Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman

I was born on February 15, 1833,

in Boston, Massachusetts.

I was the last of five children.

The four before me... all girl.

My father, being a man of science, firmly believed

that the odds would finally dictate the birth

of a long-awaited son.

He would be named Michael.

I was named Michaela.

I was determined to attend medical school,

but none would admit women.

I finally received my MD

from the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania.

To my mother's dismay,

my father made me a partner in his practice,

and for seven years, we worked side by side,

until...

When he died,

I lost my advocate, my mentor, my best friend.

My mother would say that he'd spoiled me.

I would say...

I'm very sorry.

He'd given me the freedom to be myself.

With my father gone,

our practice virtually disappeared.

I was afraid my life as a doctor was over,

but I promised him to carry on.

Enough is enough, Michaela.

Your father is gone, and so are his patients.

They were my patients, too.

Your father... God rest his soul...

indulged you in a fantasy.

I have a medical degree, Mother.

That is no fantasy.

In this world... it is.

Then maybe I belong in a different world.

I found an advertisement in the Globe

for a town doctor in the Colorado territory.

Thank you, Laura.

Ma'am.

I sent a telegram detailing my experience,

and in less than a week,

I received a reply offering me the position.

It was the frontier,

a place where people made new beginnings,

a place where my services would be needed,

where my skills would be appreciated,

where I would finally be accepted as a doctor.

As we bumped across that vast territory,

I could feel civilization receding behind me,

slipping away with each turn of the wagon wheels.

Giddyap, giddyap!

My father taught me that different customs...

language or color of skin...

were not causes for prejudice or hostility,

but as I saw real Indians for the first time,

I could not reason with the knots in my stomach.

Yo, yo.

Welcome to Colorado Springs, gentlemen.

Thank you.

Come here, son.

Hi, Daddy!

Pardon me.

Where might I find Reverend Johnson?

Down at the church.

Thank you.

Uh, may I leave my luggage right there

just for a while?

You mean, will it still be there when you get back?

Well, no. I was just thinking...

We're not all thieves on the frontier, miss.

No, no, of course not.

I... I was just concerned

that it might be in someone's way.

No.

Whoops.

Morning, ma'am.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

Yee-hoo!

Pardon me.

Might you be Reverend Timothy Johnson?

Yes.

How may I help you?

Michaela Quinn, MD.

The new doctor.

I'm afraid I don't quite understand.

The telegram said "Michael Quinn."

I believe I spelled it out quite clearly.

That's Michael with an "A."

My father was expecting a male.

So was I.

Would you please come with me?

Certainly.

What's going on?

That's Union Colonel Chivington

and Cheyenne Chief Black Kettle.

Army's negotiating with the Indians

for all the land North of Sand Creek.

Oh, my.

You-you all right?

Oh... no. I'm-I'm fine.

Fine.

There you go.

Horace? Horace!

Yeah? I'm up here!

What can I do for you, Reverend?

That telegram...

the one you received from the doctor

in Boston... how was it signed?

Uh, what do you mean?

Well, you didn't change anything.

Of course not.

Except that initial.

I-I didn't think you'd give a hoot

what his middle name was.

That middle initial didn't happen to be an "A," did it?

Well, that's right, young lady.

Thanks, Horace.

Anytime.

This is most embarrassing, Miss Quinn.

And I want to apologize for the inconvenience,

but we will, of course, pay your way back to Boston.

That won't be necessary, thank you.

Colorado Springs needs a doctor,

and I happen to be one.

But you don't understand.

No one around here has ever heard

of a lady doctor.

Well, there's always a first time.

Miss, there are no respectable single women

in Colorado Springs.

That's a shame, Reverend.

Every town should have at least one.

Widow Cooper doesn't even allow lady boarders.

Fetch your mother.

Hey, Ma!

Hey, Ma!

I'm coming!

Morning.

Oh, Charlotte, there's been a terrible mistake.

Just a small misunderstanding, really.

Well, see, I thought that Miss Quinn was a man.

I mean, I assumed when she answered the advertisement

that she was a doctor.

I am a doctor.

So...

you're the new doctor?

Yes, I am. Well, that's not what...

Michaela Quinn, MD

Um...

Okay, okay.

Charlotte Cooper.

Oh...

Cooper.

And these are my young 'uns.

Matthew, my oldest.

This is Colleen, and, uh...

Brian.

Your dress sure is dirty.

Manners.

I told Miss Quinn

that you only take gentlemen boarders.

Don't have a rule.

Matthew, you go on,

help the reverend bring the lady's luggage.

Child...

Please.

Welcome.

You're a real doctor?

That's right.

You went to college and everything?

And everything.

Oh, excuse me.

This way, please.

It's right upstairs.

I got some soldiers staying here

during Treaty Council.

Right here.

Careful.

Thank you...

Reverend,

Matthew.

Well, it ain't Boston.

It's very nice, thank you.

Good.

My expectations of a warm reception

were vastly disappointed.

Apparently, the prevailing opinion

of women doctors was no better in Colorado Springs

than it had been in Boston.

Bless this food and those who prepared and served it,

and may all Thy children everywhere

be blessed with equal bounty. Thank you, Lord.

Amen.

So, Captain Chivington...

how is the treaty progressing?

Colonel Chivington.

Oh, I beg your pardon.

How are the Indians faring?

The only reason I'm sitting out there in the dirt