Anna's Healing

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Anna. Oh, praise Gotte. It’s so gut to see your eyes open.”

  Anna glanced at her mother, who shrugged and smiled at the same time. “Your aenti is a worrier, but you probably know that by now.”

  “Why are you here, Mamm?”

  Her mother pulled a chair closer and sat on it. Beside the chair was her knitting bag, balls of blue, pink, and white yarn poking out of the top. Someone in their family must be expecting another baby.

  The nurse made an adjustment to the bag of fluid. “Dr. Hartman will stop by soon. He is on his rounds if you would like him to explain to Anna—”

  “Nein. We have waited and prayed for this moment.”

  “All right. I’ll give you some privacy. If you need me for anything, push the call button.”

  Her mother waited until the door had closed behind the nurse, and then she signaled to Erin to pull the other chair closer. They sat next to one another, their knees touching Anna’s bed, her mother’s left hand still holding tightly to Anna’s right.

  “You say you remember helping with the harvest. Do you remember anything else?”

  “Nein.” Anna’s heart beat faster as she searched her memory. “Only, maybe the horses. I… I was driving them after I dropped aenti off near the house to help prepare lunch.”

  “I should have never done that, Anna. I should have stayed with you.”

  “Hush, Erin.” Her mother reached over with her right hand and squeezed her sister-in-law’s fingers. “We spoke of this, and it is not your fault. What happened, happened. It was Gotte’s wille whether we understand it or not.”

  “You’re scaring me, Mamm. What happened?”

  “Do you remember the storm?”

  “Maybe. A little.”

  “It was three days ago.” Her mother met her gaze, willing her to remember that which Anna would rather forget.

  “The tornado came from the west.” Erin’s voice had calmed. She stared out the window now, as if she expected to see what she was describing.

  Anna glanced that way, relieved to see blue skies and an occasional white, fluffy cloud.

  “We weren’t there. Samuel ran into the house, urging Mammi and me to go to the cellar. We looked up and saw the funnel cloud and ran outside to find you, but Jacob reached you first.”

  “Jacob—” Anna remembered the dream, remembered the man’s worried look and asking him to hold her hand.

  “He’s a fine young man, Anna. Gotte sent him, for sure and for certain.” Her mamm wiped at her eyes, at the tears that threatened to spill.

  “The horses, they passed him first, dragging the harvester, which broke before they thundered away.” Erin plucked at the blanket covering Anna. “He saw you, ran to you, and waited there until we came. He protected you when the second tornado dropped from the sky. Jacob knew what to do, and then… then he ran to the phone to call for help.”

  Her mother squeezed her hand. “The horses must have seen the tornado, or sensed it, before you did. They threw you, Anna.”

  “Threw me?”

  “Ya.”

  “Snickers and Doodle, are they okay?”

  “They are. Jacob and your onkel found them. They were frightened but unharmed.”

  Anna felt sweet relief flood her system. The horses were dear to her onkel, and she’d become quite attached to them herself.

  “The doctor says it’s a miracle you weren’t trampled, that you lived at all.”

  Anna thought of all her mother and aenti had revealed. It all made sense. It jived with her memories, which were fuzzy, and her dreams, which still seemed quite clear.

  But there was an important detail they were leaving out. She could tell it by the way they glanced at each other.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, Mamm. What is it?” Though she wanted to scream, her voice had in fact become a whisper. One part of her longed to hear the answer to her question, and yet another part of her, the young girl she had been, wanted desperately to clap her hands over her ears and block out her mother’s next words.

  “Your spine was fractured—in the lower part, which is a blessing. Higher up and you wouldn’t be able to use your arms.”

  Anna glanced down at her right hand and rubbed her thumbnail against her index finger.

  “The break couldn’t be repaired. It’s why you can’t feel your legs. They say…” Her mother hesitated but didn’t look away. “They say you will not walk again.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Anna heard her mother’s words, but they didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t she know if her legs no longer worked? She certainly wouldn’t need someone to tell her. Then again, she had been asleep in the hospital for three days.

  There had been some misunderstanding.

  Her aenti stood and walked toward the window, sniffling and swiping at her cheeks.

  Her mother patted her hand. “It’s a heavy burden, Anna, but you will learn to bear it. And we will help you, all of your family. We will do whatever needs to be done.”

  Anna felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. Her mother was so sincere. She didn’t realize this was all a mistake. Perhaps when the doctor came in, he could straighten them out.

  Her mother asked if she had any questions, but she only shook her head. What she needed was to rest. When she woke this nightmare would be over. Perhaps it was another dream—like the quilting and the flowers and the man. She would wake to find herself in her room at her aenti’s house beneath her center diamond quilt.

  But when she woke it wasn’t to her old room. The door opened, and a tall Englisch man walked inside with her mother.

  “Hi, Anna. I’m Dr. Hartman.”

  This was her doctor? She’d expected someone older—someone with gray hair and spectacles.

  “How are you feeling?” He didn’t check her pulse or use the stethoscope that was draped around his neck. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat near her bed.

  “Gut, I guess. Tired.”

  “That’s to be expected. We’ve been giving you a sedative the last few days. With injuries like yours, it’s very important that the patient remain still for forty-eight to seventy-two hours. This decreases the amount of swelling around your spinal cord and the chances of further damage.”

  Anna nodded her head as if she understood.

  “Your mother told me she explained about your injury.”

  “Ya, but…”

  Her mother moved to the other side of the bed and placed a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “It’s all right, dear. You can ask any question. Dr. Hartman is here to help you.”

  “Well, it’s only that I believe there’s been a mistake.” Once she started speaking, the words tumbled out of her like so much water washing over the fields. “Mamm says I won’t be able to walk, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my legs. I would know, right? I feel the same.”

  A look of compassion passed over Dr. Hartman’s features, and Anna felt embarrassed. But this was too important. They were wrong, and she needed to show them.

  “Perhaps if someone could help me swing my legs over the side of the bed, I could show you that I can still walk.”

  “It’s common for SCI patients to be in denial—”

  “I am not in denial.” Her voice was louder now—stronger and more confident. She needed to show them, and if she was sure she could walk, then they would listen to what she had to say. “Could you help me move my legs to the side of the bed?”

  “Did you need help before?”

  Dr. Hartman’s words landed on Anna’s heart like a slap to the face. “Nein, but—”

  “Can you move your legs?” He stood now and moved to the end of her bed.

  Anna closed her eyes and focused, but nothing happened. Nothing at all!

  “Close your eyes again.” Dr. Hartman’s voice was quiet but firm.

  Anna closed her eyes and heard him moving the covers on her bed.

  “I’m using the end of my pen to touch pressure points on your foot
. Can you tell me which foot I’m touching?”

  Anna shook her head.

  “Now?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “What about now?”

  “Nein.” She opened her eyes and watched as he recovered her feet.

  “The tests were quite clear, Anna. When the horses tossed you into the air, you hit the ground hard. The spinal cord is eighteen inches long and goes from the base of your neck to near your waist. Are you following me?”

  She focused on his words and ignored the teardrops sliding down her cheeks.

  “Your break occurred in the lumbar vertebrae, the lower back. If it had been higher you might have lost the use of your arms as well. Because the injury was in the lower portion, you have lost use of the lower part of your body.”

  Her tears were falling in earnest now, and she was powerless to stop them. Though Dr. Hartman appeared sympathetic, he continued with his explanation.

  “You had a complete SCI, meaning a complete break. There is no surgery to repair this type of injury. However, with time and therapy, you may one day be able to learn to control your bowel and bladder function.”

  The information was too much. Anna still didn’t believe it was true. She didn’t believe that she would be bedridden and wearing a diaper for the rest of her life. It wasn’t possible.

  “Anna, I know this is a lot for you to digest, but I believe in being completely honest with my patients.”

  “When can I go home?” An ache burned in Anna’s heart. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to be away from this hospital.

  “Your blood pressure is stable and your breathing is fine. I’d like to do a more extensive test to document the strength and responsiveness of your muscles.” He quickly added, “It’s only small pinpricks and light touches—what I did with your feet a few minutes ago.”

  “After this test may I go home?”

  Dr. Hartman and her mother exchanged a knowing glance. “We have all agreed that it would be best for you to move to a rehab center for a few weeks.”

  “But—”

  “The rehab facility connected with our hospital is very good. There are others you may choose from here in Tulsa if you’d rather.”

  Her mother waved away that idea. “You’ve taken gut care of Anna. I’ve spoken with her father, and we would rather she stay with your rehab.”

  “But I want to go home!” Anna didn’t think she could endure one more thing. She wanted to stamp her foot so badly that tears coursed down her cheeks. No one was listening to her or asking her what she wanted. They’d simply made decisions without her knowing, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

  “I think this is something you two should discuss in private. I have a few more patients to check on and then I’ll stop back by.”

  When he’d left the room, her mother sat in the chair and resumed her knitting. Instead of exasperating Anna more, watching her mother perform the everyday task calmed her nerves. After a few moments, her emotions settled and she was able to ask “Why, Mamm? Why can’t I go home with you? Or back to Aenti’s?”

  Her mother didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she finished the row she was knitting and pushed the needles into the ball of yarn. Focusing her complete attention on Anna, she said, “I’ve spoken with your dat about this. We want you home, Anna, but moving you now does not seem practical. Also Dr. Hartman has taken very good care of you. Perhaps after some time has passed and you’ve grown accustomed—”

  “To being handicapped, a burden on everyone around me?” The words felt like a shout as they burst from Anna’s throat, but in fact they were barely a whisper.

  “Nein. Your legs may not work, dochder, but you do not have to be a burden. You will choose how you follow the path set before you.” Her mamm hesitated and then glanced at her aenti before she continued. “We have all cried many tears, Anna. My heart—all of our hearts—breaks for you and what has happened. But we believe Gotte has not turned His back, and that there is a purpose and a plan for what you are enduring.”

  Anna stared at the blanket covering her. She heard what her mother was saying. She’d heard such sentiments all of her life, but it was difficult to believe them now.

  “We want you to come home with us, Anna.” Erin moved closer to the bed. “I feel it is my fault for leaving you alone that day—”

  “Nein.” Anna didn’t know whose fault it was, but it wasn’t her aenti’s. The woman had done nothing wrong. If she’d stayed with Anna, she might be in a hospital bed beside her.

  “Your bruders and schweschder are all praying. They have offered to come and help if you need them, but moving you now would be unwise.”

  “We want you to come home,” Erin repeated. “Samuel has already spoken with the bishop, and a work crew is coming to the house to widen the doors for your wheelchair and install a ramp.”

  Anna looked out the window, unwilling to envision herself in a wheelchair.

  “Also the bathroom needs to be modified.”

  “It’s a lot of expense to go to if I’ll be going home eventually.”

  “You are worth any expense.”

  “It is the best way, Anna. I will stay as long as you need me, and the hospital here is gut. I’m sure the rehab center will be exactly what you need. By the time you’re finished there, Erin and Samuel’s house will be ready for you to return to it.”

  “And when will I go home? To Goshen?”

  “I want you to give it six months at least. Dr. Hartman has assured us that the first six months are the most critical. If you still want to come home then, we’ll get permission from our bishop to fly you back to Indiana.”

  The knowledge that she would eventually be home—really home—eased some of the panic clawing inside of Anna. She suddenly had an overwhelming need to close her eyes and sleep. Even the dreams would be an improvement over her new reality.

  CHAPTER 25

  Jacob plopped chicken salad onto fresh bread and added a spoonful of beans to his plate. Thanking the girl who was standing behind the spread of food, he accepted a glass of water and turned toward the makeshift picnic tables.

  All of the workers bowed their heads in prayer at the same moment, and a familiar silence permeated the worksite. On Levi’s “Amen,” the noise and clatter of thirty men eating filled the area.

  “Gut weather for rebuilding a barn,” Adam King said.

  It was actually the third barn they had rebuilt in the last week, and it was indeed good weather. Adam had worked on most of them, as had Jacob. The two weren’t exactly friends yet, but they were acquainted.

  Jacob grunted and bit into his sandwich.

  Adam managed to talk around the rather large bite he had taken. “I heard the work has gone well on Samuel’s house. Sorry I couldn’t be there to help.”

  “Quite a few showed up,” Jacob said. “The ramp is done and the bathroom made ready. Widening the doorframes is going to be a bit harder.”

  “Ya. I would imagine so.”

  “Fortunately, Samuel’s house has a rather open floor plan, so only three doors need to be widened.”

  “Front door.”

  “Sure, as well as the bathroom and Anna’s room.”

  “When does she come home?”

  Jacob had been asked the question more times than he could count, and each time he wished he had a better answer. “When she’s ready.”

  He finished the rest of his meal in silence. He’d been in the community for nearly four weeks. The names and faces were beginning to come together in his mind. The Amish in Cody’s Creek made up a small community, especially compared to his parents’ home in New York. Unlike some communities he’d visited, they were also close-knit. Perhaps the harshness of Oklahoma had drawn them together.

  He’d heard the rumors. Originally, many families had moved away when the leaders made the decision to allow tractors. That was more than ten years ago. Since that time, the ones who were left had to depend on one another to survive, an
d now they had become a tight group of families. Surprisingly, they still accepted Jacob, though he suspected that had to do with the number of unwed daughters.

  Jacob didn’t consider himself a prime catch, but he understood how Amish communities worked in regard to marrying. There were four church districts in Cody’s Creek totaling more than 600 folks. That equaled a lot of courting, marrying, and babies born—which continued the cycle. With seven to ten children per family, all Amish districts grew quickly.

  There wasn’t exactly a shortage of people Jacob’s age, but someone from out of state was much preferred to someone local simply because so many family lines crossed. And still it was up to the bishop to confirm that those marrying were not first cousins, or in some communities second cousins. The task was made difficult because they came from a fairly restrictive gene pool, as one bishop had explained to Jacob. He’d had a twinkle in his eyes when he had explained, “With so many children in each family, counting your first cousins can easily result in a number over a hundred. Do the math, son. Some days I need my fraa to help me with the family lines when counseling a couple. Lots of Millers and Yoders, you know.”

  Jacob didn’t consider himself ready to marry, but he’d caught enough glances to understand he was the right age to do so. They would figure out soon enough that he didn’t plan to stay in the area. He finished his sandwich, gathered up his plate and cup, and carried them to the washbasin.

  “If you see Anna, tell her we’re praying for her.”

  “Sure will,” Jacob said, and then he made his way back toward the barn.

  Though a few families had made the trip to Tulsa to visit Anna, Jacob knew that the boys who had been courting her had not. He’d heard that bit of information from Erin one night. He couldn’t blame Neal, Adam, and Thomas for losing interest in Anna. An Amish wife confined to a wheelchair? That would require a very special husband indeed.

  He spent the next three hours carrying roof slats up ladders, working in the afternoon sun, and hoping the labor would stop the questions whirling through his mind.

  How long should he stay in Oklahoma? Could he leave without seeing Anna again? Could he leave when Erin and Samuel so obviously needed his help?