Patricia Davids - The Doctor's Blessing

“Okay, why don’t they have mustaches?”

“Mustaches were associated with the military in Europe before the Amish immigrated to this country so they are forbidden.”

“From what I understand, a lot of things are forbidden…TV, ordinary clothes, a car.”

She shot him a sour look and kept walking.

That was dumb. Criticizing the Amish wasn’t the way to mend fences. “Sorry, that was a stupid remark. Guess I’m nervous.”

She kept walking, ignoring his bait. Either she had great patience, grim determination or a total lack of curiosity about him.

He gave in first. “I’m nervous because I know you’re upset with me.”

“Ya think?” She didn’t slow down.

Spreading his hands wide, he waved them side to side. “I’m getting that vibe. People say I’m sensitive that way.”

Had he coaxed a hint of a smile? She looked down before he could be sure.

“Amber, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I know you must blame me for Harold’s injuries. I blame myself.”

She stopped abruptly. A puzzled frown settled between her alluring eyes. “Why would I blame you for Harold’s accident?”

Stunned by Amber’s question, Phillip could only stare. She didn’t know? How was that possible? More to the point, once she found out would it kill any chance of a better working relationship? He had opened a can of worms and didn’t know how to shut it. She was waiting for his answer.

“Harold hasn’t told you how the accident happened?” Phillip cringed at the memory.

“He said he foolishly stepped into the path of an oncoming car.”

Phillip stiffened his spine, bracing for the worst possible reaction from Amber. “I was driving that car.”

When the silence lengthened, he expected an angry or horror-filled outburst. He didn’t expect the compassion that slowly filled her eyes.

Encouraged, he forged ahead. “It was the last night of his visit. We’d had an argument. I dropped him off at his hotel. I was angry and waiting impatiently for a chance to pull out into the heavy traffic. When a break came, I gunned it.”

He’d never forgive himself for what happened next. “I should have been paying more attention. I should have seen him, but he rushed out from between two parked cars right in front of me. I couldn’t stop.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “That must have been terrible for you.”

“I thought I killed him.” Phillip relived that terrifying moment, that horrific sound, every time he closed his eyes.

Quietly, Amber said, “Thank you for telling me. I can understand how hard it was for you. I want you to know I don’t blame you. An accident is an accident. Things happen for a reason only God knows.”

Phillip’s pent-up guilt seeped out of his bones, leaving him light-headed with relief. “Now, can we work together without those frosty silences between us?”

He knew he’d made a mistake when her look of compassion changed to annoyance. “I don’t blame you for what happened in Hawaii. I do blame you for making me feel marginalized and ridiculed for my career choice. For brushing aside my years of training and my skills as if they were nothing. I’m proud to be a nurse-midwife.”

Taken aback, he snapped, “Wait a minute. I did not ridicule you. I stated my opinion about home childbirth. An opinion that is shared by the American Medical Association, as I’m sure you know.”

“And so far, not upheld by the courts, as I’m sure you know. Childbirth is not a medical condition. It is a normal, natural part of life.” She started walking again.

Catching up with her, he said, “But it can become a medical emergency in a matter of minutes. I’m sorry we can’t agree on this. However, if we’re going to be working together we need to agree on some other important issues.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Such as?”

“That my grandfather’s practice is important to him. Both you and I are important to him. He wouldn’t want us at odds with each other.”

He detected a softening in her rigid posture. Finally, she admitted, “That’s true.”

“Right. We can also agree that the clinic needs to run smoothly, that I don’t know where to buy groceries in Hope Springs and I haven’t found a barbershop. Can you help a guy out?”

She did smile at that. “The grocery store is at the corner of Plum and Maple. Take a left at the next block and go three blocks east. The barbershop backs up to our building. Go through the alley to Vine Street. It’ll be on your left. And yes, the clinic needs to run smoothly. Our patients deserve our best.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was grudgingly given, but he’d won a small victory. “I also don’t know what labs Mrs. Nissley had done. I couldn’t find her chart.”

“I was checking her hemoglobin A1c. She’s a diabetic. Ask Wilma for any charts you can’t find. She has her own system of filing because so many of our patients have the same names.”

“Why is that?”

“Most Amish are descendants of a small group who came to this country in the seventeen hundreds. It is forbidden to marry outside of their faith so very few new names have come into the mix.”

By now they had reached the clinic. He held open the door and she went in ahead of him. To his surprise he saw they already had a waiting room full of people. Word was getting around that there was a new doctor in town.

It seemed that more one-on-one time with Amber would have to wait. He should have walked more slowly.

She leaned over and said quietly, “Something you should know. The Amish don’t run to the doctor for every little thing. They are usually quite sick when they come to us. When they find a ‘good doctor,’ they send all their family and friends to him.”

“And if I’m not a good doctor, in their opinion?”

“We’ll lose Amish clients very quickly and we’ll be out of business in no time. So, no pressure.”

“Right. No pressure.”

The day passed quickly. True to Amber’s prediction, many of the patients Phillip treated had been putting off seeing a doctor since his grandfather’s departure. Two bad cuts had become serious infections. A young mill worker with a gash on his arm and a high fever had to be sent to the hospital in Millersburg for IV antibiotics.

After that, he saw a young Amish woman who’d come to see Amber for her prenatal visits. After he explained the current situation, his patient got up and left his exam room without a word. In the waiting room, she spoke to a second expectant mother. The two left together. Amber followed them outside and talked with them briefly.

Was she smoothing things over or throwing gasoline on the fire?

His next patient was a three-year-old Amish girl with a severe cough. The shy toddler was also a dwarf, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She kept pushing his stethoscope away each time he tried to listen to her chest.

Mrs. Lapp, her worried mother, apologized. Amber moved forward to help restrain the child. “Doctor, Helen doesn’t speak English yet. She won’t learn it until she goes to school. The Amish speak Pennsylvania Deitsh at home, a German dialect.”

Glancing up at her, he said, “I thought it was Dutch.”

“It’s commonly called Pennsylvania Dutch but that’s an Americanization of the term Deitsh,” Amber replied.

He said, “Don’t hold her down, it will only frighten her. What we need is a little help from Doctor Dog.”

Reaching into a drawer on the exam table, he withdrew a hand puppet, a fuzzy brown dog with floppy ears, a white lab coat and a miniature stethoscope around his neck. Looking down at the toy, Phillip said, “Dr. Dog, I’d like you to meet Helen Lapp.”