THE WORTH OF ONE - A CHRISTMAS STORY 

By Tessa Harvey

    Dr. Phelps regarded Jacob and Melissa. He peered over his perfectly round silver-framed glasses. Already he had checked the health or otherwise of Augustus, a bright cheery lad, and Veronica, noting her nervousness. How he wished parents and carers would sometimes explain a situation more fully. Some, not all of course, almost regarded children as commodities, useful or otherwise.

    These children stood before him. The girl was fidgeting. The boy rigid. "Sit down, please," he said, as pleasantly as he could. He noted that both children sat down as one. "Ha!"  he thought, that is not autistic behaviour. But the notes said otherwise. Such a quick response to a verbal cue was not typical.

    He glanced at his assistant, a very capable young student in her third year of medical training. She smiled slightly. So the young one agreed with him! "Melissa," the doctor paused, "do you think you could look at Susan here, and myself? We are not ugly monsters." He smiled, and the girl carefully and stiffly straightened her neck. Dr. Phelps sensed the boy's alertness, even as his sister stifled a giggle.

    "Why do you do this? I am puzzled, you see. Sometimes infants cannot hold their heads up, even when they are old enough, for all sorts of reasons."

    Pausing, he made sure no sense of annoyance came across to these pupils. No need for shame or arrogant blame. "But older children must have another reason?"

    Melissa awkwardly looked at this man and his desk nameplate. Arthur Phelps, it simply said. "Dad doesn't want us. He threw Jacob against the wall. Now Jacob doesn't talk. He was only three years old." The answer was well-rehearsed. 

    Well, Dr.  Phelps thought. Trauma, yes, but all these years? "Jacob, I hear you listening." He took a chance. "Please look at me. It will help Melissa."