind grew there contributing a multitude of shades and shapes. It wasn’t a big mountain, but it created a commanding view for the back yard.

Can you tell me how you’ve been feeling since your last clinic visit? I decided to gently nudge Grace to discuss her health concerns.

She sighed and looked down at her hands. Well, Honey, I have good days and bad days. The medicine helps the nawsha’s, but if I take it ever day all’s I wanna do is sleep. ‘Don wanna spend all my time in the bed. If I’da wanted that, I’da just stayed at the hospital.

For the first time Hattie spoke. I’m still not so sure that wuddn’t be best. No disrespect, Angela, but some days she kin barely git outta bed. I think I’d feel better if we had a bell to call a whole staff o’ nurses if we need ‘em.

I understand your concern- I started but Grace interrupted. I was beginning to feel like a junior high school child again.

Now Hattie, Grace said quietly. We been all over this. It’s my decision and I want to be at home, and that’s that. If God’s gonna heal me He kin do it here just as good, if not better.. this statement was punctuated by a stern nod of her little head.

Hattie’s lips pursed and she placed both hands on her knees. She leaned forward and fairly hissed, ‘An you’ll have what you want ‘cause you’re too stubborn to do anything else, whether it be better fer yer’ not! With that, she stood and walked toward the kitchen door mumbling something about supper after dark.

Grace shook her head. That girl’d pure argy with the good Lord, if he tole her he made the grass green and the sky blue.

I leaned a bit closer to her and said, You know I’ll bet she is trying really hard to keep your spirits up. And…I’ll bet you two have been fussing at each other for a long time.

Grace looked at me and beamed. ’Course we have. That’s what sisters do.

I thought that Dr. Conrad had cleared everything with her before he released you for homecare.

’Course he did. But Hattie get’s scairt that something will happen to me that she can’t take care of. Lord knows the ambylance takes long ‘nuff to git up here. Her voice trailed away, and I reassured her.

You know, Aunt Grace… I found the title surprisingly easier than I had with Hattie. We want you to have everything you need and if that includes changing your mind at some point that is ok. I reached over and patted her arm. I often found patients needed assurance that they could have every treatment protocol that was available to them whether they were at home or hospitalized.

Have you done your therapy since you have been home?

Grace looked at me and frowned. Humph!. Some therapy! I kin remember how to swing my arms and legs, an’ until I’m droolin’ in my soup, I don’ need a tape to show me how!

I grinned at her outburst. Well, I see you’ve watched the DVD. Just between you and me I wasn’t really impressed with it either.

A light breeze blew through the yard stirring the trees below. We sat silently for