troubled, as if he had more on his mind.
“Mr. Walton, I realize how much you and your family hoped the Sister Kenny treatment might turn out to be a miracle cure for Mrs. Walton. And I can see that from your viewpoint I sounded very negative about it. But I think you are a realistic man. You know that nothing is ever pure white or pure black. So I’ll say this off the record—and with not a whole lot of scientific evidence to back it up. Personally, I don’t see how the Sister Kenny treatment can do any harm. And with your wife’s attitude, it just might be the right combination to bring off some kind of a miracle.”
John was surprised by the statement. He also appreciated how difficult it was for the man to make it. “But you don’t think I should tell Livvy.”
“No, I don’t. People react differently to doctors’ advice. Some become so dependent on it they make no effort on their own. Others—sometimes because they have no faith in doctors at all—bring about their own cures through sheer determination. They just say to themselves they’ll be damned if they’ll let any bug interfere with their lives. Your wife is a strong woman. I think she just might be better off making the decision on her own rather than depending on someone else’s opinion.”
“What if Dr. Vance recommends against the treatment?”
“If he does, I would consider his advice very seriously. But in the end it’s still her decision. And it’s possible that Dr. Vance might think the treatment has a great deal to offer. It wouldn’t surprise me if he endorsed it wholeheartedly.”
John nodded. “Yes, I reckon that’s possible.” It would certainly simplify things, he reflected.
The doctor suddenly smiled. “Mr. Walton, you’ve got a fine family. I can’t tell you how much I was impressed by that oldest boy of yours. And no matter how all this comes out, you’ve still got something very valuable in this house. Your wife’s illness isn’t going to change that.”
The statement was both flattering and mildly pessimistic. Before John could respond to it, the doctor waved and the car pulled away.
VI
D r. Miller’s visit seemed to have settled nothing. If anything, John-Boy had the feeling the doctor thought his mother should try and make the best of spending her life in a wheelchair. And John-Boy got little encouragement when he delivered the pamphlets to Dr. Vance. The doctor had come out to his crowded waiting room for only a minute, and was puzzled by the literature.
“It’s about the Sister Kenny treatment,” John-Boy explained, “Dr. Miller at Boatwright College got the pamphlets for us, and he thought you might be interested in readin’ ’em.”
“Oh, I see. You mean for your mother.”
“Yes sir.”
The doctor nodded and slid the pamphlets into the pocket of his smock. “Is she having any discomfort from the splints?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s good. I’ll be over to see her tomorrow.”
“We’d appreciate it if you’d read the pamphlets, Dr. Vance.”
“I will.” He gave John-Boy a distracted smile and disappeared.
The next morning John-Boy had another surprise.
As far back as he could remember, the only occasions on which his father ever went to church were Christmas and sometimes Easter—or when some friend or relative died. But after the dishes were washed and dried and John-Boy headed up the stairs to get ready for church, he met his father coming down the hall wearing a suit and a necktie. He looked as casual about his appearance as if he dressed that way every day.
“You goin’ to church, Daddy?”
“Yep,” his father said and went on down the stairs.
Only Erin stayed home with Olivia, and until all the kids got in back of the truck and they drove off, no one said a word.
“How come Daddy’s goin’ to church?” Elizabeth finally asked.
“I reckon he just feels like it,” John-Boy shrugged, and the subject was dropped.
In the church nobody questioned his presence.
“Mr. Walton, I realize how much you and your family hoped the Sister Kenny treatment might turn out to be a miracle cure for Mrs. Walton. And I can see that from your viewpoint I sounded very negative about it. But I think you are a realistic man. You know that nothing is ever pure white or pure black. So I’ll say this off the record—and with not a whole lot of scientific evidence to back it up. Personally, I don’t see how the Sister Kenny treatment can do any harm. And with your wife’s attitude, it just might be the right combination to bring off some kind of a miracle.”
John was surprised by the statement. He also appreciated how difficult it was for the man to make it. “But you don’t think I should tell Livvy.”
“No, I don’t. People react differently to doctors’ advice. Some become so dependent on it they make no effort on their own. Others—sometimes because they have no faith in doctors at all—bring about their own cures through sheer determination. They just say to themselves they’ll be damned if they’ll let any bug interfere with their lives. Your wife is a strong woman. I think she just might be better off making the decision on her own rather than depending on someone else’s opinion.”
“What if Dr. Vance recommends against the treatment?”
“If he does, I would consider his advice very seriously. But in the end it’s still her decision. And it’s possible that Dr. Vance might think the treatment has a great deal to offer. It wouldn’t surprise me if he endorsed it wholeheartedly.”
John nodded. “Yes, I reckon that’s possible.” It would certainly simplify things, he reflected.
The doctor suddenly smiled. “Mr. Walton, you’ve got a fine family. I can’t tell you how much I was impressed by that oldest boy of yours. And no matter how all this comes out, you’ve still got something very valuable in this house. Your wife’s illness isn’t going to change that.”
The statement was both flattering and mildly pessimistic. Before John could respond to it, the doctor waved and the car pulled away.
VI
D r. Miller’s visit seemed to have settled nothing. If anything, John-Boy had the feeling the doctor thought his mother should try and make the best of spending her life in a wheelchair. And John-Boy got little encouragement when he delivered the pamphlets to Dr. Vance. The doctor had come out to his crowded waiting room for only a minute, and was puzzled by the literature.
“It’s about the Sister Kenny treatment,” John-Boy explained, “Dr. Miller at Boatwright College got the pamphlets for us, and he thought you might be interested in readin’ ’em.”
“Oh, I see. You mean for your mother.”
“Yes sir.”
The doctor nodded and slid the pamphlets into the pocket of his smock. “Is she having any discomfort from the splints?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s good. I’ll be over to see her tomorrow.”
“We’d appreciate it if you’d read the pamphlets, Dr. Vance.”
“I will.” He gave John-Boy a distracted smile and disappeared.
The next morning John-Boy had another surprise.
As far back as he could remember, the only occasions on which his father ever went to church were Christmas and sometimes Easter—or when some friend or relative died. But after the dishes were washed and dried and John-Boy headed up the stairs to get ready for church, he met his father coming down the hall wearing a suit and a necktie. He looked as casual about his appearance as if he dressed that way every day.
“You goin’ to church, Daddy?”
“Yep,” his father said and went on down the stairs.
Only Erin stayed home with Olivia, and until all the kids got in back of the truck and they drove off, no one said a word.
“How come Daddy’s goin’ to church?” Elizabeth finally asked.
“I reckon he just feels like it,” John-Boy shrugged, and the subject was dropped.
In the church nobody questioned his presence.
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