“Barbara, ja, we do. We are all overweight. I don’t want to make one meal for us, then another for Emma, so we’re all going to eat what she’s limited to – though in larger quantities.” She laughed. "I'll be able to keep the leftovers in the refrigerator also so that when she needs to eat between our meals, she'll have everything she needs."
"I can see you really love Emma." The slight emphasis on Emma's name made her feel uncomfortable.
Her mam must have sensed it too because she fixed Barbara with a direct gaze and said, "I love all of my kinder."
Barbara subsided, knowing she couldn’t be found out. “Oh, okay, when you put it like that! Ja, why do double duty? Emma, what are you eating now?”
“Meal shakes.”
“That sounds appetizing.” Barbara turned at a knock on the door.
John got up and let the dietician in.
“Hello, my name is Stephanie. I’ll be showing you the quantities of food you can eat, Emma, and how best to prepare them.”
“Stephanie, would it be possible to make them so I can feed Emma, my husband and me the same thing? And, if I have any family members over, like my other sons and daughters?” Ann asked.
“Some, for sure, but Emma will be eating very small portions, a very low carbohydrate diet and more fats – healthy ones though - which is a bit different from what is good for the rest of your family. After the surgery, carbohydrates will make her ill, but for your health, you'll still need them – the recipes you've been using have had you feeling better, haven't they?"
“Ja, a friend has been showing me some gut recipes and cooking techniques.”
Emma was excited and couldn’t wait until she got off of the liquid diet and could try some of her new food. “Do you have recipes I can read through?” It would pass the time.
Stephanie pulled out a few paperback books with recipes in them. “Here you go. By the way, I was also overweight until my father became diabetic. We all changed our eating habits.”
Barbara, again relegated to the side, knew better than to try and draw attention to herself. Instead, she listened. I’ll just make it look like I’m supporting Emma. As soon as I can, I’ll leave with the kinder. She stayed with Ben and the kinder for another twenty minutes, then made an excuse about Annie and Michael needing to make sure their homework was completed for the next day at school. “Emma, I’ll be praying for your progress and recovery. Mam, I’ll let you know if we’ll be by later—nee, Michael! Leave your auntie’s crutches alone!”
John stood. “Let me, daughter.” Kneeling slowly, John looked straight into Michael’s eyes, knowing he needed the eye-to-eye contact. “Michael John, listen to me. Do you know why we tell you that you can’t play with the crutches?”
“Nee. They’re just fun!” Michael danced on legs that felt the need to be moving around, preferably fueled by crutches.
“Do you remember what happened in the hospital last week? After your auntie had her surgery?”
“You mean when I hit that cart thing?”
“Ja. Then.”
“I got in trouble.”
“And you and your mam can’t ever go into a patient room. If any one of us ends up in the hospital, that means you and your mam can’t visit us.”
“But why? I was only playing! I was bored.”
“I know. But we have toys you can play with here.”
“I know, but I’m bored with them.” Again, Michael danced and jiggled.
“Daughter, I heard tell that there may be a reason why Michael is so active, ja?”
Barbara flushed. “Ja. I am filling out a list of questions about him. So is his teacher. He should be getting an evaluation to let us know what causes him to be so active and unable to focus.”
“I would think it’s gut, given how our family tends to be overweight. I see no need for...Michael, NO!” Ben roared, trying to launch for his older son, who had taken the opportunity to go for Emma’s crutches.
Michael had looped his arms over the handholds of the crutches and was careening all around the living room. Once again, he lost control, this time striking the screen door, flying outside and landing with a loud “thunk” on the wood porch. “Mam! Dat! I hurt myself!”
All the adults, except for Emma, raced outside. Without her crutches, she couldn’t safely move around. Instead, she shook her head and resolved that she would hide the blamed crutches every time Barbara’s family was around.
“Mister Lapp, let me look at him.” Stephanie, the dietician, had witnessed the entire event. Running her hands over Michael’s limbs, she didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Looking at his bloody nose, she sighed. “You may want to take him to Urgent Care in town. I’m not sure if his nose is broken or just bloody. He doesn’t seem to have any broken bones.”
Ben lifted Michael and sternly set him on his feet. “Denki, miss. Michael, let’s go.” Gripping his son’s hand firmly, Ben hurried to the buggy.
Ann hurried inside and came back outside with an old towel. “Daughter, hold this over his nose so he doesn’t drip blood on his clothing. And ja, go to the doctor.”
***
As the Andersons hurried to town, Ben and Barbara discussed the upcoming evaluation for Michael. “Ben, I think we should do it. At the least, we can get a definite confirmation he doesn’t have this hyperactive thing. Maybe I can talk to Mam and get some ideas from her. Heaven knows, I supervise that child closely.”
After seeing Michael led by his impulses, Ben still wasn’t sure—yet. “Ja, go ahead. How many times have we told him to stay away from those blasted crutches?”
“I’ve lost count. Michael, stop crying. You did this to yourself.”
In the Urgent Care office, a nurse practitioner manipulated Michael’s nose. “It’s not broken, but he will have some pain from bonking it on the ground so hard. He was playing with crutches, you said?” The nurse practitioner noticed Michael edging toward some of the medical equipment in the exam room. Putting her hand firmly on his leg, she looked at him. “Young man, if you grab any of those supplies, I will make sure that you regret it.” The words she used weren’t scary. Instead, it was the tone of voice that made Michael sit still.
Seeing this, Barbara was stunned. “How did you do that?”
“Easy. I have a child with attention-deficit disorder. She is impulsive and just acts without thinking. Over the years, I learned that my tone of voice got her attention more than any promise I could make to her. Try it and see if it works.”
Barbara and Ben both blinked. She sees it too! Barbara’s heart fell, knowing that if a medical professional had never met her son before, let alone given him a series of tests, then the possibility of this “hyperactivity thing” as she called it, was a real possibility. “Can you help stop his nose from bleeding, please? And what can we give him for the pain?” Her voice was humble.
“Sure. I’ll pack his nose until the bleeding stops. In the meantime, is he allergic to acetaminophen?” Learning that Michael could take the medication, she poured out a small dose of children’s acetaminophen and, looking straight in his eyes, said, “Take this right now. Your face will feel better soon.” Finally, the bleeding stopped. “Take these and, if he starts to bleed again, roll them up and slide them into his nostrils. You want the blood to clot so he won’t bleed anymore.”
On the way home, all the children fell asleep, worn out from the Michael-generated excitement. This allowed Barbara and Ben to converse quietly. “Wife, do you think that thing they say he has is for real?”
Barbara thought for a few seconds. “I have to. The nurse saw him for only a few minutes before she said something was up with him. That nurse in the hospital brought it up. Ben, think back. He was always the hardest to get to settle down at night or for naps. Annie and Jeb have always been so much calmer and they actually think before they act. It hurts, husband, but I think we have to think of what’s best for him. He needs to be evaluated for this thing. And whatever treatments are prescribed, we have to follow. Or he’s going to get in some big trouble. Can you imagine him this way during his rumpspringe?”
Ben shuddered. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I don’t like it. But I don’t want something like falling with Emma’s crutches to become driving a car, getting drunk or getting an Amish girl with child.”
“I’ll pick up the papers from Miss Benson this week and make an appointment with the doctor.” Thinking of the possibility her own son had such a problem depressed Barbara. Looking back at her sleeping kinder, she saw how Michael still wiggled even as he slept. Inadvertently, he jabbed Annie in the stomach with his elbow.
“Ow! Mam! He poked me!” Annie, angry at being woken up, glared at her brother, one fist ready to make contact.
“Don’t hit him, daughter. Michael, come here.”
Michael clambered into the front seat, plopping himself between his parents. “Why’s she so mad? I didn’t do nothin’.”
Barbara sighed. “Son, you were wiggling in your sleep. Your elbow caught Annie in the stomach.”
“Oh. Well, I always feel like I gotta move around.”
“Have to move around, not gotta.”
“Okay, have to.”
“What happens if you try not to move around?”
“It feels like my body is going to ‘splode with the moves. It comes from inside, Mam. I can’t help it.”
Barbara looked at Ben, who was looking at Michael and her. “I’m going to put my arm around you until we get home.” She wanted to see for herself what Michael’s body did. As she held him, she became aware of little wiggles and jiggles she’d never observed before. His arm moved, and then his leg bounced up and down. All of this was independent of the bumps in the road. “Okay, kinder, we’re home. Annie and Michael, let me see your homework before supper.”
“Aww, Mam! I wanted to play outside!”
“Five minutes. Only. Get rid of some of that need to move around, then I’m checking your homework.”
Ten minutes later, glancing over Annie’s completed assignments, Barbara nodded. “Okay. Put these away for tomorrow. Michael?” She accepted his worksheets, all of which were uncompleted. “Michael! You had all afternoon Friday, and all day yesterday! What were you doing?”
Michael shrugged. “I dunno,” he mumbled.
“Get busy. I’m going to work on supper and I’ll be supervising you. You can’t go outside until every worksheet is done.” In that one torturous exercise, Barbara realized even more what Michael’s teacher went through every day. Every two minutes, she was redirecting him back to his work. Finally, she closed the back door, willing to forego the cool breezes as she worked. “Michael, stop drawing all over your worksheet. Here.” Taking the art gum eraser, she obliterated the drawing Michael had made. “Spelling words. Now. You’ve finished your math and you only have seven words to write out. That won’t take much time, so get busy.” Finally, after another thirty-five minutes, Michael slammed his pencil down. “Done! Oops. I broke the lead.”
Barbara sighed. “Go outside. Supper’s almost ready.” Taking his pencil, she sharpened it quickly and slipped it back into his pencil case. Ten minutes later, she called everyone. As they ate, she continued to watch Michael, noting how active he was, even as he ate. I’m sure he’s going to get that hyperactive diagnosis.
***
At home, Emma faced challenges of her own. Now that she had graduated to more solid foods, she found it was more difficult to finish what she was served. “Mam, are you using the measuring cups to measure my food out?”
“Ja, I am...oh, maybe I’m adding another little spoonful. Seeing how little you are allowed to eat, I just keep thinking that wouldn’t nourish a newborn kitten.”
Emma sighed, frustrated. Pushing her pudding back, she looked at Ann. “Mam, I’m only supposed to have that exact measurement, not a little bit more. If I try to put more food in my stomach than it will hold, I’ll get sick. And, because I can’t move very fast, that means I’ll get a mess all over everything.”
“But your nourishment!”
“I’m getting everything I need, Mam: vitamins, minerals, milk, vegetables, fruits, meat. Well, eventually, meat. Do you remember the pictures in the library books we were studying?”
Ann nodded, thinking.
“Well, think of that new space—that small space—that I have now. It’s quite a bit smaller than the normal stomach. I can’t finish my pudding or my milk, or I’ll be sick. I’ll tell you what. In the morning, I’ll measure my breakfast out. Believe me, I’m full even though it looks to you like I’m eating almost nothing.”
“But your leg—”
“Mam, I’m much better about balancing. Once I’ve measured everything out, you or Dat can put it on the table for me. Besides, I do have to practice shifting and pivoting, right?”
“Ja. You’re right. I just....”
“You don’t want me to get hurt again. I’m being careful. I’m going to sit and read, unless you want me to dry dishes for you.”
“As long as you sit. Let me clean the table off, you can dry, and you let me put everything away.”
After doing that small chore, Emma felt much more useful—needed. “I’m going to walk around. Maybe I’ll feel less full after.”
“Okay, just be careful.”
After half an hour, Emma did feel less stuffed. She had also worked up a little bit of a sweat and panted as she moved to her room.
***
Later that week, Emma smiled as she got good news from her orthopedist. “That’s wunderbaar news! You mean I can start walking around without my crutches?”
“Without one crutch. You’ll be in a stiff leg brace, so you will need the support of a crutch. This will be added to your therapy because it’s a different way of movement for you again. If you keep making this kind of progress, you’ll be ready to say goodbye to us and get back to work and a normal life!”
Emma clasped her hands under her chin, feeling excited. “Will my knee still hurt after standing for a long time?”
“Yes. Until you’ve lost some of your weight and had corrective surgery on both knees, you’ll still hurt. If you’re going back to the bakery, I strongly suggest getting a stool to sit on while you work. And moving around frequently so you stay loose and you keep losing weight. Speaking of which...”
“What?” Emma was on the alert.
“You already look like you’ve lost some weight. Did you have the surgery?”
“Ja! You’re right. It was a little easier to pin my dress closed this morning.”