I was only five when I found I could heal things. I picked up a butterfly, struggling to fly, its wings crushed by another child. My hand started to warm as I touched it and the butterfly lay still for a moment. I was sad, thinking it had died on my palm, but then it twitched and flapped its wings briefly before taking off into the sky. I didn’t realise what I’d done then of course, I thought maybe it had revived with just the heat of my skin.
It probably wasn’t until I was about twelve that the truth kicked in. My friend was in pain. Her stomach was hurting her. Cramps we thought. I tried to comfort her and she started to move away from me, but then she said “your hands feel so warm – can’t you put them on my stomach?”
It felt really weird, putting my hands on her like that – around the navel. You don’t really touch each other that way, but she was beyond caring. For a while, she went from grey to green to white and her face contorted. I was scared – it didn’t seem right to me. Then she relaxed and let out a sigh. With the sigh, her colour came back and my hand started to cool.
She turned to me and frowned: “that was weird” she said, “I thought I was going to die – what did you do?”
“I don’t know” I confessed, “but maybe you should go to the doctor.”
We gave an edited version of events to her mother and her mother took her straight to A&E. Turned out she had acute appendicitis – the doctor couldn’t believe it – said it had been about to burst and then seemed to heal itself just enough to get her to hospital in time.
It doesn’t come all the time mind you, sometimes I can help someone with the pain or the stress, can help alleviate the depression on their mind and sometimes I can’t. I never know when the gift will come, I just feel my hands warm up and realise that this is the time this is the chance.
So what do I do now? This man in front of me – I know he’s violent, a wife beater, bully – who knows what else. He is lying in agony in front of me, doubled up and my hands are glowing.
What do I do?
Copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission