An Amish Christmas by Patricia Davids Page A

tongue.
    She removed it when it beeped and John said, “You’re the one I need to thank for the financial help.”
    Wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around his arm, she said, “You’re welcome, but it wasn’t just me. A lot of people wanted to help.”
    John remained quiet until she had finished with his blood pressure. When she took the stethoscope out of her ears, he said, “I wasn’t aware that I required a midwife.”
    She chuckled. “I am a woman with many hats. One of those being an office nurse.”
    The door opened and a tall, distinguished man with silver hair came in leaning heavily on a cane. “Yes, andshe is proof that good help is hard to come by these days.”
    “Ha!” she retorted. “You just try running this office without me, Harold.”
    “No doubt I’ll have to when you marry what’s-his-name,” he grumbled.
    “Is that any way to talk about your grandson? Don’t worry, Mr. Doe, Dr. White’s bark is worse than his bite.” She checked John’s ears, his eyes and then his throat.
    Dr. White, who had been reading John’s chart, said, “You are a very interesting case, Mr. Doe.”
    “So I’ve been told.” John tried not to let his bitterness show. He hated being an oddity, the freak with a damaged mind.
    “I imagine you’re tired of hearing that.” The doctor washed his hands and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Good guess.”
    Harold began removing the bandage from John’s head. “We medical people live for cases like yours. The odd thing, the unusual diagnoses. It’s like catnip to us. We want to define it, study it, understand it, cure it.”
    John winced as the tape pulled his hair. “I’m in favor of a cure. Tell me which pill to take.”
    “Amnesia following a trauma isn’t unusual, but normally it involves losing a short period of time just prior to the injury. A prolonged and complete amnesia such as you have is exceedingly rare.”
    “Lucky me.” This time John didn’t disguise his sarcasm.
    “Your scalp is healed nicely. How are your ribs?”
    “Not bad if I take it slow.”
    “Good. I’m going to have Amber take out the stitches. Any headaches?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Bad ones?”
    “They can be. I think they’re getting better. Maybe I’m just getting used to them.”
    “Is there any particular thing that triggers them?” The doctor pulled off his gloves and picked up John’s chart.
    “I get these flashes, like images from a movie. I think they are memories, but I can’t be sure. When that happens the pain gets intense.”
    “You say you think they’re memories. Anything specific?”
    John felt stupid sharing the few instances that he’d had. “Frying trout. A woman laughing. A sick or starving horse. A woman using an Amish word. Nothing with any context of time or place.”
    “The same woman?” Amber asked.
    “I’m not sure. I don’t see her face.”
    “Are these flashes becoming more frequent?” The doctor made a note on the chart.
    John held still as Amber began removing his stitches. “Not that I can tell. Some days I’ll have one or two, some days I won’t have any.”
    He winced but didn’t yelp as she worked on one stubborn stitch. Finally, she said, “All done. You’ll just need to keep it clean and dry, but otherwise you’re good to go. I understand you’re staying at Eli Imhoff’s place.”
    “Yes. That’s where I was found. I’ve been interviewing the Amish in the area for the past several days hoping to find someone who recognizes me. I mean, I must have been in the area for a reason.”
    Closing the chart, Dr. White asked, “You’ve been going door-to-door?”
    “I started with the farms closest to where I was found but I’m not having much luck. Don’t get me wrong. TheAmish have been forthcoming, maybe because I’ve had Karen Imhoff with me, but no one knows anything.”
    Amber and Dr. White exchanged glances. Amber said, “There might be an easier way to meet people than going to every house in the