Sometimes it’s the simplest, coldest dose.
Photo Above: Dr. T. Keith Edwards, now 95, wrote the magic prescription for a 5-year-old in 1957.
Photo Courtesy of the Michael Family.
Someone I did not know found a lost treasure for me.
His name is Arthur Blevins, and I didn’t know him until he posted my treasure on a social media page recently. Now we are friends, and it is with his permission I tell you this story.
Someone years ago made a Facebook page about my hometown of Bluefield, West Virginia. I follow that page and to my delight, I checked it one day and found what my friend Arthur had posted. It was a picture of a prescription written in 1957. On the prescription, the doctor had written, “Ice Cream, #1, Take as desired.”
Accompanying the picture was Arthur’s explanation of it. He told that in 1957, when he was just five years old, he had been playing outside with his sister Dolly when he encountered a yellow jacket’s nest, and suffered multiple stings. He said his mother told him he was stung over 50 times. She took him to the clinic to see a doctor who, after checking little Arthur out thoroughly, wrote him a prescription for an ice cream cone to be taken when desired. Arthur said the kind doctor even gave him the dime he would need to buy the ice cream cone.
Why was seeing this prescription and reading this story like finding a lost treasure to me? The prescribing doctor, Dr. T. Keith Edwards, is my father.
My father graduated from Bowman Gray School of Medicine, Wake Forest University’s medical school, in 1955. He and my nurse mother, who were ultimately headed to Africa as medical missionaries, moved to Bluefield so he could do a short residency in family medicine. Since this prescription was written in March of ’57, this must have been during his time as a resident.
Just a few months after this bee sting incident, my parents sailed off to Nigeria, West Africa, where I was born about a year later. While in Nigeria, the mission’s obstetrician had to return to America after her husband became severely ill. The mission sent out a request asking if any of their physicians would be willing to do a residency in obstetrics since maternal and fetal complications was of a major concern there. My father answered the call, contacting Bowman Gray seeking and receiving admittance into their OB-GYN residency program.
In 1968 a civil war broke out in Nigeria, prompting my parents to leave that war-torn country and return to America. But where were they going to settle and take their now family of six? Where would their new home in America be? My parents had many options of cities that needed an obstetrician, but one called to them—Bluefield, West Virginia, where they had been that one year while in his family practice residency. So, they moved their family to West Virginia with its fresh mountain air and hometown feel, to Bluefield where kids played outside even in early March and sometimes suffered yellow jacket stings.
My father was a skilled surgeon and a careful doctor. I am certain he checked five-year-old Arthur out thoroughly. Though they didn’t have EpiPens in 1957, they did have bottled epinephrine for anaphylaxis, but apparently little Arthur didn’t require it.
I am sure my father must have cleaned Arthur’s stings with an antiseptic of some kind and perhaps even gave instructions to monitor their healing and come back if any appeared to be getting infected. After that he could have just sent Arthur and his mother home, but he didn’t. He wrote one more prescription—for an ice cream cone. And even gave them that dime to purchase it.
This story has the feel of a Norman Rockwell painting, like the one where the doctor has his stethoscope against the little girl’s baby doll’s chest. Oh, how sweet those long-ago days were when doctors took the time to listen to children’s baby dolls and write prescriptions for ice cream cones.
Growing up I was always proud to be known as Dr. Edwards’ daughter. When I saw this post by Arthur Blevins on that Facebook page, I was once again so proud to be this great man’s child. Though my mother has passed away (she would have loved this tale), my dad is still alive at 95 years old. I texted him the image of the prescription and can’t wait for him to see this story of our long-lost treasure.
The story above first appeared in our March / April 2024 issue.
