Love you, Doc.

Wish you could've danced at my wedding.

  Col. Dr. Roberts passes, valley in mourning 
Twenty years ago Dr. Roberts was asked how long she planned on working in Surprise Valley. "I'll work as long as they feed and water me. I'll never retire, I'll just work until I drop," she quipped.

 Last Tuesday the Surprise Valley Medical clinic closed, schools were dismissed, and flags flew at half staff as hundreds met to honor the memory of their doctor, hero and friend, Col. Dr. Lois M. Roberts.

On Monday, Nov. 12 Dr. Roberts saw patients. Tuesday she traveled to Redding to watch a school sporting event. On Wednesday she didn't feel well. Thursday morning she was admitted to the hospital, a place where she'd seen thousands of patients during the last 21-years. Thursday afternoon she quit talking, her eyes seemed different, not glazed, just different. Early evening she started smiling, not to her friends sitting with her, but to someone only she could see. Then, as if greeting an old friend, she said, "Oh God, oh God." An hour later she died.

 Born in Santa Rosa, Calif., August 28, 1922, Lois May Roberts always wanted to be a doctor. She only played with 'sick' dolls. She graduated from UC Berkeley and applied to their medical school. Their response, "We don't care to accept women students in the school of medicine, they just don't spend enough time in the profession after attaining their degree. It is a waste of time to train them." Roberts, even from a young age, refused to take no as an answer.

 She completed medical school at Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia in 1950. After spending a year in Portugal to learn the language, she traveled to Portuguese West Africa (Angola). For the next ten plus years she worked as a missionary doctor with any Christian organization that would send her to a 'bush' hospital. At times Roberts had to make do with what was available. After a man was mauled by a lion she rigged a transfusion set up using flexible hose and Kleenex as a filter. Another came in speared through his liver. Her comment-- "The spear sliced his liver so neat and clean."  Primarily she delivered babies, treated campfire burns, animal attacks, and leprosy.

She was revered because she had distinctive white hair at age 35.

 A civil war occurred and she was expelled from Angola. She returned to the United States to do an internship in Los Angeles, became OB/GYN board certified and board eligible in ER. With her board certification she went to Dembi Dollo, Ethiopia. There she lived on the grounds of a 51-bed hospital, where she ran the hospital, trained doctors and nurses, and treated patients. There were no roads to the hospital. Transportation was by air twice a week in a canvas covered plane equipped with benches to sit on. To get to the grassy strip runway you walked or canoed. "Aunt Loi went to Angola, stayed 10-years and left because there was a civil war. Then she went to Ethiopia, stayed 10-years and was expelled because of a civil war. I'm beginning to worry about Surprise Valley now that she's gone," laughed Tom Batson, Roberts nephew. 

She stayed in Africa a total of 26-years. After being forced out of Africa a second time, she served a short stint as team doctor for the Oakland Raiders, becoming a life long fan of the team.

She joined the U.S. Army reserves, her specialty being setting up and maintaining field hospitals. It wasn't long before she began to long for the remoteness of Africa. "I was visiting friends in Surprise Valley, looked around and said to myself, this is about as close to Africa as I'm going to find," said Roberts when asked why she ended up in Cedarville.

 "When she applied for a job here, she told me she had two requirements: feed and water me and find someone to cut my hair. I looked at her and said I cut my own hair, I'll cut yours. It was a done deal, for years--the administrator cut the doctor's hair for free," laughs Joyce Gysin, former administrator of the Surprise Valley Hospital.

 Remoteness and being far removed from bureaucracy were things she craved. After telling some state hospital inspectors to go home and get real jobs, the staff at the hospital realized it was best to keep her otherwise occupied during inspections. Once when she had to sign some documents, she signed her name and then added 'signed under protest' beneath.

 Once a patient of hers, you were one for life. She would stop by your home to check on you and woe to the patient who hadn't followed her orders. Even with her "colonelish" attitude, nothing got in the way of providing her patients with the best of care. Once the hospital was having trouble getting a veteran admitted to the VA hospital in Reno. When she heard of the situation she called the VA hospital and talked to the administrator saying she was Col. Dr. Roberts, commanding officer of Fort Bidwell and had a man in immediate need of medical attention and to reserve a room for him.

The fact that Fort Bidwell was decommissioned in the 1890s didn't seem to matter to her. What mattered was her patient's care and it worked. She used this ploy more than once. Many a patient who underwent an operation out of the area would waken after surgery to find Dr. Roberts smoothing their hair or holding their hands. She delivered more than 5,000 babies before coming to Surprise Valley, where she delivered approximately 100 more.

They automatically became her children or grandchildren as did all the children she treated. Last year a young woman in college was seriously hurt in a skiing accident. Away from home, hurting and not recovering well, she called her Mom in Cedarville and was told to go back to the doctor. "Mom, do you think I could call and talk to Dr. Roberts? She could help me." When she did speak with Dr. Roberts the student was reassured, "Honey, you were my patient here and you're still my patient, forever, just because you moved away doesn't make any difference."

 Many people in Surprise Valley have split their heads open and received the healing technique of getting the wound cleaned, then having their hair tied and knotted across the wound to hold it together. With a dab of superglue to hold the knot in place, she would explain that the wound would heal faster than with stitches--and it did. Also she was renown for her tiny, neat stitches, her hands were supple, delicate and gentle. She had the hands of a healer.

 As she did in Africa, she lived on the hospital grounds in Cedarville. This was to be better ready for any emergency, day or night. When she had hip replacement surgery she moved into one of the emergency rooms so she could take call at night. When two knee replacement operations (which she supervised), threatened to slow her down for awhile she used crutches or a wheelchair to get to her patients. She also drove ambulance and a golf cart.

 When the struggling SV Hospital couldn't afford to hire another doctor, she worked 24/7 for four years. If funds were short and payroll wasn't going to be met, she loaned the hospital money at no interest. Although she never broadcast her good deeds, she was known to have loaned money to people in need or to students struggling to stay in college. She is credited with keeping the SV Hospital open during its earlier years. She did not tolerate foolishness. If you had a cough and smoked, quit smoking and then come back, don't waste her time.

 Born with a bone defect in a foot, she wore braces almost her entire life. Never without pain she at times remonstrated patients who complained or whined about their aches and pains too much--they were given the 'get a grip' or "quit your whining 'n crying and cowboy up' lecture. A former Modoc County district attorney once marveled when witnessing her skill in the ER. "It was amazing. A man had severely beaten his wife, she had shot him. There were nurses attending each patient, the ambulance crews, the sheriff and deputies were there, the room was full. Dr. Roberts efficiently orchestrated the entire room. She gave everyone a job. First she tended the bullet wound, stabilizing the patient and calling for an air ambulance. Then she did her pull the hair across the head wound procedure before attending to the woman's less severe injuries."

 An out of town family once disregarded local advice and traveled east of Cedarville at night in a snowstorm. They got stuck and sat in their truck for about a week. When finally found and brought to the hospital, the woman and her baby were followed by every law enforcement agency imaginable, plus TV crews from the major networks. It was chaos at the state's smallest hospital. Chaos until Dr. Roberts cleared the place, throwing everyone who wasn't medical staff out, so she could tend her patients in peace and quiet. She won California's Rural Physician of the Year in 1993. It took many arguments and threats to get her to go to Sacramento to accept her award.

 The previous is just a small sampling of the medical side of Dr. Roberts. Maybe the University of California Berkeley was correct. Certainly 57 years in medicine wasn't long enough…at least for the people who knew her and were her patients. Dr. Roberts was many faceted. She was a devout Episcopalian/Catholic Christian. She instructed Ben Zandstra, the minister of the Cedarville Community Church, in the proper techniques of praying and reading the gospel. She sang in the choir and even went caroling in -10 degree weather. She helped with Sunday/Tuesday school. She substitute preached for Zandstra when he was away.

She insisted on the congregation singing 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' in Latin, the way God intended. She was such a regular at church, that on especially warm mornings, when the doors of the church were left open, Shorty, the town dog would wander in and sit beneath her pew and enjoy the sermon with her. She loved animals and if the situation warranted, treated them too. She led the hospital's Bible study. With her operatic voice she would loudly sing hymns while making rounds in the hospital. During Dr. Roberts' funeral Rev. Zandstra read from the 1928 Book of common Prayer, she had given him. He read just the way she'd taught him. The woman who had done her good deeds in private, who had given her life to healing others, whose sense of community embraced all ages, creeds and colors, who served as an example to others, was gone.

Many in church that day could hear Dr. Roberts saying, "Life is tough, cowboy up, quit your crying." Most agreed, but cried anyway. God was her strength. Dr. Roberts was an adventuress and lifelong learner. She climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. She rafted the Colorado and other great rivers of the world, studied dolphins in the Amazon, and diseases in koala bears in Australia, and did archaeological digs. She was a member and bird counter for the Audubon Society. A USFS volunteer. An avid swimmer, she was known to take dips in crocodile infested waters. She raised and ate rabbits. She exhibited flowers, and other home arts at the county fair. Her SV Hospital flower booth always won first place. An avid sports fan she attended almost all of the elementary and high school's games. She personally maintained the hospital's rose garden. She worked with Mother Theresa in India. While in Africa she always packed a rifle. "You never know when you might need to protect yourself or when supper might happen by." She always maintained that antelope tasted much better if she had shot it herself. Once she slinked herself out of a huge birthday cake at a man's 80th birthday party. "She had the waving, gloved hand movements down pat," said one of the attendees.

 Ten years ago she decided she needed to take a hunter's safety class with a group of youngsters. During the shooting section she nailed ten targets in a row. When asked how she learned to shoot so well, she replied, "Honey, when you're shooting at lions, you can't afford to miss." After the church service about 150 cars loaded with people drove by the SV Hospital to pay her a last call at the place she called home for 21-years. The procession then gathered at the cemetery. About 350 people came to the cemetery where she was buried in her U.S. Army military uniform. The uniform she volunteered to wear in Desert Storm, until they found out she'd lied about her age on her application. The uniform she proudly wore as a member of the local VFW chapter. It was a 30-degree morning, a breeze was blowing down the snow covered mountains and through the cemetery. When attendees were urged to gather closer for warmth and to better hear, a spontaneous thing happened. Little children, her children, formed a semi-circle around her flag draped coffin.

All through the service the little children stood, many with hands over their hearts, they didn't wiggle or talk, they just stood there in the cold, no parents to make them mind, no need. The teenagers stood behind the children, the adults behind them. All ages and nationalities gathered in respect, respect for their doctor who was buried with full military honors. All had come to say goodbye. After the presentation of the flag to her sister Nancy Batson, the group adjourned to the Modoc County Fairgrounds for a potluck and to share their experiences and stories about Dr. Roberts. Out of many testimonies one man shared, "I went to the hospital that morning and was told she'd passed. Besides sorrow, I felt an emptiness in my heart. One of the nurses on duty told me that Dr. Roberts was her hero. Yes, she was a hero, but she was more. She was a superhero and superheroes don't die. I felt betrayed, cheated. Then I realized she still lives in the hearts of the people that knew and were helped by her. She lives in the nurses she trained, in the children she delivered, in the students who were encouraged to follow their dreams. I guess in that way she didn't die. She is a true superhero."

 On Tues. Nov. 20 the people of Surprise Valley, Modoc County and other areas said goodbye. Dr. Roberts exemplified a sense of community that we should all struggle to attain. She lived a full life strengthened by faith and a can-do attitude. 

Dr. Roberts, thank you for thinking we were like Africa.
Thank you for coming.
 Farewell Colonel or is it Commander?
Farewell doctor, healer, teacher, grandmother, confident, superhero, and friend.
 Farewell.