“My doctors told me I would never walk again. My mother told me I would. I believed my mother.” — Wilma Rudolph (Olympian)
Dr. Tim Brythe ran a finger over his right brow. The scar held more memories than words could ever express. The mere fact that his right eye survived the trauma with just a little scar is a testimony in its own. He recalled vividly the very day he got the scar and any time he sutured a patients face the memories of his own scar floods his mind and bring him to tears of joy and gratitude. Gratitude to God, and to his mother, the doctor in the house!
“Timmy stop!” his brother called as the chase continued.
“I will soon get you!” The older brother barked at Timmy wagging an index finger as he pants heavily to catch his breath.
Timmy made a face at him from a comfortable distance. He knew his brother Benjamin would punch the hell out of him but for now he must enjoy the moment. He’d not only snatched Benjamin’s Choco Milo but had courageously tossed it into his mouth and eaten it. And every body knows Benjamin does not play with his Choco Milo.
Well, for Timmy it was payback for the time Benjamin ate his plantain chips. “I told you I will get my own pound of flesh.” Timmy sneered, looking over his shoulders.
“Enjoy it while it last!” Benjamin grunted and suddenly picked up his pace, almost catching Timmy unawares.
Then it happened like a slow motion film. Timmy quickly turned to dash off as Benjamin came closer and in his rush he didn’t see the iron pole until the last few seconds when it happened.
There was a loud thud. Timmy covered his forehead with his arms. The pain was so excruciating he didn’t even feel the hard punches Benjamin dealt his shoulder.
Benjamin’s victory laughs immediately ceased when the blood filled Timmy’s palms and dripped down his face. Timmy was so in shock he just couldn’t utter a word or even sob. The sight of so much blood sent cold shivers down his spine.
Benjamin led his brother back home. The duo were closely followed by the crowd of sympathizers who had witnessed the accident and those shocked at the sight of so much blood.
The group finally got home in one piece and thankfully it was only their mother that was at home. Timothy’s shirt was soaked with his own blood.
“What happened?” The agitated mother held Timmy’s face between tender warm hands, her penetrating gaze glancing from Timmy’s face to Benjamin’s.
None of the boys replied. And with so much blood loss and active bleeding still ongoing she set aside all talks for later and suddenly the caring mother emerged. The mother turned doctor in the house.
Dispersing the sympathizing crowd with soft thank you, she tore the hem of the wrapper around her waist and place it on the bleeding brow. “Hold it and press it!” She ordered Timmy.
“Benjamin get me the iodine and methylated Spirit,” she barked as she dashed to fill the kettle with water and set it on the burner.
Less than ten minutes later, Timmy had a plaster on his right eye brow. And he was being fed some medications by his home doctor. His Mum.
And as Dr. Timothy Brythe reminisced he wondered how the deep cut on his brow healed so well without any tetanus shot and stitches despite the depth. Most amazingly he wondered how without any basic medical knowledge, his Mum could treat him and his siblings at home even as they presented with diverse illnesses, cuts and deep injuries to diverse parts of their bodies.
Wiping off the tears with the back of his hand, Dr. Timothy Brythe exited the treatment room.
“Who is the next patient,” he beckoned to the staff Nurse.
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