We Should Rejoice in Our Small Victories

 

Not Mildred. But looks like her twin sister.

Mildred” was a firecracker.  She was a brilliant, compassionate, no-nonsense 82-year-old who grew up in the southern Appalachian mountains and learned a lot about the world despite her limited exposure to anything beyond east Tennessee.  I cared for her for over 15 years, and I always looked forward to our visits – I always learned something from her.  When she finally succumbed to her lung disease, after smoking for 70 years, it really bothered me.

There are some diseases we can’t treat, so we should rejoice in our small victories.  But it’s hard sometimes.  Anyway, one beautiful spring day she could tell she was near the end, and she called me on my cell phone:

Mildred:            “Hey, doc.  I can’t breathe.  I’m pretty bad off, here.”
Me:                    “You should go to the ER.”
Mildred:            “Can they help me?”
Me:                    “Maybe.  With your lungs, maybe not.  But maybe.”
Mildred:            “I don’t want to do that again.  Can you come see me?”
Me:                    “I’m in Dallas right now, getting ready to give a speech about heart disease.  I’ll be home mid-day tomorrow.  But if the ER can’t help you, I probably can’t, either.”
Mildred:            “I understand.  But please come see me.  Call before you come.  If I answer, please come see me.”
Me:                    * pause *  “Right.  Ok.  I’ll call.”

So I call her the next morning, she answers, so I get in my truck and drive 45 minutes to her trailer park near Mountain City, Tennessee.  It’s the fourth of the month.  Everybody gets their disability checks on the third.  So as I pull into her trailer park, and there are all these people sitting on lawn chairs out by the entrance, trading money, for drugs, for food stamps, for prescriptions, for God knows what else.  Never go to a rural Walmart on the third of the month, and never go to a place like her trailer park on the fourth of the month.

I pull up to her trailer, and just walk in.  I know she can’t answer the door.

Me:                    “Mildred?”
Mildred:            “Hey, doc!  Come on back!”

So I go back to her bedroom, and find her bundled up, shivering under the covers, with her home O2 running full tilt.  She’s gasping for breath, and finds it hard to speak.

Mildred:            “I can’t breathe.  It’s getting worse.  The inhalers don’t help.”
Me:                    “You can’t inhale, so the inhalers can’t get to where they can help you.”
Mildred:            “I’m going to die, right?”
Me:                    “Well, yes.  Maybe not right now, though.  The hospital might be able to tune you up a bit with IVs, respiratory therapy, BiPAP, and whatnot.  Might be worth a try.”
Mildred:            “I’ve done that over and over again.  I’m sick of it.  I’m ready to go.  I miss my husband.  He probably hasn’t had decent killed cabbage since he got to heaven.”
Me:                    “They don’t have killed cabbage in heaven?”
Mildred:            “They don’t have MY killed cabbage.”
Me:                    “Ah.”
Mildred:            “But they’re about to, I think.”
Me:                    “And I thought heaven couldn’t get any better.”
Mildred:            “I’ll make you some when you get there.”
Me:                    “Don’t wait up.”
Mildred:            “Do me a favor – under my kitchen sink, off to the right, there’s a false panel.  Behind that, there’s a paper bag.  Could you bring that to me?”
Me:                    “Is there killed cabbage in it?”
Mildred:            “No, silly.  Just bring me the bag.”

So I go to her kitchen, root around under the sink, and jump back with a startled, but manly, scream.

Mildred:            “Are you ok?”
Me:                    “There’s a million cockroaches under here.”
Mildred:            “Oh, right – sorry.  Ignore them.  Just get the bag.”
Me:                    “I’m going to my truck to get my .45 automatic.”
Mildred:            “Stop being so dramatic.  Just bring me the bag.”

So I take a deep breath, shove my way past herds of cockroaches the size of pit bulls, and grab her bag.  I carry it back to her bedroom and set it on her lap.  A couple cockroaches scatter from the bag across her bedsheets.

She pushes it back to me, and hands me a scrap of paper.  “My son got messed up on drugs.  His wife left him, and I haven’t seen my grandkids since then.  I’ve tried to call.  She won’t answer.  Her number is on the paper.  Call her up, and tell her that I’ve left my money to my grandkids.  Ask her to spend it on them.”

Me:                    “I’m not walking out of here with a bag full of your life savings.”
Mildred:            “When I die, those dope heads out there will just steal it and spend it on narcotics.  Give it to my grandkids.”
Me:                    “I don’t like this.”
Mildred:            “I don’t like dying.  But here we are.”
Me:                    “Ummm…”
Mildred:            “Shush and do as I say.”
Me:                    “Right.  I’m really sorry you’re in this situation.”
Mildred:            “I did it to myself.  And like I said, I’m ready to go.  Get me out of here.”

I held her hand for a bit, until she shooed me off.  I got in my truck, with a bag full of money and cockroaches, and drove home.  I put her bag in a plastic garbage bag and tied it off tight, to keep the cockroaches where they were.  I hid the bag in my garage.

I called the number.  No one answered.  I left a message.  I called again a week later.  Same thing.  After a month or two, I was starting to wonder what to do with the bag, when finally “Amber” returned my call.  I explained that her former mother-in-law had died, and had asked me to give her something.  She asked what.  I said I didn’t know.  A few weeks later, she drove out from Maryville.  She looked unhealthy and rough.  Greasy hair, dirty clothes, tattoos on her arms and neck.

Me:                    “Mildred saved some money up.  She put it in this bag.  She asked me to give it to you, and she asked you to spend it on her grandkids.”
Amber:             “I’m done with all them.  She hasn’t seen her grandkids in six years.”
Me:                    * shrug *
Amber:             “How does she know she can trust me to do that?”
Me:                    “She died a horrible death, alone in the dark, in a cockroach-infested single-wide trailer.  Her options were limited.  She couldn’t trust me, either.  I hope you’ll do as she asks.”
Amber:             “What if I don’t?”
Me:                    * shrug *
Amber:             “How much money is it?”
Me:                    * shrug *
Amber:             “You didn’t look?”
Me:                    “It’s not my money.  It belongs to her grandkids.”
Amber:              * looks at the bag on the table *  “I don’t believe this.”
Me:                    “I can imagine.  I hope you do the right thing.  Your call.”
Amber:             “So you just give me that bag full of money.  And I just drive away.”
Me:                    “Right.”
Amber:              “No lawyers, no taxes, no nuthin’.”
Me:                    “Just your word to Mildred that you’ll take care of her grandkids.”
Amber:             * pause *
Me:                    * pause *
Amber:             “Ok.  I guess that’s mine, then.”
Me:                    “No, it’s her grandkids’.”
Amber:             “Right.  That’s what I meant.”
Me:                    “Right.”

Amber took the bag and drove away.

It’d be a great story if she used that money to clean up her act and provide a better future for her kids.  Maybe she did.  Hard to say.

At the very least, some guy in heaven finally got some decent killed cabbage.

We should rejoice in our small victories.

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  1. Postmodern Hoplite Coolidge
    Postmodern Hoplite
    @PostmodernHoplite

    I got nuthin’…only to say I hope this gets promoted to the Main Feed.

    • #1
  2. EODmom Coolidge
    EODmom
    @EODmom

    Doc your connection to Mildred was worth it. To her and to you. Don’t need victory when you have Grace. Grace happens. 

    • #2
  3. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    Postmodern Hoplite (View Comment):

    I got nuthin’…only to say I hope this gets promoted to the Main Feed.

    That’s because sometimes there’s just nuthin’.

    Sometimes all you can do is rejoice in your small victories.  And hope for the best. 

    And that’s it. 

    • #3
  4. CRD Member
    CRD
    @CRD

    Don’t you just hate cockroaches?! Oh right, not the point.
    You’re a good man, Dr. Bastiat.

    • #4
  5. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    CRD (View Comment):

    Don’t you just hate cockroaches?! Oh right, not the point.
    You’re a good man, Dr. Bastiat.

    No, I’m not.  And I’m not sure that Amber is a good person, either.

    But sometimes even the worst of us do the right thing, despite our flaws.

    I hope she did so. 

    • #5
  6. Jim McConnell Member
    Jim McConnell
    @JimMcConnell

    I know this is redundant, but, Doc you have a great way with touching stories. Thanks!

    • #6
  7. Clavius Thatcher
    Clavius
    @Clavius

    God works in mysterious ways.

    Thanks for sharing this.

    • #7
  8. James Lileks Contributor
    James Lileks
    @jameslileks

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    • #8
  9. Douglas Pratt Coolidge
    Douglas Pratt
    @DouglasPratt

    Doc, write a book. Please. This stuff is worth preserving. 

    • #9
  10. Chowderhead Coolidge
    Chowderhead
    @Podunk

    Dr. Bastiat: Mildred:            “They don’t have MY killed cabbage.”

    Yes I could look it up but isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    Dr. Bastiat: Me:                    “I don’t like this.”
    Mildred:            “I don’t like dying.  But here we are.”

    It seems to me like she was ready. You were not there for medical assistance and you were not there to see that the grandchildren would get the money. She just wanted a little more human interaction before she left and to be remembered. Well, she’s remembered now. 

     

    • #10
  11. iWe Coolidge
    iWe
    @iWe

    Gorgeous. Thank you. 

    • #11
  12. Susan Quinn Contributor
    Susan Quinn
    @SusanQuinn

    Thank you, Doc.

    • #12
  13. EODmom Coolidge
    EODmom
    @EODmom

    Chowderhead (View Comment):

    Dr. Bastiat: Mildred: “They don’t have MY killed cabbage.”

    Yes I could look it up but isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    Dr. Bastiat: Me: “I don’t like this.”
    Mildred: “I don’t like dying. But here we are.”

    It seems to me like she was ready. You were not there for medical assistance and you were not there to see that the grandchildren would get the money. She just wanted a little more human interaction before she left and to be remembered. Well, she’s remembered now.

     

    Just think “bacon and…..”

    • #13
  14. John H. Member
    John H.
    @JohnH

    Dr. Bastiat:

     

    I held her hand for a bit, until she shooed me off.

    I did something like this, for another, even older woman, just days before she died. She did not shoo me off.

    Her: John, I’m so scared.

    I held her. I sat on her bed in the rehab facility, where she’d been sent after her hip repair. That had gone well, but in the space of this very month, dementia was surging in like a huge opaque tide. Her body was bony and tiny. She could not have been frailer.

    Her: Don’t let go of me, John.

    But after a while, I felt I had to.

    Me: Betty, I have to go back home and take care of Sheila.

    Sheila was her cat. Betty loved her cats, and I think she understood – even with her deafness – she never liked her hearing aids – what I was saying. I had a mission, one she would totally approve of.

    No victory here. But no ambiguous outcome either. Betty did not suffer the indignity of a nursing home, which she would still have been sentient enough to hate, and Sheila reclines on windowsills and grandly ignores outdoor cats, here at what the old gal always called my country place.

    • #14
  15. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Golly!  What a nice thing to say!  Thank you!

    • #15
  16. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions.  You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions.  I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee.  A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around.  I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it.  Not for me.  

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    • #16
  17. EODmom Coolidge
    EODmom
    @EODmom

    Dr. Bastiat (View Comment):

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions. You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions. I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee. A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around. I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it. Not for me.

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    We loved Texas Grandmother’s version with spinach, which we were sorta neutral on otherwise. Heavy on bacon and spinach, light on actual grease. Thinking back it seems the grease was put to better use with home fries. And golly the things she could do with lard. 

    • #17
  18. Chowderhead Coolidge
    Chowderhead
    @Podunk

    Dr. Bastiat (View Comment):

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions. You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions. I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee. A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around. I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it. Not for me.

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    It sounds like there is a special place in your heart for bacon fat. (Pericardial?)

    And here I was always boiling my cabbage. When I first read this I was thinking bacon goes with nearly everything but wet cabbage? Now it all makes sense. A dish with bacon as the waste product has to be good.

    • #18
  19. Percival Thatcher
    Percival
    @Percival

    Dr. Bastiat (View Comment):

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions. You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions. I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee. A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around. I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it. Not for me.

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    No, no, no.

    Shred some cabbage. Red works admirably. Fry some bacon in a pan. Crumble it and return it to the pan. Add the cabbage and some sliced apples and a little wine. Keep it under heat until the cabbage starts to get soft.

    I’ve never heard of it being referred to as “killed.” Probably a result of having been raised in the prosaic Nawth.

    • #19
  20. Percival Thatcher
    Percival
    @Percival

    Excellent post, Doc.

    • #20
  21. EODmom Coolidge
    EODmom
    @EODmom

    Percival (View Comment):

    Dr. Bastiat (View Comment):

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions. You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions. I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee. A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around. I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it. Not for me.

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    No, no, no.

    Shred some cabbage. Red works admirably. Fry some bacon in a pan. Crumble it and return it to the pan. Add the cabbage and some sliced apples and a little wine. Keep it under heat until the cabbage starts to get soft.

    I’ve never heard of it being referred to as “killed.” Probably a result of having been raised in the prosaic Nawth.

    Well I do remember my mother’s sisters – Texans all until they shifted to Mississippi, Oklahoma and Louisiana – killed every vegetable that went on the table, as did she. As in cooked until no life left. 

    • #21
  22. The Reticulator Member
    The Reticulator
    @TheReticulator

    Dr. Bastiat (View Comment):

    Chowderhead (View Comment):
    isn’t all cabbage killed when it’s on a plate? I’ve never heard of this.

    It’s basically a bunch of cabbage on a plate, with sliced raw onions. You pour hot bacon grease over it, which wilts the cabbage and onions. I think you add a touch of salt and vinegar as well.

    When gardens are producing in the summer, and everybody has more cabbage than they know what to do with, this is a common dish in east Tennessee. A few ladies made it for me as a special treat, each saying that their version was the best around. I agreed with each of them, and always cleaned my plate with enthusiasm.

    But I didn’t like it. Not for me.

    Seemed like a waste of perfectly good bacon grease…

    Sounds promising. I like cabbage in many forms.  I have never had that, as far as I know. 

    • #22
  23. Michael Henry Member
    Michael Henry
    @MichaelHenry

    Powerful, Doc. Very powerful. You’re a good man. 

     

    • #23
  24. Columbo Inactive
    Columbo
    @Columbo

    EODmom (View Comment):

    Doc your connection to Mildred was worth it. To her and to you. Don’t need victory when you have Grace. Grace happens.

    Grace Happens!

    • #24
  25. Henry Castaigne Member
    Henry Castaigne
    @HenryCastaigne

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    • #25
  26. JustmeinAZ Member
    JustmeinAZ
    @JustmeinAZ

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    Because he’s not a jerk.

    • #26
  27. Douglas Pratt Coolidge
    Douglas Pratt
    @DouglasPratt

    JustmeinAZ (View Comment):

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    Because he’s not a jerk.

    He reaches an exceptional level of non-jerkitude. 

    • #27
  28. Henry Castaigne Member
    Henry Castaigne
    @HenryCastaigne

    Douglas Pratt (View Comment):

    JustmeinAZ (View Comment):

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    Because he’s not a jerk.

    He reaches an exceptional level of non-jerkitude.

    How do I get to be that exceptional is the question.

    • #28
  29. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    Douglas Pratt (View Comment):

    JustmeinAZ (View Comment):

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    Because he’s not a jerk.

    He reaches an exceptional level of non-jerkitude.

    Oh, I can be a jerk.  Lordy…

    I try every day to not be a jerk.

    Most days I succeed. 

    I try not think about the other days.  It’s embarrassing. 

    • #29
  30. Dr. Bastiat Member
    Dr. Bastiat
    @drbastiat

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    Douglas Pratt (View Comment):

    JustmeinAZ (View Comment):

    Henry Castaigne (View Comment):

    James Lileks (View Comment):

    Well, now we know if there’s a synthesis of Raymond Carver and Theodore Dalyrimple living among us here on the site. (As if we didn’t know already.)

    Not that Dr. Bastiat really needs anymore praise but I notice how he never condescends to anyone in his writing while describing them accurately. How?

    Because he’s not a jerk.

    He reaches an exceptional level of non-jerkitude.

    How do I get to be that exceptional is the question.

    I’m so glad my wife isn’t on Ricochet.

    I’d hate to hear her response to that.  Yikes. 

    • #30
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