For someone who needs it..
Now, the story I am about to tell, is fiction, some of you, dear readers, may be able to place it, others may not, maybe I've got it wrong enough that noone will recognise it after all, but that doesn't matter really... It's something that's been playing on my mind a little today and perhaps it'll cheer someone up a little.
Now as our story goes, there was a terrible plane crash with many aboard killed and dozens rushed to hospital. Amongst the survivors was a young boy who had been travelling with his family. The boy was left in a coma, his family weren't that lucky.
Day by day, the patients in the intensive care unit began to give up their hold on life and die, little by little what had been a busy ward slowly became quieter and quieter. The boy in our story though, was different, one afternoon he regained consciousness and became the first survivor of the wreck to regain consciousness, although his situation was severe. He was completely parylised except for his head and his left arm. One by one, he watched sadly as his fellow passengers died quietly and the room emptied until it was him and one other: a girl, a little younger than he was.
Eventually, after months alone in the ward together, the boy asked about the girl. The doctors told him she was an orphan like he was now. She was extensively injured, worse than he was, and even if she regained consciousness, she would be totally parylized too. They had little hope even of that, however. The doctor mentioned a new technique in surgery that they were tempted to try out on the girl which had a chance of saving her outright. They were reluctant to risk it, as there was a greater chance that it would simply kill her, and they were under instruction only to attempt the procedure if there was no hope she might pull through on her own.
As the days went by, the boy wished there was something he could do for the girl. He talked to her, wondering if she heard, but of course, he had no way of telling. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and sank into a depression, turning the doctors away, refusing food, after a while even refusing to acknowledge the presence of the doctors. Until one day, his physiotherapist visited. Usually, he had a clipboard and a pen, today he had just two pieces of paper.
He sat down, the way he usually did and asked the boy if he knew about the legend of the paper crane. As usual, there was no response, but the doctor continued anyway. He said he knew it sounded silly, but there were some who believed that folding a piece of paper into the shape of a bird in a certain way was considered lucky. If someone folded enough of them then the legend said that if they wished for something, it would come true, no matter how unlikely. Seemingly not caring if the boy was watching or not, the doctor slowly and carefully folded one of the bits of paper into a crane. The boy watched, but said nothing. When the doctor had finished he placed the crane on the boys bedside table and said although medically impossible, he wished the boy might recover enough that he might be able to make his own wish come true.
As the doctor stood to leave, the boy spoke for the first time in weeks. He asked the doctor why he had wished for the boy to recover and not for the girl. The doctor told him that he knew the boy deeply wanted to help the girl, and, as a doctor, he wanted to help too. However, he was only a physiotherapist, he knew nothing of how to treat someone so badly injured they were in a coma. He said that he knew that the boy wanted to see her recover so he would not be the only survivor so badly, that he would do anything that might help and that just maybe he might like to see if he could fold a paper crane for his friend.
The boy protested that it was cruel of him to not wish for the recovery of someone who was in worse danger than he was, but the doctor insisted that if anyone would make a wish come true for the injured girl, it would have to be the boy.
Affronted, but recognising his duty, the boy asked to be shown again how to fold the paper correctly. The doctor sat down again and unfolded the first crane he made, and, passing the other piece of paper to the boy, proceeded to teach him how to fold his own. The boy could use only his left hand, and his lips to crease and work the paper, but he was determined. The bird he made was not as sharp and crisply folded as the one the doctor had made, but it was recognisable as a crane. The boy seemed downcast, but the doctor explained that he should not be put off so easily. He left and returned a few moments later with more paper, the two of them folding little paper birds all afternoon until they had quite a flock between them.
By the time the doctor was late for his next appointment the boy was on a mission, knowing he had achieved his goal in finding something the boy would do to learn how to master the use of what limbs remained to him, he offered to donate the cranes he made to help the girl recover after all. Graciously, the boy accepted, and asked for more paper to fold.
The doctor would visit from time to time, less and less as the months went on as there was little he could do now, but monitor his patient's progress and help him fold paper. Day and night the boy worked, for months on end, becoming obsessed with folding paper birds as fast and as perfectly as possible. All he would stop for would be food, sleep and to ask for more paper. Some doctors considered him a nuisance, making a mess of the ward, littering the floor around his bed with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little bits of paper, but the boy steadfastly refused to do anything else, reverting to silence and quiet insistance thet he needed more paper when denied. Eventually, the staff always caved in, supplying more paper and tidying the birds into big cardboard boxes as he refused to let them be thrown away. And so he continued.
Then, one day something happened. The steady ping of the life support machine that had been so regular for all this time became a screaming alarm. The girl was dying. Doctors rushed in and wheeled her out in a blaze of confusing voices. The boy wept that his efforts had been for nought. One of the orderlies saw him and did his best to comfort the boy, explaining that there was a slim chance she would survive in the experimental technique that had been discussed all those months ago. He explained that she was being operated on right now and that everyone was praying for her.
The boy begged the orderly for his assistance, explaining what to do and showing him how to fold more and more birds with him. The two worked until the orderly, and then eventually, the boy fell asleep. When he awoke, he continued alone, as before, working with just his one hand and his mouth, folding faster than ever before, refusing to even contemplate any other activity. Even his friend, the physiotherapist was turned away unless helped fold more paper in silence.
Then one day, a young girl came to visit with the same doctor whom had shown him how to fold the birds all those months ago. He explained that she was partially paralysed, but thanks to the same surgery they had tried on the girl who had been in the same accident he was, she was beginning to recover. He told the boy that the same surgery would work on him, but it would mean that he would have to learn how to move properly again, just as the girl would.
The boy asked if the girl was able to fold paper birds following the surgery. She offered to try, but couldn't master the movements properly as she was still learning how her muscles worked herself. The boy rejected the offer, saying that his duty to his friend was too important before returning to his work. The crippled girl offered to assist when she could, each day returning, at first in a wheelchair, and then on crutches and eventually walking unassisted, fetching paper, tidying finished birds and trying to learn how to fold them herself.
Eventually, never having been shown how to fold them any other way, she mastered how to fold a paper crane using only her left hand and her mouth. Not only that, but she could fold them using her right hand at the same time, being able to fold faster than the boy who taught her could. The boy was, once again, downhearted, he could see the benefit of the operation, the girl now had full mobility, something that was, quite obviously on offer to him, but he felt bad neglecting his duty. He asked the girl if she would take over his duty so that his wish might come true even should he not survive the surgery.
As the boy was recovering from the operation, the girl was adopted and the two never met again. By the time the boy had recovered enough to be able to fold a paper crane again, he had forgotten all about it, which is probably for the best, as he went on to live his life, never knowing for sure that his wish had come true, and that her wish for his recovery had as well.
Okay, so if you recognised it, I know I bent it a little so it works out of context, sue me.
I found myself with a piece of paper sometime this afternoon ... and I know of someone who really could use a shot at a wish coming true after some really horrible news.
Took me forever to fold using only my left hand.
Here's hoping!
Edit: (And the first person to pipe up and tell me it's the wrong kind of crane gets a running slap... I KNOW it's the wrong kind of crane, but I don't know how to fold the other kind.)
Now as our story goes, there was a terrible plane crash with many aboard killed and dozens rushed to hospital. Amongst the survivors was a young boy who had been travelling with his family. The boy was left in a coma, his family weren't that lucky.
Day by day, the patients in the intensive care unit began to give up their hold on life and die, little by little what had been a busy ward slowly became quieter and quieter. The boy in our story though, was different, one afternoon he regained consciousness and became the first survivor of the wreck to regain consciousness, although his situation was severe. He was completely parylised except for his head and his left arm. One by one, he watched sadly as his fellow passengers died quietly and the room emptied until it was him and one other: a girl, a little younger than he was.
Eventually, after months alone in the ward together, the boy asked about the girl. The doctors told him she was an orphan like he was now. She was extensively injured, worse than he was, and even if she regained consciousness, she would be totally parylized too. They had little hope even of that, however. The doctor mentioned a new technique in surgery that they were tempted to try out on the girl which had a chance of saving her outright. They were reluctant to risk it, as there was a greater chance that it would simply kill her, and they were under instruction only to attempt the procedure if there was no hope she might pull through on her own.
As the days went by, the boy wished there was something he could do for the girl. He talked to her, wondering if she heard, but of course, he had no way of telling. Eventually, he ran out of things to say and sank into a depression, turning the doctors away, refusing food, after a while even refusing to acknowledge the presence of the doctors. Until one day, his physiotherapist visited. Usually, he had a clipboard and a pen, today he had just two pieces of paper.
He sat down, the way he usually did and asked the boy if he knew about the legend of the paper crane. As usual, there was no response, but the doctor continued anyway. He said he knew it sounded silly, but there were some who believed that folding a piece of paper into the shape of a bird in a certain way was considered lucky. If someone folded enough of them then the legend said that if they wished for something, it would come true, no matter how unlikely. Seemingly not caring if the boy was watching or not, the doctor slowly and carefully folded one of the bits of paper into a crane. The boy watched, but said nothing. When the doctor had finished he placed the crane on the boys bedside table and said although medically impossible, he wished the boy might recover enough that he might be able to make his own wish come true.
As the doctor stood to leave, the boy spoke for the first time in weeks. He asked the doctor why he had wished for the boy to recover and not for the girl. The doctor told him that he knew the boy deeply wanted to help the girl, and, as a doctor, he wanted to help too. However, he was only a physiotherapist, he knew nothing of how to treat someone so badly injured they were in a coma. He said that he knew that the boy wanted to see her recover so he would not be the only survivor so badly, that he would do anything that might help and that just maybe he might like to see if he could fold a paper crane for his friend.
The boy protested that it was cruel of him to not wish for the recovery of someone who was in worse danger than he was, but the doctor insisted that if anyone would make a wish come true for the injured girl, it would have to be the boy.
Affronted, but recognising his duty, the boy asked to be shown again how to fold the paper correctly. The doctor sat down again and unfolded the first crane he made, and, passing the other piece of paper to the boy, proceeded to teach him how to fold his own. The boy could use only his left hand, and his lips to crease and work the paper, but he was determined. The bird he made was not as sharp and crisply folded as the one the doctor had made, but it was recognisable as a crane. The boy seemed downcast, but the doctor explained that he should not be put off so easily. He left and returned a few moments later with more paper, the two of them folding little paper birds all afternoon until they had quite a flock between them.
By the time the doctor was late for his next appointment the boy was on a mission, knowing he had achieved his goal in finding something the boy would do to learn how to master the use of what limbs remained to him, he offered to donate the cranes he made to help the girl recover after all. Graciously, the boy accepted, and asked for more paper to fold.
The doctor would visit from time to time, less and less as the months went on as there was little he could do now, but monitor his patient's progress and help him fold paper. Day and night the boy worked, for months on end, becoming obsessed with folding paper birds as fast and as perfectly as possible. All he would stop for would be food, sleep and to ask for more paper. Some doctors considered him a nuisance, making a mess of the ward, littering the floor around his bed with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny little bits of paper, but the boy steadfastly refused to do anything else, reverting to silence and quiet insistance thet he needed more paper when denied. Eventually, the staff always caved in, supplying more paper and tidying the birds into big cardboard boxes as he refused to let them be thrown away. And so he continued.
Then, one day something happened. The steady ping of the life support machine that had been so regular for all this time became a screaming alarm. The girl was dying. Doctors rushed in and wheeled her out in a blaze of confusing voices. The boy wept that his efforts had been for nought. One of the orderlies saw him and did his best to comfort the boy, explaining that there was a slim chance she would survive in the experimental technique that had been discussed all those months ago. He explained that she was being operated on right now and that everyone was praying for her.
The boy begged the orderly for his assistance, explaining what to do and showing him how to fold more and more birds with him. The two worked until the orderly, and then eventually, the boy fell asleep. When he awoke, he continued alone, as before, working with just his one hand and his mouth, folding faster than ever before, refusing to even contemplate any other activity. Even his friend, the physiotherapist was turned away unless helped fold more paper in silence.
Then one day, a young girl came to visit with the same doctor whom had shown him how to fold the birds all those months ago. He explained that she was partially paralysed, but thanks to the same surgery they had tried on the girl who had been in the same accident he was, she was beginning to recover. He told the boy that the same surgery would work on him, but it would mean that he would have to learn how to move properly again, just as the girl would.
The boy asked if the girl was able to fold paper birds following the surgery. She offered to try, but couldn't master the movements properly as she was still learning how her muscles worked herself. The boy rejected the offer, saying that his duty to his friend was too important before returning to his work. The crippled girl offered to assist when she could, each day returning, at first in a wheelchair, and then on crutches and eventually walking unassisted, fetching paper, tidying finished birds and trying to learn how to fold them herself.
Eventually, never having been shown how to fold them any other way, she mastered how to fold a paper crane using only her left hand and her mouth. Not only that, but she could fold them using her right hand at the same time, being able to fold faster than the boy who taught her could. The boy was, once again, downhearted, he could see the benefit of the operation, the girl now had full mobility, something that was, quite obviously on offer to him, but he felt bad neglecting his duty. He asked the girl if she would take over his duty so that his wish might come true even should he not survive the surgery.
As the boy was recovering from the operation, the girl was adopted and the two never met again. By the time the boy had recovered enough to be able to fold a paper crane again, he had forgotten all about it, which is probably for the best, as he went on to live his life, never knowing for sure that his wish had come true, and that her wish for his recovery had as well.
Okay, so if you recognised it, I know I bent it a little so it works out of context, sue me.
I found myself with a piece of paper sometime this afternoon ... and I know of someone who really could use a shot at a wish coming true after some really horrible news.
Took me forever to fold using only my left hand.
Here's hoping!
Edit: (And the first person to pipe up and tell me it's the wrong kind of crane gets a running slap... I KNOW it's the wrong kind of crane, but I don't know how to fold the other kind.)