A failing heart. A process in which the most vital nutrients of the body are not pumped around at a fast enough pace, causing the entire being to suffer.
Nothing but a heart transplant, he was told. Nothing. All hope had been lost at the very words, for who would willingly give up their heart? He knew no one living, for to do such would be utter insanity. Therefore His only hope was a match, which was his objective way of thinking of another dead human beings main organ, and his life-line.
Therefore the days dragged on. Roses drooped in the vase with time, the sun rose and set every day, casting long shadows on the walls as hope faded with the dimming rays. Friends had given up on coming, they didn't seem to want to hear the depressed reports. His heart was becoming more and more crippled, both physically and spiritually.
One early drizzly morning, while the sheer curtains were drawn and the TV on low, a man in his mid-thirties walked into his room. He was surprised, for he didn't remember the face, and besides, what was he doing bothering him, it wasn't visiting hours. The stranger nodded his head and without an introduction began asking a series ofquestions. Taken aback by the abruptness of the stranger, the man simply sat there and stared. Perhaps he was a new doctor? No, too plainly dressed. A father or friend of a potential donor? No, they would never be so factual. Maybe he was just a lunatic that escaped from the psych ward. He had lost track of the questions being hurled in his direction.
"What is it you need sir?"
"Excuse me?"
"What do you need?" What on earth was this man talking about? He could use another juice box, but he doubted that was what he meant.
"Need?"
"Need."
After a pause he replied, "A new heart."
The stranger smiled, a fairly odd smile. A smile of accomplishment, as if he has just won his first Olympic gold medal.
"I am."
With that he turned and walked out of the room.
I am? thought the man.
"I am what?" He yelled out the door, frustrated that he would leave with no explanation.
The day to dragged on, and the mystery to the stranger wore off. He gave no mind to the visit, nor did he mention it to anyone, for fear of having them say they it was a delusion.
Two weeks had past since the visit, and the man sat 1/2 way up in his bed, looking out the window at the sparrows playing in the bird bath. Half of him hated the hospital staff for purposely putting it near his window, where they knew it would torture the caged soul; and the other half longed to enjoy the freedom, the joy of living, no matter how stressful or unsuccessful, just as the birds did. Nurses wheeled patients past the door and some small kids peeked in his door before growing wide eyed and running away as he sneered in their direction. The doctor walked briskly in right behind them.
"We got it!"
"Well good morning to you too Doc, looks like you had a good nights rest. To bad you couldn't have hooked me up with some of that."
"We got you a heart!"
His mouth stopped in what was going to be a bitter sarcastic remark, only to find the empty words empty. Nurses soon hurried in, hooking gadgets up here and pumping things there. A new heart. Peace surrounded him as they wheeled him towards the OR.
"Doc, who was the match?"
"A man, mid-thirties."
The Stranger.
"What happened?"
"We're not sure. It's kind of gory, but we found him nailed to a tree. His organ donation card said to give his donor this paper."
The doc pulled out a small yellow paper out of his pocket and laid it beside his head. Within minutes the man was put into a deep and restful sleep, as experts claimed the dying heart and replaced it with the thriving one.
Many hours later, the man woke to the dim lights of the recovery room. He felt incredibly groggy, not able to feel any pain because of the medication. The nurses chatted quietly in the corner, not audible to the exhausted ears. He attempted to reach for the paper, which he remembered should be right by his head. The failed attempt caught the nurses attention and they both rushed over.
"The paper." Was all he could mutter. Both women looked at each other, confused.
"Read the paper." He repeated slowly. They looked around and finally caught sight of the yellow slip of paper. The younger nurse picked it up and began to read,
"Dear Sir.
I know your old heart has been failing, and it pains me to see you as so.
My love and compassion extends beyond these physical boundaries, so please
I beg of you, please, accept this gift. For I gave it before your request.
Dying without escape, I pray you'll be able to receive as I have given freely.
Now take this new blood, for which I have cleansed,
and tell many. For this gift is not to be held just for self, but for all.
Let me know if you are having any problems adjusting to the new you.
Signed,
I AM."
A year to the day that man left his house and headed to the hospital once again. He walked slowly, aware of the pain and past he had spent in these same rooms. Smiling slightly, he nodded at the familiar nurses. He passed by rows of open doors, some held foul smells and others blooming flowers. He stopped in front of his old door, paused, knocked and quietly crept in. The small boy was sleeping. As the man approached the bed, the boy opened his eyes and smiled widely.
"I'm getting better!" Exclaimed the young blonde, "Your blood is working, it's cleaning me up."
The man smiled, more sincerely than ever before as he recognized the cleansing power of the blood.
"Not I," he replied as he reached into his pocket, "but I AM."
Pulling out the small yellow slip, he began to read the note.