Survivor - By Kaye Draper Page 0,19
in the Disney characters painted on the walls. Oh.
Peter led the way to a small play area in the middle of the floor. A group of kids were waiting for him. They were all smiles and crazy energy- even the ones with bandages and I.V. poles. I could see a nurses’ station on one side of the area. Hallways with patient rooms stretched out in each direction, with brightly colored figures painted on the windows.
A pretty blond nurse was rounding up the kids. She gave me a brief, friendly smile before turning to beam at Peter. “What will it be today?”
Peter smiled in response, and shot a questioning glance at the kids “Paint?” At a chorus of agreement, the nurse hurried off to get us some supplies. Peter introduced me around and greeted some new patients. Then we painted.
It was the most fun, and the most heartbreaking, thing I had ever done. The children ranged from toddlers barely able to walk, and attended by strained parents, to one hesitant teenager with one side of his head shaved. The sutures stuck out like dark railroad tracks spanning the entire side of his scalp. The little ones seemed to love the fact that my wheelchair put me on their level. One adorable little girl of about five or so asked to sit on my lap. I was scared to let her, afraid I might disrupt the long IV trailing from her arm. But Peter stooped and picked her up, raising her high then plopping her in my lap amid a chorus of giggles.
I watched his green eyes sparkle with joy as the children swarmed him. I was as enraptured as everyone else in the area. The staff all managed to stop and sneak a peek at our group at some point in the afternoon- not that I blamed them. Peter came to the children’s wing about once a week. Sometimes he visited the various adult floors too. “I’ve been blessed with this life,” he explained on the way home. “You must make the most of the precious life you’ve been given.”
I mulled this over on the ride home. Sure, my life wasn’t as far-reaching as Peter’s, but the depth of his sentiment touched me. My life had been forever altered by my accident, but nonetheless, I had survived. For what purpose? What would the world be like if everyone sought to make more of their lives by enriching the lives of others?
*****
When I was a little girl, I used to write stories and poems in my journal. My best friends and I would act them out, running around the house and yard like little fiends, driving my parents crazy with our antics. When I got older, more important things took up my time, things like school, and homework, and boys. I stopped writing for some time.
And then fate bitch-slapped me. When I started to wake up a little, and get some awareness of what had happened, I was angry, hurt, and confused. My brain was feverishly working to make new neuronal connections as I learned to do even the most basic tasks all over again. I needed an escape, something outside the walls of the rehab unit. During one of my therapy sessions my mother mentioned, in an off- hand sort of way, how I used to write. That’s when my Occupational therapist handed me a pen and a little notebook.
My psychologist had urged me to journal, but it held no interest for me. I could barely hold a pencil, and typing was a chore. I spent all day processing what had happened to me; I didn’t want to spend my free time that way too. But writing fiction was different. This was escape- something I could immerse myself in until the next therapy session, the next trial.
It was very difficult at first. I started with single words. Eventually I wrote short poems, then stories. As I emerged from the fog, they even started to make sense.
In the years since my accident, I wrote almost daily. I kept most of my work on my computer, but the really good stuff- the poems and stories and little bits of insight that had deeper meaning to me- I printed and put in a binder on my bookshelf. That way they were easy to grab when I want to look at them without starting up the computer.
I dreamed of the color green that night. My mind was filled with the soothing color of nature and