Richlands, NC:  As of 2008, our population was 938 with a median household income of $25,300.  We are rural but growing due to our proximity to Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base located 20 miles away in Jacksonville, NC.  Our nearest hospital is in Jacksonville.

When I was a kid, we had one doctor servicing the town who was in his seventies.  Respected and a liked by our town, Dr. Mease knew everyone and their history.  He didn’t have to look at a chart.  He didn’t have fancy medical devices.  He was one who was trusted and never turned a patient away.  He was the epitome of the “town doctor”.  When his health started fading and he became too ill he stopped practicing medicine which left a void.

If you didn’t know, news travels like wild fire in a small town.  If you want to know anything at all, go to the barber shop.  That is where I learned that Dr. Dabney came to town.  Not to sound stereotypical, but when we heard a new “doc” was a “she”, I didn’t exactly have a good feeling – I always had male doctors for some reason.

I remember needing to see a doctor one day so I made my first appointment and met her with some reservation.  I can honestly say I very pleased with her professionalism, her staff, and more than that – her caring nature.  She didn’t know me at all.  That was years ago.  Today, our entire family proudly calls her our personal physician. 

She treated my mother-in-law when she was dying of cancer.  As Laura laid in bed under hospice care, Dr. Dabney would stop by two to three times a week to “check on her”.  Her visits were uplifting to Laura and meant so much to our family.   She wasn’t playing favorites by visiting us or trying to drum up business.  She was simply living up to her oath and making a dying woman’s last days better.

She’s caring.  I’ve observed her in the local Piggly Wiggly deli greeting patrons and holding “office hours on the go” often instructing them to come in for an appointment because she detected a change in their health.  Dr. Dabney doesn’t practice medicine – she improves lives through medicine as best she can.

Don’t be misled by my positive comments.  She can be assertive too – but for you own good.  My brother has been a long-time patient as well.  It seems she told him to lose a certain amount of weight by his next appointment and to undergo some lifestyle changes.  When he showed up with no positive results, she told him to stop coming to her and wasting his money if he wasn’t going to adhere to her treatment plans. That got his attention more than our nagging him. 

The next time he showed up for an appointment, he made the mistake of telling her his chest was hurting.  She excused herself for a moment and returned to the examining room a short time later.  “Where are your keys?” she asked.  Brother promptly gave them to her.  “You’re going to the emergency room by ambulance.  It will be here in a minute.”  She knew better than to give brother any opportunity of leaving.  Today, I remember that story and laugh.  At the time, she could have saved his life.

I would assume that being a physician is hard – more so in a small town.  A certain amount of personal sacrifice is to be expected and endured.  Patients have high expectations of immediate cures.  Everyone expects to know the exact cause of their malady.  The simple act of walking through the bank, convenience store, or any place and being stopping for free medical advice is probably an everyday occurrence.  Can you imagine having to deal with all of us who have diagnosed our ills by comparing our symptoms to Aunt June’s 10 years ago? When these things happen, she gives everyone the same professional, personal attention regardless of her schedule or time of day.  The patient is the focus in the examining room and not maintaining a time table.  All of these things make her special, respected, and our “home town doc”.

I can’t help but think that our little town would have been different without Dr. Dabney to some degree.  Sure, another doctor would have come if fate hadn’t stepped in to place her here.  But would they have ”fit in”as well as she does?  Would they have assumed the same prominent position as the “home town doc” vacated by Dr. Mease?  Knowing the impact we have on someone’s life is difficult at times.  Knowing what might have been is impossible.

Thank you Dr. Dabney.

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About 9 years ago, we went to the front door of our home after hearing frantic knocking. Jake, our 8 year old son, was outside playing with Clay, the 12 year old from across the street.  Clay was then, and is now, a super young man that can always be trusted.  He and Jake were like brothers doing everything together and always enjoying each other’s company despite their age difference. 

When my wife opened the door, a neighbor told her she found Jake crying. There had evidently been an accident and Jake was holding several bloody paper towels over one of his eyes.  The natural response is to remove the paper towels to see what damage had been inflicted.  As soon as they were removed, you could see a very small “bur” or “stick” stuck in Jake’s eye directly over his pupil.  Despite being horrified, we simply told Jake we needed to go to the doctor.  We packed up in the car and drove the 20 minutes to our local hospital emergency room (ER). I tried to maintain a sense of calm but I’m sure my driving spoke volumes.

Jake told us what had happened when we got into the car.  It seems he and Clay were playing “pine cone war” and were throwing pine cones at each other.  As Clay was running away from Jake, he tossed a pine cone over his shoulder without aiming and it struck Jake in the eye leaving the “needle”.  I played “pine cone war” as a child and never dreamed an accident like this could occur.  At that age, you’re bullet proof and somehow unable to see any danger.

Once at the ER we went straight to the triage nurse.  She never looked at Jake’s eye but instructed us in a matter of fact manner to fill out a small piece of paper stating the nature of the visit, our names, address, etc. and place it in a basket and someone would be with us in time.  We completed the paperwork and found a seat in the waiting area.  The waiting area accommodates approximately 30 people and there were about that many waiting. 

Jake sat in his mother’s lap quietly.  While waiting, I looked around the room and found myself guessing why they were at the ER that night.  One clearly had a terrible cold because they coughed, “sniffed”, and blew their nose the entire time.  One little boy had a broken arm because he yelled intermittently “it hurts” as loud as possible while it dangled by his side.  An elderly man was their with other family members as his wife was brought in by ambulance.  Another had a cut hand.  After about 30 minutes, the triage nurse came in and called our names.

We proceeded to the triage room and answered various questions about the accident and eventually assigned a “yellow” sticker and told to go back to the waiting room.  The triage system is color-coded.  Our assumption is that “red” is urgent, “yellow” not so urgent, and “green” means “you can wait until we see the ‘red’ and ‘yellow’ patients”.  While we were assigned “yellow”, I assure you we felt our situation was very urgent – especially dealing with an eye injury.  After another 30 minutes or so we were called back the ER treatment area.

An ER doctor came in, looked at the eye, and immediately sent for an opthomolgist.  The opthomologist looked at the eye and told us they would have to operate immediately to remove the bur.  She told us there were no guarantees and that he may lose the eye when the bur is taken out.  She explained that the eye was similiar to a balloon and depending upon the degree of penetration, his eye could collapse.  I was devestated and had to leave the room.  I went outside of the ER and found night had fallen.  The only thing I could think of was that my 8 year old was going to lose an eye – at 8 years old!  It is so unfair!  After I composed myself, I went back into the ER and Jake still laid there quietly.  His only complaint was he wanted to remove the bandage but we wouldn’t let him.  “No, Jake.  Just lay there and keep your eyes closed and don’t move them”.  Easily said by an adult.  Even at 8, Jake understood the gravity of the situation and remained motionless.

After the surgery team was assembled, they rolled Jake to the operating room as my wife and I followed.  We said good bye and promised Jake it would be fine and that we would see him soon.  I was so proud of him.  He never complained or cryed.  He simply said “Ok”.

After the surgery, the surgeon told us Jake did not lose his eye however we should not expect him to regain any vision better than 20/100.  It seems an “X” scar was located directly over the pupil and would surely limit his vision dramatically.  That was better than losing the eye but I found myself speculating about his limitation and how it would affect him later in life.

Jake’s treatment after the surgery was to place steroid drops in the eye for a month every day, three times a day.  The opthomologist told us there was a chance this treatment would shrink the scar and improve his vision.  After a month, Jake’s vision was 20/15 – a remarkable improvement, and to us, a miracle of faith.

Jake is a starting baseball pitcher on the high school team with a batting average of .340.  I often wonder how this would be changed if he continued to have 20/100 vision in one eye. 

When something like this happens to you and your family, it boils down what is most important in life a matter of a few minutes.  I can tell you that life’s clutter is meaningless when your child is laying in the ER and you realize just how helpless you are.   

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