Maybe having gone through this had been the start of Evelyn’s fear of anything having to do with doctors or hospitals. She didn’t know; all she knew was that the thought of going to a doctor made her literally break out in a cold sweat and start to shake all over. And just the sound of the word cancer caused the hair on the back of her arms to stand up. She had stopped touching her breasts at all, anymore, because one time she had felt a lump and almost fainted. Fortunately, it turned out to be Kleenex that had stuck to her bra in the wash. She knew it was an unreasonable fear and that she really should go in for a checkup. They say you should have one every year. She knew she should do it, if not her her sake, for her children’s sake. She knew all that, but it didn’t make any difference. She’d had a few moments of bravery and made appointments for a checkup, but she always canceled them at the last minute.
The last time she had been to a doctor was six years ago, for a bladder infection. All she wanted was for the doctor to prescribe some antibiotics over the phone, but he made her come in and insisted on giving her a pelvic exam. Lying there with her feet in the stirrups, she wondered if there was anything worse than having some man you didn’t know reach inside of you, looking for things, like you were a grab-bag.
The doctor asked how long it had been since her last breast exam. Evelyn lied and said, “Three months ago.”
He said, “Well, as long as you’re here, I might as well do another one.”
She started talking a mile a minute to try and distract him, but in the middle of it, he said, “Uh-oh, I don’t like the feel of this.”
The days of waiting for the test results had been almost unbearable. She’d walked around in a nightmarish fog, praying and bargaining with a God she was not even sure she believed in. She promised, if he would only let her not have cancer, she would never complain about anything again. She would spend the rest of her life just being happy to be alive, doing good works for the poor, and going to church every day.
But the day after she found out she was fine and would not be dead soon, as she had imagined, she went back to being just like she was. Only now, after that scare, she was convinced that every pain was cancer, and if she went to the doctor to see if it was, she was sure that not only would it be true, but that he would listen with a stethoscope to her heart and rush her to the hospital for open-heart surgery before she could escape. She began living with one foot in the grave. When she looked at her palm, she even imagined that her life line was getting shorter.
She knew she couldn’t go through any more days of waiting for test results, and decided that she really did not want to know if anything was wrong, and preferred to drop dead in her tracks, never knowing.
This morning, as they drove out to the nursing home, she realized that her life was becoming unbearable. Every morning she would play games with herself, just to get her through the day. Like telling herself that today something wonderful was going to happen … that the next time the phone would ring, it would be good news that would change her life … or that she was going to get a surprise in the mail. But it was never anything but junk mail, a wrong number, a neighbor wanting something.
The quiet hysteria and awful despair had started when she finally began to realize that nothing was ever going to change, that nobody would be coming for her to take her away. She began to feel as if she were at the bottom of a well, screaming, no one to hear.
Lately, it had been an endless procession of long, black nights and gray mornings, when her sense of failure swept over her like a five-hundred-pound wave; and she was scared. But it wasn’t death that she feared. She had looked down into that black pit of death and had wanted to jump in, once too often. As a matter of fact, the thought began to appeal to her more and more.
She even knew how she would kill herself. It would be with a silver bullet. As round and as smooth as an ice-cold blue martini. She would place the gun in the freezer for a few hours before she did it, so it would feel frosty and cold against her head. She could almost feel the ice-cold bullet shooting through her hot, troubled brain, freezing the pain for good. The sound of the gun blast would be the last sound she would ever hear. And then … nothing. Maybe just the silent sound that a bird might hear, flying in the clean, cool air, high above the earth. The sweet, pure air of freedom.
No, it wasn’t death she was afraid of. It was this life of hers that was beginning to remind her of that gray intensive care waiting room.
MAY 16, 1934
Gopher Bite Report
Bertha Vick reported that Friday night, at about 2 A.M. in the morning, she went to the bathroom and was bitten by a gopher rat that had come up through the pipes and into her toilet. She said she ran and woke up Harold, who did not believe her, but he went in and looked, and sure enough, there it was swimming around in the toilet.
My other half said that the floods must have been the reason it came up through the pipes. Bertha said she did not care what caused it, that she would always be sure to look before she sat down anywhere.
Harold is having the gopher rat stuffed.
Was anybody else’s light bill high this month? Mine was very high, which I think is strange, but my other half was off for a week, fishing with his brother Alton, and he is the one who always leaves the lights on. Let me know.
By the way, Essie Rue has a job over in Birmingham, playing the Protective Life organ for the “Protective Life Insurance Company Radio Show” on W.A.P.I., so be sure and listen.
… Dot Weems …
JANUARY 19, 1986
Mrs. Threadgoode guessed that Evelyn hadn’t come out to the nursing home that Sunday, and she was taking a walk on the side corridor, where they keep the walkers and the wheelchairs. As she turned the corner, there was Evelyn, sitting all by herself in one of the wheelchairs, eating a Baby Ruth candy bar, with big tears streaming down her face. Mrs. Threadgoode went over to her.
“Honey, what in the world is the matter?”
Evelyn glanced up at Mrs. Threadgoode and said, “I don’t know,” and continued to cry and eat her candy.
“Come on, honey, get your purse, let’s walk a little.” Mrs. Threadgoode took her hand and pulled her up from the chair, and began to walk her up the corridor and back.
“Now, tell me, honey, what is it? What’s the matter? What are you so sad over?”
Evelyn said, “I don’t know,” and burst into tears all over again.
“Oh sugar, things cain’t be all that bad. Let’s start one by one, and you tell me some of the things that are bothering you.”
“Well … it just seems like since my children went off to college, I just feel useless.”
Mrs. Threadgoode said, “That’s perfectly understandable, honey, everybody goes through that.”
Evelyn continued, “And … and I just cain’t seem to stop eating. I’ve tried and tried, every day I wake up and think that today I’m gonna stay on my diet, and every day I go off. I hide candy bars all over the house and in the garage. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”
Mrs. Threadgoode said, “Well, honey, a candy bar’s not gonna hurt you.”
Evelyn said, “One’s all right; not six or eight. I just wish I had the guts to get really fat and be done with it, or to have the willpower to lose weight and be really thin. I just feel stuck … stuck right in the middle. Women’s lib came too late for me … I was already married with two children when I found out that I didn’t have to get married. I thought you had to. What did I know? And now it’s too late to change … I feel like life has just passed me by.” Then she turned to Mrs. Threadgoode, tears still running down her face. “Oh Mrs. Threadgoode, I’m too young to be old and too old to be young. I just don’t fit anywhere. I wish I could kill myself, but I don’t have the courage.”
Mrs. Threadgoode was appalled. “Why, Evelyn Couch, you mustn’t even think such a thing. That’s like sticking a sword in the side of Jesus! That’s just silly talk, honey—you’ve just got to pull yourself together and open your hea
rt to the Lord. He’ll help you. Now, let me ask you this. Are your breasts sore?”
Evelyn looked at her. “Well, sometimes.”
“Does your back and legs ache?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Simple, honey. You’re just going through a bad case of menapause, that’s all that’s the matter with you. What you need is to take your hormones and to get out every day and walk in the fresh air and walk yourself right through it. That’s what I did when I was in it. I used to burst into tears eating a steak, just thinkin’ about that poor cow. I like to have drove Cleo crazy, crying all time, thinking nobody loved me. And whenever I’d get to pestering him so bad, he’d say, ‘Now, Ninny, it’s time for your B-12 shot.’ And he’d give me a B-12 shot right in the backside.
“I got out and walked every day, alongside the railroad tracks, up and down, just like we’re doing now, and pretty soon I had walked my way right through it and I was back to normal.”
“But I thought I was too young to be going through it,” Evelyn said. “I just turned forty-eight.”
“Oh no, honey, lots of women go through it early. Why, there was this woman over in Georgia who was only thirty-six years old, and one day she got in her car and drove right up the stairs of the county courthouse, rolled down her window, and tossed her mother’s head, that she had just chopped off in her kitchen, at a state policeman, and hollered, ‘Here, this is what you wanted,’ and drove right back down the courthouse stairs. Now, that’s what an early menapause will do for you if you’re not careful.”
“Do you really think that’s what’s the matter with me? Is that why I’ve been so irritable?”
“Sure it is. Oh, it’s worse than a merry-go-round … up and down, down and up … and as far as your weight goes, you don’t want to be skinny. Why, just take a look at all these old people out here, most of them are just skin and bones. Or just go to the Baptist hospital and visit the cancer ward. Those people would love to have a few extra pounds. Those poor souls are struggling to keep weight on. So, stop worrying about your weight and be thankful you’re healthy! What you need to do is to read your daily Word, along with Psalm Ninety, every morning, and it will help you just like it did me.”
Evelyn asked Mrs. Threadgoode if she ever got depressed.
Mrs. Threadgoode answered truthfully. “No honey, I cain’t say I have been lately, I’m too busy being grateful for His blessings—why, I’ve had so many blessings I cain’t even count them. Now, don’t get me wrong, everybody’s got their sorrows, and some more than most.”
“But you seem so happy, like you never had a care in the world.”
Mrs. Threadgoode laughed at the thought. “Oh honey, I’ve buried my share, and each one hurt as bad as the last one. And there have been times when I’ve wondered why the good Lord handed me so many sorrowful burdens, to the point where I thought I just couldn’t stand it one more day. But He only gives you what you can handle and no more … and I’ll tell you this: You cain’t dwell on sadness, oh, it’ll make you sick faster than anything in this world.”
Evelyn said, “You’re right. I know you’re right. Ed said maybe I should go and see a psychiatrist or something.”
“Honey, you don’t need to go and do that. Anytime you want to talk to someone, you just come and see me. I’d be happy to talk to you. Be more than happy to have the company.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Threadgoode, I will.” She looked at her watch. “Well, I’d better go, Ed’s gonna be mad at me.”
She opened her purse and blew her nose with a Kleenex that earlier had been full of chocolate-covered peanuts. “You know, I feel better, I really do!”
“Well, I’m glad, and I’m gonna pray for your nerves, honey. You need to go to church and ask the Lord to lighten your burdens and see you through this bad period, just like He’s done for me so many times.”
Evelyn said, “Thank you … well, I’ll see you next week,” and headed down the hall.
Mrs. Threadgoode called out after her, “And in the meantime, you get yourself some Stresstabs Number Ten!”
“Number Ten!”
“Yes! Number Ten!”
JUNE 8, 1935
Drama Club Has Hit
The Whistle Stop Drama Club put on their annual play Friday night, and I want to say, Good work, girls. The name of the play was Hamlet, by the English playwright Mr. William Shakespeare, who is no stranger to Whistle Stop because he also wrote last year’s play.
Hamlet was played by Earl Adcock, Jr., and his sweetheart was played by Dr. Hadley’s niece, Mary Bess, who is visiting us from out of town. In case you missed the play, she ends up killing herself in the end. I am sorry to report that I had trouble hearing her, but then, I think the child is too young to travel, anyway.
The roles of Hamlet’s mother and daddy were played by Reverend Scroggins and Vesta Adcock, who is president of the Drama Club and, as we all know, Earl Jr.’s real mother.
Music for the production was provided by our own Essie Rue Limeway, who made the sword fighting scene all the more exciting.
By the way, Vesta says that next year’s show will be a pageant that she is writing, entitled, The History of Whistle Stop, so if anyone has any, send it to her.
… Dot Weems …
JANUARY 26, 1986
Evelyn stopped just long enough to say a polite hello to her mother-in-law and headed on back to the lounge, where her friend was waiting.
“Well, how are you today, honey?”
“Fine, Mrs. Threadgoode. How are you?”
“Well, I’m fine. Did you ever get yourself some of those Stresstabs like I told you?”
“I sure did.”
“Did they help?”
“You know, Mrs. Threadgoode, I think they have.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”
Evelyn started digging in her purse.
“Well, what you got in there today?”
“Three boxes of Raisinettes for us, if I can find them.”
“Raisinettes? Well, that ought to be good.”
She watched Evelyn as she searched. “Honey, aren’t you afraid you’ll get ants in your purse, carrying all those sugary, sweet things in there?”
“Well, I never really thought about it,” Evelyn said, and found what she was looking for, plus a box of Junior Mints.
“Thank you, honey, I just love candy. I used to love Tootsie Rolls, but, you know, those things can pull your teeth out if you’re not careful—a Bit-O-Honey will do the same thing!”
A black nurse named Geneene came in, looking for Mr. Dunaway to give him his tranquilizers, but there were only the two women sitting in the room, as usual.
After she left, Mrs. Threadgoode made the observation of how peculiar it seemed to her that colored people came in so many different shades.
“Now, you take Onzell, Big George’s wife … she was a pecan-colored woman, with red hair and freckles. She said it nearly broke her momma’s heart when she married George, because he was so black. But she couldn’t help it, said she loved a big black man and George was sure the biggest and blackest man you ever saw. Then Onzell had the twin boys and Jasper was light like her, and Artis was so black he had blue gums. Onzell said she couldn’t believe that something that black had come out of her.”
“Blue gums?”
“Oh yes, honey, and you cain’t get any blacker than that! And then next, here comes Willie Boy, as light as she was, with green eyes. Of course, his real name was Wonderful Counselor, named right out of the Bible, but we called him Willie Boy.”
“Wonderful Counselor? I don’t remember that. Are you sure that’s from the Bible?”
“Oh yes … it’s in there. Onzell showed us the very quote: ‘And he shall be called wonderful counselor.’ Onzell was a very religious person. She always said if anything was starting to get her down, all she had to do was to think of her sweet Jesus, and her spirit would rise, just like those buttermilk biscuits she baked. And then came Naughty Bird, as b
lack as her daddy, with that funny nappy hair, but she didn’t have blue gums …”
“Don’t tell me that name came out of the Bible!”
Mrs. Threadgoode laughed. “Oh, Lord no, honey. Sipsey used to say that she looked like a skinny little bird, and when she was little she would always run in the kitchen and steal a couple of those buttermilk biscuits her mother was making and run under the cafe and eat them. So Sipsey started calling her Naughty Bird. Come to think of it, she did look like a little blackbird.… But, there they were, two black ones and two light ones, in the same family.
“It’s funny, now that I think about it, there aren’t any colored people here at Rose Terrace at all, except the ones that clean up and some of the nurses … and one of them is just as smart, she’s a full-blown registered nurse. Geneene’s her name, a cute and sassy little thing, and talks as smart and big as you please. She reminds me a bit of Sipsey, independent-like.
“Old Sipsey lived at home by herself until the day she died. That’s where I want to be when I go, in my own house. I don’t ever want to go back into the hospital. When you get to be my age, every time you go in, you wonder if you’re ever gonna get back out. I don’t think hospitals are safe, anyway.
“My neighbor Mrs. Hartman said she had a cousin in the hospital over in Atlanta that told her that a patient there went out of his room to get a breath of fresh air, and they didn’t find him until six months later, locked out on the sixth-floor roof. Said by the time they found him, there wasn’t anything left but a skeleton in a hospital gown. Mr. Dunaway told me that when he was in the hospital, they stole his false teeth right out of the glass when he was being operated on. Now, what kind of a person would steal an old man’s teeth?”
“I don’t know,” Evelyn said.