Lore: Doc Norah's Journal
Jacob came by for a visit while Lily was harvesting the garden. He’d cut up his thumb tilling the earth, but didn’t complain none. He and Lily are something else. I don’t know where we’d be without that little garden of theirs. It not only brings folks together, but it has us all eating healthy and gives me lots of good ingredients for my herbal supplements. Best part is that they grew more than carrots and tomatoes in that garden. Sprouted up a sweet little love story as well. Everyone thought they were loony hording up seeds and dreaming of a garden, but just look at what they accomplished. Two folks working together to achieve a shared goal for the good of everyone and finding love along the way... Fills my heart with joy just thinking about it.
That Founder Ford is a tough nut to crack, I tell you what. I can tell he’s still hurt real bad about losing Ellen. It ain’t right, burying your own grandkid. I tried to get him to open up, offered something to help him sleep or take the edge off the pain, but he just brushes it off. I can see a world of hurt in those eyes, but he prefers to keep it to himself, and I suppose that’s his right. Everyone handles heartache in their own way.
Those rowdy kiddos scraped themselves up good today. Running all over creation pretending to be Mud Dogs. One was howling about a broken arm, but it turned out it was just a nasty bruise, thank goodness. It’ll heal up in no time. Gotta love their exuberance, but I sure wish they were pretending to be doctors instead of no-good bandits. Maybe I should have a chat with Mudtooth about those stories of his...
Duane came by with an upset stomach. Again. Poor thing. I told him, if it looks nasty, don’t eat it. We’ve got plenty to fill our bellies now, no need to eat some weird bug or rancid piece of meat. He thinks it’s a skill of sorts to eat anything, but I told him his taste and smell are his body’s way of protecting him. Gave him the usual to settle his stomach, but it won’t be long until he’s back for more.
Poor Wally. I feel so bad for that one. Some folks think he’s a bit touched in the head, but it’s not like that. He’s just got bad dreams, always has as long as I’ve known him. I bring him some sleepytime tea to try and help every now and then. He humors me, but I have a feeling that tea is just watering the garden and never makes it down his throat. Doubt it'd help anyway, but I gotta try. It’s my job to help folks here.
What am I gonna do with that ol' Mudtooth? He was still as stone in his chair earlier, and I was sure he was a goner. Then he scared me half to death with the loudest snore I ever heard. I’m just thankful he was okay. Still, when he’s not dozing off, he’s ladling up that stew of his. I know he’s just trying to help, but I don’t think folks know what they’re getting into with it. Folks who eat too much of it come knocking, feeling like their hearts are beating too fast and they can’t sit still. All I can do is give them some nice tea and try to keep them distracted and calm until the effects wear off. That ain’t normal stew.
I swear, I just about took Rigs over my knee and whooped him! The man was suffering from something like pneumonia and kept right on working like nothing was wrong. It took him just about passing out at his forge for McCabe to let me know what was what. The two of us practically had to drag him here. Imagine what would happen to morale if we lost Rigs? Found a small pile of scrap on my table the next day. He’d never admit it, but I know it was his way of thanking me. He’s so dang nice.
Whispers came through for some throat lozenges today. I always make sure I have some around just for him. He was stabbed in the throat a good while back, and now he can’t talk. Has to scribble away on that little chalkboard of his. I’ve looked through all of my scrounge, trying to find some way to help him, and I’ve tried this or that, but there’s nothing for it. Can’t heal everyone. As Gramper says, flesh prisons will let you down eventually, so you gotta make sure your soul’s in good shape, since that’s all you get to keep in the end. The longer I’m a doctor, the more that rings true.
Reggie’s slowed down a fair bit in recent years. I know he’s getting on in age, but it’s tough to see. Couldn’t ask for a gentler soul. He loves chatting, but he keeps telling the same stories over and over, like he doesn’t know he’s already said ‘em to you. I’ve read about this... It’s not something I can fix, unfortunately, and it’s likely to get worse over time. So I just smile and act like I’ve never heard the story before. Don’t think I could bring myself to tell him I’ve heard some of ‘em a hundred times already. Anyone callous enough to make Reggie sad doesn’t belong in Ward 13!
Just like Founder Ford and Bo, our little Clem ain’t aging like normal. There’s something to it, but I can’t put my finger on it. None of my books can explain something like that. Bo seems to think it’s ‘cause he takes real good care of himself, but I’m not so sure that tracks. That aside, I can tell Clem is sad. Poor girl carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and much like Ford, won’t let anyone in. Maybe a diary would help... Somewhere to vent the things she doesn’t want to share. Hmm.
Had a nice little chat with McCabe today. Her joints were aching a bit, so I gave her some salve. She works so hard. She comes off tough, but really she’s a sweetheart. She’d kill me if I ever told anyone, so I’ll keep it to myself.
He’s polite enough, but I don’t know what to think about Dwell. He’s from...heck, some place I ain’t never heard of. He’s always talking about some Doe and Ravager. Gives me the willies. Still, he’s one of us, so I hope if he ever needs me, I can help in some way. I don’t know a thing about Pan physiology, so I’m just crossing my fingers that it doesn’t come up.
Heard a rumor that one of our townsfolk is getting jittery and keeps talking about leaving. Hopefully it’s just talk. They’ve gotta know they wouldn’t last long out there on their own. Our gal Clem can’t save everyone who wanders too far outside our walls. I figure I’ll try and find who it is and whip up some anti-anxiety herbs to calm ‘em down. That’ll be a mite easier than trying to patch ‘em up if they do try and leave.