An Amish Emergency: Happy Hour at the ER

When you live in rural Northwestern Pennsylvania, a trip to the ER is rarely an ordinary affair. Add an Amish friend into the mix, and it transforms into something straight out of a small-town sitcom, complete with cultural collisions, quiet resilience, and more than a few moments of unexpected humor. 

The Amish don’t typically rush to hospitals. They tend to rely on home remedies, prayer, and an impressive tolerance for pain. But one of our dear friends was experiencing pain beyond the reach of Epsom salts and a dandelion tincture. My husband Wes and I are fluent in the art of Amish chauffeur duty, emergencies included. 

At the hospital, the cultural contrasts became glaringly apparent. The waiting room was busting at its seams, teeming  with unhappy patients, ill-behaved children running amok and assorted family dramas unfolding by the minute. Yet for some reason, the initial sight of Amish people quiets a room. People stop what they’re doing and stare inquisitively at the plain clothed time-travelers, straight out of an old western movie.  

My Amish friend is the kind of person who makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a simpler, more grounded world the moment you meet her. She’s a walking encyclopedia of homeopathic healing, a local expert in burn treatments and remedies, and a teacher by day who somehow finds time to be a a high-achieving homemaker around the clock. Her matriarchal role is deeply respected, and together with her husband, they stand as pillars of their family and extended Amish community. 

What sets her apart, even more than her vast knowledge, is her inquisitive nature. While we “English” might rely on Google to answer life’s questions, my friend asks, processes, learns, and stores information in her mind—imagine that! She thrives on understanding people, places, and ideas, often walking right up to a stranger with her signature politeness and starting a conversation with, “May I ask you a question?” 

Her warmth and confidence shine through in every interaction. Whether she’s sharing a remedy for a stubborn burn or asking a shopkeeper about a peculiar item on their shelf, her presence is magnetic. She represents the essence of her community: resourceful, kind, and deeply connected to the world around her. 

This trip to the ER would soon prove to be a unique one. After we got settled in for what promised to be a long wait, my friend’s eyes began scanning the room, her curiosity bubbling to the surface. I could almost see the questions piling up in her mind like raindrops on a windowpane. There was so much to observe, so much to learn in this room filled with strangers—and so much time to do it. 

She began with the person sitting beside her, leaning in slightly with her signature politeness. “May I ask, what brings you here?” she inquired, her voice warm and genuine. The lady answered, offering a polite but brief explanation, and before I knew it, they were deep in conversation. My friend’s genuine interest turned the sterile waiting room into a space of connection. 

She was just getting started. Soon, her attention shifted to the family sitting across from us, their wide-eyed child staring intently with a mixture of fascination and hesitation. I could almost hear the child’s inner monologue: Should I or should I not be talking to this stranger? 

My friend had no such reservations. She offered the child a kind smile, and in no time, her delightful personality broke through their defenses. The little one, now completely enchanted, leaned forward to answer questions and even asked a few of their own. Watching the exchange was like witnessing magic—my friend’s ability to connect with people of all ages, in any setting, was nothing short of extraordinary. 

By this time, curious onlookers began to take notice. The waiting room had transformed into a stage, with various conversations as the main performance. The actors were completely unaware of their growing audience. But the fascination was palpable. Surely, others harbored their own curiosities and silent inquiries. Don’t we all? Yet how many of us would have the confidence to ask a complete stranger, “What brings you to the ER?” Certainly not me. 

But  my friend wasn’t just curious—she was genuinely concerned for each one of her new acquaintances. 

Soon, the unspoken tension of the room gave way to intrigue. Rising from her seat with the poise of someone hosting a community meeting, she began moving from chair to chair, family to family, each encounter punctuated with her trademark introduction: “May I ask you why you’re here?” 

One by one, stories began to emerge—some brief, others detailed. A young man nursing a swollen hand from a stubborn fight with a tool, an elderly couple quietly awaiting news from the back, a worried mother with a feverish toddler on her lap. My friend listened intently to every word, her questions precise yet compassionate, her interest genuine and warm. 

It was extraordinary—a turn of events no one in that waiting room could have predicted. People seemed almost relieved (and eager) to share their stories, perhaps feeling a little less invisible in the sterile space where time always drags or to have their own chance to speak to a real Amish person. My friend turned an ordinary, uncomfortable experience into a tapestry of human connection drawn in by the courage and warmth of someone who dared to do what most of us wouldn’t. 

It was, in every sense of the word, unforgettable.