The One College Football Run That Changed My Life

00:00:14
Speaker 1: And we returned to our American stories. And up next, a writing student of one of our favorite contributors, a terrific writer herself, Leslie Leyland Fields. Her student’s name: Lorna Jean. Today, Lorna shares the story of a close friend, a doctor who helped her through some of the toughest times of her life. Let’s get into the story. Take it away, Lorna.

00:00:39
Speaker 2: Doctor F wearily dropped his well-worn leather briefcase in the front hall, finally home after a very frustrating day at the office. Allison, his wife, hearing the door, stopped washing the dishes and, wiping her hands on her pants, went to greet her partner. She took one look at his drawn, pale face and knew it had not been a good day. “What happened today?” she gently inquired. Doctor F was head of psychiatry at the hospital’s Child and Family Unit. He was used to dealing with tough cases, but some of these clients refused to stay at the office. They came home with him, troubling him with their tragic lives. “If only I could give her a prescription for one good friend,” he mumbled, “that’s what she needs so badly.” This was around nineteen eighty-four, and I was a mere twenty-five years old. I had been seeing Doctor F three times a week for several years, and we were going nowhere. I was completely closed up, allowing no one near me. I was the one who needed one good friend. Allison, his wife, was also a doctor and was often seen around the same hospital in her customary scrubs, her short brown hair tucked up under a colorful cap. She had a natural beauty and innate kindness in her features. She never wore makeup, and when in street clothing, she dressed sensibly, simply, and often with a lovely sweater or vest that she had knitted. She wasn’t just a doctor; she was world-renowned in the field of neonatal anesthesiology. Meanwhile, I was bouncing in and out of the psychiatric ward of the hospital like an out-of-control ping-pong ball. Allison decided she would stop and visit me on her many daily tracks around the hospital. Allison has told me over the years that those first visits were awkward for her.

00:03:11
Speaker 3: She didn’t know me and didn’t know what to talk about, and she was dealing with the girl who pulling teeth would have been easier than getting her to talk. But Allison’s persistence paid off, and gradually we found things to talk about, especially our faith.

00:03:31
Speaker 2: Our visits continued even when I was out of the hospital. We would meet at a coffee shop or go for a walk at the Conservation Area, where she taught me how to entice the chickadees to eat out of my own hand. Soon a special bond began to form between us. I learned I could talk to her about anything, and I marveled, not only then but throughout the years of our friendship, at her amazing wisdom she possessed. I had never met anyone like her. Allison visited almost every week. I would make her favorite ginger-peach herbal tea while I sipped on my regular tea, and we would talk and talk, and talk and talk some more. When I was having a crisis, it was Allison who came over. Doctor F, being male, felt it was unprofessional to come alone. One night, I was having a very difficult autistic meltdown and was trying to protect myself from unseen intruders by lightly clutching several sharp knives. Allison, recognizing it was a tense situation and I was not thinking straight, calmly tried talking me back to reality, but I wasn’t responding. Then suddenly, in her wonderful wisdom, she exclaimed loudly, “I really need a cup of tea!” That broke the spell, and I immediately dropped the knives and plugged in the kettle. For most of these years, Allison was not only a best friend, but a mentor, a spiritual adviser, teacher, and a pseudo-mother figure. She embodied everything I needed during those years to keep going day by day. I didn’t know I had autism then, but this miraculous life-long friendship was like a special gift from Heaven to help me through my messed-up life. After a number of years, Doctor F fell ill with cancer and tragically died months later. I was devastated, but Allison and I had each other as we grieved together. I spoke before over four hundred people, including his colleagues, at his funeral about this man who helped change my life. Allison then started doing overseas medical missions trips, going to remote areas of the world like Nepal, remote parts of the Philippines, and Vietnam. She taught other doctors and the country’s own doctors to use age-old equipment to still do medical marvels for those who would otherwise never receive care. She was renowned for amassing huge amounts of cast-off medical supplies that she arranged to be shipped to remote overseas hospitals. Back home, she toured and spoke to the medical professionals on working in those other countries. When I was trying to arrange to buy a townhouse condo, I was struggling to come up with a suitable down payment. Allison took me out for a walk one day and said to me, “I want to give you your inheritance now so you can get your house,” and she handed me a check for a substantial amount. I was not a family member. I had no idea about any inheritance. I have no words beautiful enough to say to her how much this has meant. In her honor, I have given my house to God for him to bring to my door whoever needs a place of refuge, safety, and rest. It’s his house, not mine. I just get the daily immense pleasure of living here. Our friendship has spanned almost forty years of our lives. Now she is in her late seventies and on the memory ward in a retirement home. I visit her now. Allison has Alzheimer’s, and every time I go visit, I see the light get a little dimmer in her once-sparkling eyes. She is frail, and conversation is getting harder. This once brilliant doctor now has trouble remembering her daughters’ names. She tells me the same thing over and over, and I nod and agree as if I had never heard it before. Every visit, Allison gives me a hug as we say goodbye. Her hugs are the best of anyone I have ever known. Even now, Alzheimer’s has not destroyed either her hugs or her life-loving friendship. Although she has given so much to me over the years, it is now my turn to give to her. Each time I leave, my heart weeps. It weeps for what was and for what is coming. One day I know she will not know who I am, but I will always know this dear lady who has blessed my life in ways I am still discovering. I know I have had what few people have had in their lifetime. I had a prescription for one good friend.

00:10:00
Speaker 1: And a terrific job on the production, editing, and storytelling by our own Monte Montgomery and Reagan Habib. And a special thanks to Lorna Jean for sharing this heartbreaking and beautiful story. At nineteen eighty-four, the twenty-five-year-old Lorna Jean was seeing a psychiatrist in a hospital, and she had what people didn’t know then, nor was it diagnosed: autism. And what a thing to suffer from without knowing what you’re suffering from! And, well, what she got was what Doctor F, her psychiatrist, had always said many mental health patients needed, which was not a pill but one good friend. The story of friendship and the story in the end of love: the story of Lorna Jean here on Our American Stories.