And we return to our American stories.

And up next, a writing student of one of our favorite contributors, a terrific writer herself,

Leslie Layland Fields, her students 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. Dr. F. Wearily of her life. Let's get into the story. Take it away, Lorna.

Dr. 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?

Dr. 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 1984, and I was a mere 25 years old. I had been seen Dr. 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 Fred. 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 by 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.

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

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