Patricia Davids - The Doctor's Blessing

Turning to Amber, he said, “Make the boy understand he needs to stay in the car.”

“Of course.” After giving the child his instructions, Phillip and Amber got out.

Martha was lying facedown in the ditch, trapped beneath the wagon. A man knelt beside her. Phillip assumed he was her husband.

Only the broken spokes of the front wheel were keeping the wagon from crushing her completely. The rear wheel bowed out dangerously. If either wheel came off, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

He knelt beside her. “Martha, can you hear me?”

“Ja,” she answered through gritted teeth.

“Where are you hurt?”

“My back burns like fire. I can’t move my legs.”

His heart sank. “All right, lie still. We’ll get you out.”

“Where is my boy, Louis? Is he okay?”

“He’s sitting in my car. I told him to stay there.”

“Goot.” She began muttering what he thought was a prayer. Amber scrambled down in the ditch beside them. Quickly, she checked Martha’s vital signs. Then, to Phillip’s horror, she lay down and wiggled as far under the overturned wagon as she could.

After a minute, Amber worked herself backward and Phillip helped her gain her feet. He said, “Don’t do that again.”

“Martha’s bleeding profusely from a gash on her left thigh. I couldn’t reach it to put pressure on it, but it’s bad.”

He wanted to wait for the fire department and EMS. They’d likely have the Jaws of Life to lift the vehicle. But if she were hemorrhaging as badly as Amber thought, time was of the essence. “Okay, we’ll have to get the wagon off of her.”

Phillip turned to the men gathered around. The one kneeling beside Martha rose and joined them. “I’m David Nissley, Martha’s husband. We were afraid to move the wagon and do Martha more injury.”

“You were right. However, we need to move it now.”

Mr. Nissley pointed up the lane. “My boy, Noah, is coming with the draft team.”

What Phillip wouldn’t give for a forklift or at least a tractor…something he knew had enough power and wouldn’t bolt in fright and pull the heavy wagon on top of his patient. He considered trying to use his SUV but there was no room to maneuver on the narrow road.

He said, “We need some way to brace the wagon in case that wheel comes off.”

“We can use boards from there.” Amber pointed to the white painted fence running alongside the road. An instant later, Mr. Nissley and the men were dismantling the boards by using their heavy boots to kick them loose from the posts.

Phillip watched the activity impatiently. “Once we have it braced so it can’t fall back, we’ll try pulling it off her.”

A boy of about fifteen came racing down the road with a pair of enormous gray horses trotting at his heels. Sunlight gleamed off their shiny flanks as their powerful muscles rippled beneath their hides. They made a breathtaking sight.

The boy quickly backed them into position. They stood perfectly still as they waited for their harnesses to be hooked to the wagon. Feeling dwarfed by the massive animals, Phillip decided a tractor wouldn’t be necessary.

He turned back to Mrs. Nissley just as Amber was once again working herself under the broken vehicle, this time with her bag. He caught her foot. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Her voice was muffled. “Once the weight comes off her leg, someone has to put pressure on that gash. It’s oozing bright red blood.”

“You think it’s a severed artery?”

“I do.”

He didn’t like the danger she was putting herself in. He let go of her ankle because he knew she was right. The weight of the wagon on Martha might be stemming the flow of blood. Once it came off, she could bleed out rapidly.

Mr. Nissley alternated between speaking comforting words to his wife, directing the men making braces and instructing his son on the best way to attach the horses to the rig.

In less than five minutes, they were ready. Mr. Nissley spoke briefly to his wife, then took the reins from his son.

The boy said, “I can do it, Papa?”

“Nee, das ist für mich zu tun.”

Phillip looked at Mrs. Nissley for an explanation. “He said, ‘This is for me to do.’ If it falls back, he doesn’t want my son blaming himself.”

Another man called the boy over to help with the braces. Mr. Nissley coaxed the big horses forward. The wagon creaked ominously but lifted a few inches. The men standing by instantly moved in with the fence boards to prop it up. Squatting beside Amber’s feet, Phillip prepared to drag her out of harm’s way if need be.

The wagon inched upward with painful slowness, but finally Martha was free. Amber was already staunching the flow of blood with a heavy pad as the team dragged the broken wagon across the road. Phillip rushed to help secure the pad with a heavy elastic bandage. Amber was right. It was arterial blood. Martha would have bled to death if they’d delayed any longer.

The Amish woman was conscious but pale. Phillip said to Amber, “What supplies have you got in your bag?”

“IV supplies, pain medication, sterile drapes, suture, anything you’d need for a regular delivery. I’m going to start an eighteen gauge IV with Ringer’s Lactate.”

“Once that’s done give her a bolus of morphine if you’ve got it. Martha, are you allergic to any medications?” “Nee.”

All color was gone from her cheeks and her breathing was shallow. Phillip’s concern spiked. She was going into shock.

“Amber, hurry with that IV.”

“Should we try and turn her over?” Amber asked as she rapidly assembled her equipment, donned gloves and started prepping Martha’s arm for the needle.

“I’d rather wait for EMS and their backboard.” Phillip grabbed his stethoscope from his bag and listened to Martha’s lungs through her back. They were clear of fluid. One thing in her favor.

Amber slipped the IV line in and started the fluids. Gesturing to one of the men nearby, she gave him the bag to hold.

After handing over the reins of his horses to his son, Mr. Nissley returned to his wife’s side. Once there, he sat beside her and simply held her hand without saying a word.

Relief ripped through Phillip when he heard the sound of a siren in the distance.

Within minutes, the ambulance arrived on the scene, followed by a sheriff’s department cruiser. Standing beside Amber, Phillip felt her grasp his hand as they loaded Mrs. Nissley aboard.

Louis jumped out of Phillip’s SUV and raced to his mother’s side. She patted his head and told him not to worry. One of his sisters took his hand and coaxed him away. Mr. Nissley climbed in beside Martha. Soon they were on their way to the hospital in Millersburg, red lights flashing.

Together, Phillip and Amber watched the vehicle disappear in the distance. As the adrenaline drained away, Phillip grew shaky. Looking down, he noticed Amber still gripped his hand.

Following Phillip’s gaze, Amber realized her fingers were entwined with his. Suddenly, she became aware of the warmth traveling up her arm from where they touched. It spread through her body in waves and made her skin tingle like a charge of static electricity.

Their eyes met. An intense awareness rippled around them. Her breath froze in her chest. Her eyes roved over his face, soaking in every detail and committing it to memory.

Sweat trickled down his cheek. His hair was mussed, his clothes dirty. None of that diminished the attraction drawing her to him.

Behind her, someone spoke and a discussion about where to take the wagon broke out. She let go of Phillip’s hand and wrapped her arms across her chest. It had to be the adrenaline ebb. Holding his hand surely wasn’t making her weak in the knees, right?