by Terry Ann Fielding
Brandon, Â Mississippi, USA
When I was about 12, my father decided I needed something constructive to occupy my day — something that wasn’t devoted just to me. At that age, I was kind of selfish and felt that the world meant being with girlfriends, dreaming about guys, eating, and sleeping. He had other ideas. I was signed up to be a Junior Volunteer at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans.
The hospital was for any child who needed specialized care. It didn’t matter if they were poor, rich, black, or white. All had severe health problems, and many would not live to be my age. Most were very sick, in wheelchairs, missing limbs, or blind. Some were deaf. Some were there temporarily until they were well enough to go home, and some were there so long you had to wonder if they ever would leave.
The hospital wasn’t a dreary place. It was painted in bright colors, and always had cheerful volunteer workers and a staff who served as surrogate family for the children. I was assigned the job of playing with the kids. Sounds easy, but it was a challenge to figure out games you could play as a group or something to do one-on-one when a child needed special attention.
Even after all these years, one sticks out above the rest. She taught me to be thankful for all the great things I had but sometimes took for granted — parents, regular schooling, clothes, food, and above all, good health. She never asked for much, and was always happy, smiling, and chattering a mile a minute. She was about four years old and seemed to have adapted well to her disability.
One day, she wanted to paint a picture with watercolors. That was a reasonable request, except she didn’t have any arms. I felt sick that I was encountering a problem I couldn’t solve. That is when I learned how to accept what you have and use it to the best of your ability.
She did paint her picture. To this day, I can close my eyes and see her painting with a brush taped between her toes. No, the picture wasn’t perfect, but to me, it was a Picasso: a simple flower in yellow and green. That child brought me into the real world and taught me many valuable tools for life. It led me to a life of giving whenever I could.
I worked at the hospital for two years, and it was my honor to share that little girl’s life and grow from it. She gave more to me than I could ever have given to her. I don’t know what became of her — whether she eventually went home. I have often wondered if she was one of the lucky ones to survive. Not knowing, I have chosen to visualize her as a teacher or a wonderful mother to a houseful of noisy children, teaching all around her to shine.
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What an inspiring story! I like the author’s visualization of what may have become of the little artist without arms. For some years I used to support an organization called Mouth and Foot Painters. Just before Christmas every year, I’d receive a package containing a dozen Christmas cards and a calendar for the coming year, beautifully illustrated by these artists. There was no set charge, just a request for a donation. I wonder whether the little girl in this story might have become a ‘foot and mouth’ artist? I also wonder whether the hospital might not have a record of who she is and where she is?