Page 22 of Hope’s Enduring Echo
Etta
Etta left Jennie at the crowded general-merchandise store to do their shopping, then headed for the doctor’s office. Guilt accompanied her. Jennie already carried so much responsibility at home. Was it fair to expect her to gather their monthly stores on her own, especially since she’d seen to the task by herself last month, too? But Etta didn’t want her daughter listening to the conversation with Dr. Whiteside. If the doctor told her that Claude wasn’t ever going to be better, Jennie would feel obligated to stay with her folks and walk the pipeline. But Etta had made up her mind—Jennie was going to school in the fall. No matter what.
The town bustled with activity on this celebratory weekend, but the doctor’s small office was quiet. The only other person in the place besides her and the doctor was his wife, who served as a receptionist and extra pair of hands in the treatment room as needed. Since Etta was only there to talk, Dr. Whiteside invited Etta into his little office behind the examination room and closed the door.
He pulled a chair from the corner and positioned it in front of his desk. “Please, Mrs. Ward, have a seat.” She settled in the chair while he rounded the desk, sat down, and linked his hands on the desktop. “All right, what can I do for you?”
Suddenly the urge to cry struck hard. Etta removed a small handkerchief from her sleeve and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do.”
“Well, now,” he said with a light chuckle, “why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”
His easygoing manner invited Etta to divulge the difficulties of the past two years. She shared about Claude’s continued refusal to use his leg, his daily habit of sitting and staring out the window, his uncommunicativeness and mood swings that were becoming increasingly erratic, and the desperation she’d witnessed when he admitted he didn’t know why he couldn’t return to work.
“A student from the college in Denver is in Canon City for the summer, searching for fossils in the hills along the Arkansas River. He has become acquainted with our family and was privy to one of Claude’s irrational outbursts. He told me he’d studied different types of illnesses in one of his classes and suggested Claude might be suffering from a mental malady rather than a physical one. I believe he called it melancholia.” She felt as breathless as if she’d just run a race, but there was more she had to say. She gathered her courage and asked the question that had plagued her since Leo’s observation. “Do you think Claude might have an illness of the mind that traps him in despondence each day?”
Dr. Whiteside tapped his thumbs together a few times, his brows descending. “Mrs. Ward, I wish I could answer that for you, but to be honest, I have no training in illnesses of the mind.”
Etta sagged against the chair’s ladder back. “Oh.”
“Your husband should be examined by a doctor of psychiatry.”
She inwardly shuddered. Why did his statement seem so ominous? And how would she convince Claude to submit to such an assessment? “Is there one here in Canon City?”
The doctor’s face pursed in sympathy. “I’m afraid not. The only insane asylum in Colorado is in Pueblo.”
Insane asylum? She gaped at the kindly man. “Are you saying Claude has lost his mind?”
The doctor raised one hand and shook his head. “No, Mrs. Ward. I’m saying I don’t know what ails your husband. According to his last physical examination, his leg is able to support his weight, and the muscle structure is intact. Physically, he should be able to work. Yet you’re saying he can’t. If it isn’t a physical ailment, then he could be suffering from a mental ailment. But it would take a qualified doctor to make that determination, and the doctor at the insane asylum has the training to do so.”
“I…I see.” How would she get Claude to Pueblo? How long would they have to be there? Helplessness washed over her. She had come for answers but was being filled with more questions. She pinched her nose again and cleared her throat. “Doctor, I couldn’t even convince Claude to come into the city this weekend for activities he always enjoyed in the past. I know he’ll refuse to board a train and go to Pueblo, and I can’t force him. So what do you suggest I do?”
Compassion glowed in the doctor’s hazel eyes. “I wish I could make a diagnosis for you, Mrs. Ward, and give you a pill or some other treatment that would restore Claude to the man he used to be.”
She sighed out a sad laugh. “Oh, so do I.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a paper tablet and pen. “I can’t diagnose Claude, but I can share information with a colleague in Pueblo. If we feed him enough information, he might be able to give you an idea of what’s happening in Claude’s mind. Would you like to try?”
A flicker of hope ignited in the center of Etta’s chest. She crushed the hankie in her fist and sat forward. “Yes. Please.”
“All right, then.” He uncapped the pen and positioned it on the page. “Let’s talk a bit about Claude’s situation. When did you notice the onset of despondence?”
Etta searched her memory. “Well, as you know, he broke his leg in August of ’13. The period of healing wasn’t easy—he told me over and over again he was worthless. And he was missing his longtime companion, our shepherd dog, Rex, who died earlier in the summer. He deeply mourned the loss. But the despondence heightened in the fall and went deeper and deeper during the winter months. Emotionally, he slid further and further away from Jennie and me.”
She watched the tip of Dr. Whiteside’s pen record everything she said. Something occurred to her she hadn’t considered before. “You know, I’d seen him distance himself emotionally even before his accident, although not to the extent we have now. It started the year we moved out to the cabin. That was in June of 1909.” Her pulse sped, making her ears ring. “Yes, our first fall and all through the winter, he had what I teasingly called the winter blues. The same thing happened our second fall and winter, too. But he still went to work. He still did all his chores around the cabin. It wasn’t until after his accident that he parked himself in a chair and spent entire days staring out the window. That’s gone on for nearly two years now.”
Dr. Whiteside paused and fixed a concerned frown on her. “These ‘winter blues’…they came on with your move from town?”
“Yes, sir.” Why hadn’t she thought about it before? “He’s never been fond of the shorter winter days—always claimed it was too gloomy without the sun beaming down—but he didn’t suffer that way through the winter months when we lived here in Canon City.” She tilted her head, deep in thought, trying to make sense of this discovery. “Is there something out at the cabin that could be making him slip away from us?” But then why weren’t she and Jennie affected? They lived out there, too.
“I don’t know.” The doctor wrote several lines, the pen flying. He paused and looked at her, his thick gray eyebrows forming a V. “So…he sits all day?”
“Looking out the window,” Etta said, picturing Claude’s dismal pose. “Pretty much the only time he isn’t in that chair by the window is when he’s eating or sleeping.”
Dr. Whiteside seemed to perk up. “Have his eating or sleeping patterns changed?”
Etta couldn’t hold back an amused snort. “My mother used to say we were off our feed when we were sick. But whatever ails him hasn’t affected his appetite. He takes great pleasure in eating. Especially sweets. And as for sleeping, he sleeps a lot more. Goes to bed early, stays in bed late, and takes frequent naps in between. Yet he’s tired all the time, which doesn’t make sense since he isn’t wearing himself out from work.” Could continual sitting make a person tired? It seemed he should have energy to burn given all his resting.
The doctor wrote some more on the page, the scritch-scritch of his pen loud in the otherwise quiet office. Knowing he was recording her observations made them feel more official. Etta could only hope they would prove useful to the doctor in Pueblo.
Finally, he laid the pen aside and fixed his gaze on Etta. “Mrs. Ward, I won’t make any promises about whether this is enough information for a proper diagnosis. The doctor may very well insist you take Claude to Pueblo for observation and tests. But at least we can try.”
The relief that help might be forthcoming was so great that Etta blinked back tears. “Thank you for trying. Do you…do you have any suggestions of what to do while we wait? Do I let him sit, or should I encourage him to get up and walk?”
Dr. Whiteside sat for several minutes, his eyes seemingly locked on what he’d written. Then he clicked his tongue on his teeth and lifted his face. “Mrs. Ward, back before you folks moved to the cabin, I gave Claude the examination required by the Water Works Department owners to prove he was capable of the duties required for monitoring the pipeline. He was a strong, determined man who told me how important it was to him that you and Jennie were well cared for. I can’t reconcile that man with the one you just described, and I can’t help but think all the sitting has left Claude feeling weak and, as you said a bit ago, useless. He won’t feel useful until he regains his physical strength. So urge him to get out of that chair. You said he misses the sun during the shorter winter days. Well, it’s summer now. Get him outside, where he can soak up as much sunshine and fresh air as possible.”
Etta offered a weak shrug. “There isn’t a lot of sunshine for us to soak up out there. The mountains do a good job of blocking it even in the summer. We’re usually inside at the table, eating our lunch, during the brief time sunlight floods the valley.”
“Then take your lunch outside. Have picnics in your yard. You said he likes to eat. He’ll be catching the sun’s rays while he fills his belly.”
The doctor’s enthusiasm stirred Etta’s desire for action. “And if I spread a blanket on the ground for picnics, he’ll have to get himself down and up again. That’s exercise, isn’t it?”
Dr. Whiteside smiled. “Indeed it is. Exercise is good for his physical well-being and won’t do him harm even if he does have an illness of his mind.”
Etta nodded, eager. “Anything else?”
The man tapped his chin. “Well, you said he misses his dog. Maybe get another one for him to chase.”
Etta released a soft, rueful laugh. “We already have. The college student I told you about found an abandoned puppy and couldn’t keep it, so now we have it. Claude hasn’t bonded with it the way he did with Rex, but not because the pup isn’t trying. He hardly leaves Claude’s side.”
Dr. Whiteside nodded. “Claude might feel he’s dishonoring Rex by attaching himself to another pet. But in my experience with animals, they choose where to place their fiercest loyalties. It sounds to me that the pup has chosen Claude. Your husband is a kindhearted man—he won’t be able to refuse the dog forever. And the dog could very well give Claude a reason to get up and work his muscles.”
“I thought the same thing when he agreed to let us keep the puppy.” Etta pulled in a big breath and let it ease out slowly. The action refreshed her and reined in her scattered thoughts. “Dr. Whiteside, thank you for listening to me and for writing to the doctor in Pueblo. I’ll be back in town the first weekend in August. Do you think you’ll have a reply by then?”
He gently rocked in his chair. “I don’t know for sure, but we can hope so. If it comes sooner, how can I reach you?”
Etta answered without thinking. “The college student I mentioned—his name is Leo Day—works in the kitchen at the St. Cloud. As I said, he comes out every afternoon to search for fossils. He’s a very responsible young man. He would deliver the reply to me.” Odd how they’d already established a method for communicating. Maybe God had put the means in place for Etta to receive news that could finally point them to Claude’s restoration.
The doctor wrote Leo’s name on a scrap of paper and put it in a basket on his desk. Then he stood and walked Etta through the treatment room and to the front door. He paused and turned a puzzled look on her. “Mrs. Ward, if Claude is sitting in his chair all day, how does he inspect the pipeline?”
She’d held their secret close for so long. Allowing others to peek behind the curtain of protection she’d drawn sent cold chills up and down Etta’s spine. She gulped and forced an honest answer. “Jennie walks the line and reports to her daddy.” Then she clasped her hands under her chin. “Please don’t share what I’ve told you with anyone. Claude might not have much left, but he still has his pride. It would shame him if the whole town knew his little girl had taken over his job.” She added, more forcefully, “Besides, she won’t be doing it much longer. She’s moving to town for her final year of school at the end of August.”
A smile softened his expression. “Then it’s imperative we encourage Claude to regain his strength.”
She nodded hard. “Yes.”
He patted her shoulder. “I’ll hold all aspects of our conversation in confidence, Mrs. Ward. Let’s hope the doctor in Pueblo will answer quickly with ideas to help Claude.”
Etta’s only sustenance was hope. She gripped it with every ounce of her being and bid the doctor farewell.