Dr. Shackleford said. “And there’s no medicine I can prescribe that will do her much good. But I’ll leave you some mild sedatives.” “Is she goin’ to be all right?” John-Boy asked. Dr. Shackleford sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair and stuffed his stethoscope into his black bag. He had been with Jenny for almost an hour before he came downstairs. “That’s hard to say, John-Boy. These things can be very complicated. Basically it’s a case of shock. To a certain extent all of us shut out the rest of the world when we encounter extremely painful situations. It’s a form of self-protection. We fear we can’t cope with the problem, so we deny its existence. In most cases, however, we recover quickly. We take a deep breath, and one by one we accept the facts, knowing that time will eventually heal the wounds.” He placed a small bottle on the table and snapped his bag shut. “You think that’ll happen with Jenny?”
