Just before my mother followed her husband, Sam, to Jacksonville, Florida in 1968 she made a special trip to make preparations to go to college. She made application, took tests and introduced herself to all who could possibly help her. This was her great adventure. While in Charleston she managed to attain her G.E.D., a goal her mother and her husband strongly discouraged. “It’ll hurt too much when you fail,” they insisted. “And, why do you need it anyway?” She had pressed on against the tide, gained her High School diploma and now was prepared to really launch into the deep. She would make something of her life or die trying. She would prove her mother’s nickname for her, “Stupid”, was inappropriate and cruel.
Once she was moved into her home and was settling in she found the local druggist would not honor an out of state prescription. She practically begged him to renew her prescription for birth control. She desperately did not want to become pregnant in her forties and derail her college career. The druggist compromised with her. Once she proved to him she was a married woman, which was a requirement in those days, he gave her one month of pills. He then directed her to an OB/BYN, Dr. Hagle, who had a good reputation. He would fill her script when she returned with a valid Florida prescription.
She entered the doctor’s office and explained to him no examination was necessary, for she had just received one in Charleston and only needed a current Rx for birth control pills. Dr. Hagle just frowned, turned around to find his gloves and said curtly, “Take your pants off.”
After the exam she put her hand to the plow, assured her way was clear. She would conquer any book, problem or course of study demanded of her. Then one afternoon, six weeks later Dad answered a call from Dr. Hagle. My Dad disintegrated as the doctor told him, “Mrs. Templeman has suspicions of Type III cancer and needs surgery right away. Dad relayed the news and immediately went into hysterics. My younger brother and I began tracking Dad around, trying to comfort him while Mom digested the news of her soon demise with sober reflection. As Dad commanded our attention she got up and fixed herself a cup of coffee and contemplated her options
Mom went in to the doctor’s office not long after and had a procedure called, D&C. She refers to it as “dusting and cleaning”. During the procedure she was put under anesthesia. There, Dr. Hagle discovered the diagnosis of Type III cancer was correct. So, he had Mom brought out of unconsciousness so he could get her permission to do surgery.
“Absolutely not,” she insisted.
“But, you’ll die!” The doctor was not ready for her resistance. He fussed with her and eventually asked my mother who was certainly groggy from the anesthesia, “Why not?”
“Why not? I just entered college and I got a four point ‘O’ going.”
Her answer brought on a fog of uncertain silence and the doctor tried to decide how to direct this conversation. “Well, Mrs. Templeman, it’s your decision, but you must promise to come in for a complete hysterectomy as soon as possible.” He paused for effect. He felt certain he had her attention. He looked at her and insisted, “Do I have your absolute promise?”
“Well Doctor,” she said as she gestured toward his gloves and the table she was laying on, “there’s enough blood. I’ll sign in blood if you want. But, I am going to complete my first semester. And,” she accurately predicted, “I’m going to get my 4.0.” The doctor and his staff could not help but laugh, put her back under, and finish their procedure. And wait until Mom was ready for her hysterectomy.
All came out exactly as she had determined. Cancer free now for over thirty years and two master’s degrees with academic honors. All of this she attributes to the power and love of God and a positive faith. And, I think, a plucky attitude fits in that equation somewhere.
Louis Templeman
(Stethoscope by a.drian via Flickr)
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