My Friend, St. Peter and Other Short Stories
by
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As those years of practice accumulated, I continued to watch this process in awe and then I realized that I had developed an expertise in a field in which less than five percent of the physicians felt comfortable. I was a "good dying doctor." This is not a recognized specialty. Nobody lists themselves in the "yellow pages". There are no boards to pass. And yet it is a most important part of medical practice. In moments of reflection, I would find myself almost imagining that I was guiding my patient along a path. A path which ended with the patient’s death. Having been raised a Christian; it is natural that I would use the symbol of "The Pearly Gates" and of "St. Peter." As one of my favorite avocations is to stroll on paths in lovely gardens or parks, I fantasized that we were walking on a path in a garden. Sometimes, it was only a short walk of a few hours. Sometimes it took several years. We talked of many things. If they wanted to discuss their illness, I was always willing to answer any question. Fortunately, my parents had tutored me in the field of conversation so that I could carry my side quite satisfactorily. Sometimes, they did not seem to want to talk, or their illness prevented them from conversing. But I was there walking beside them and seeing that they were not making this trip unaccompanied. Sometimes there were difficult parts of the path, almost like a stream we had to cross walking on stones to get over the stream. I would offer them a steadying hand in my fantasy. In real life the hand would be morphine or medication. Where does fantasy end and actual life occur? Even here, there is a blending. As I wrote the past few paragraphs, I was reminded of a visit Mary and I made to a beautiful part of Zion Park named the "Kolob Canyons Area." It was in late spring and the foliage and flowers were gorgeous as we strolled down into the canyon and crossed the creek several times, assisting each other, balancing on the half-submerged stones. I find myself fantasying that that stroll was a microcosm of our more than fifty years together. This is the way we are going through life, walking, hand in hand, along the path that leads to the "Pearly Gates" where one of us will pass through and the other one will return at a later time. Because, I realized that I had this expertise, I have assumed the task of walking this path with not only my regular patients but with people who were very close to me. My Cousin Win had befriended me in my youth. Our stroll took almost three years to complete. He was a retired physician. It was most interesting to me as we shared our observations of the passage as two physicians commenting on the problems encountered on the way. And when his wife, Cousin Sadie, took the path, it lasted only about eight hours. When I accompanied my father, he could not talk to me. (He had a massive stroke.) I assisted him, and when my mother would come to see him in the hospital, I made sure that he appeared to be making the journey without any difficulty. My father would have wanted this. When I accompanied my mother, it was a long and wearying path. She suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease and it took seven years to make that journey. I felt I was most fortunate to be able to go the whole distance with her until in her 95th year we reached the "Pearly Gates." And there was St. Peter. He asked me. "Hello Scott. Whom have you brought this time?" I replied. "St Peter. This is my mother." And I left her there, with him.
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About the Book
In the first part of this past century, when the author was born, radios were a rarity and a plaything of the wealthy. Of course there was no television. The motion picture was an innovation. Common wisdom was, that vaudeville and the theater had nothing to fear from this newcomer. Most entertainment involved conversation. This was encouraged in the summer time, by the wide front porches, and in the winter, seated in the living room, in front of the fireplace. Naturally, much of conversation involved the telling of stories of events that had occurred. As Dr. Mighell grew up, he listened to these stories of his ancestors going back into the nineteenth century. He began to experience the Great Depression in his developmental years. He was determined to become a physician even though America became involved in World War II, with the natural disruptions that this meant in the lives of all young men in their twenties. He ended up a medical officer in the air force but was finally able to return to a life of normalcy completing his medical education and practicing general surgery for fifty years. Dr. Mighell has drawn on this background as he has written these interesting stories, some of which were handed down to him by word of mouth. Some are his actual experiences growing up in a small town in Iowa during the time of a severe depression. Many are from his years of practicing medicine. All of his generation experienced the anger of Pearl Harbor, followed by the determination to win that war, and upon its completion, the returning to the type of life, which had been so rudely interrupted. He shows a determined commitment to the history of America as he reveals the nature of a distinctly Middle Western consciousness. He arranged these stories, as a conversation would occur...not in any categorical order but more as the free flow of thought when two friends meet and recount various events, as they would come to mind. Thus the reader can enjoy a visit of varying length, returning at a later time to resume further discussion. Please enjoy these visits, and return as frequently as you desire. Stay as long or as short a time, as you can spare.
About the Author
Scott J. Mighell, M.D. was raised in a small town in central Iowa during the depression that lingered on through his childhood and did not end until World War II pulled the country out of it. As a child, he wanted to "ride in the cavalry." Hitler’s overrunning of Europe made him realize, as did many military geniuses, that the time of the horse cavalry had come to an end. By the time the United States became involved in the war, he had embarked on studying medicine at the State University of Iowa. Like all other young men of his age, he became a part of the military establishment. Eventually, he ended up as the only medical officer at Laoag Army Airbase on the northern tip of Luzon Island in the Philippine Islands. It was truly a tropical paradise populated by a large number of natives that suffered many exotic diseases and were desperately in need of medical attention. For a young physician, who had just completed his medical studies and was anxious to put his newly learned knowledge to practice, this was a wonderful new world. After he completed his military service, he returned to further studies in general surgery and when he completed this phase of his education he set up his surgical practice in Long Beach, California. He practiced there for over forty years, which he and his physician friends refer to as the "golden years of medicine." He is now enjoying his retirement years in Long Beach as he records his memory of "the years gone by."