The Hidden Power of Healing Touch

Last night, lost in helplessness, I might have discovered a secret power I didn’t know I had. My daughter S woke me up at 1 am, pale and worried. “Mommy, I really don’t feel well,” she says. As suspected, her fever is back to 39. I give her a second dose of Tylenol and feel powerless, counting on the drugs to kick in. 

I lay down next to S, caressing her warm, soft little body. Somewhere, half asleep in the darkness, we both doze off, and I find myself back in my own bed. 

At 2 a.m., S visits my bedroom again:  “Mommy, my heart hurts.” I take her temperature; it is down to 38. 

“The drugs have worked,” I tell her, slightly relieved, “just try to rest.”

 What else can I do at 2 a.m.? She doesn’t have a heart issue, so the pain she’s feeling must be a part of the flu package. 

At 3 a.m., S vomits. “Mommy, my heart hurts,” she repeats. I press my hand on her little chest. Her heart, a rapid drumbeat, is about to escape her chest, ripping it apart to pieces. I’m now fully awake and alarmed, and I stay next to S, feeling more and more helpless. I frantically Google her symptoms to see if we should go to a hospital. I gather, not yet, but stay close to monitor her.

At 4 a.m., S vomits again. Her heart continues to race, continues to hurt. I put the two and two together. The heart must race to stimulate the body to throw up. I hold her in the process, I caress her back, I hold her hair. 

And, then … a shift. Suddenly, I don’t feel powerless anymore and miraculously begin to feel the opposite. I am her mother, born of Mother Nature. I am Mother Nature too. I am the force, the power, and the matter evolved through billions of years, composed of the same atoms as the stars. 

And so I lay S in her bed and put my palm on her wild heart. I think of my ancient Russian/Ukrainian roots, my ancestors, and the lost wisdom they carried through generations. I amass all the healing energy within me that I can feel at that moment, and I transfer it to S through my hand. “Calm down, little heart, calm down,” I pray. 

S vomits one more time, this time everything she’s got, and, exhausted, collapses on the bed. I press my healing palm on her chest one more time and keep it steady.

At last, S falls asleep. 

It’s easy to believe in medicine: the drugs either work or they don’t. It’s much harder to believe in healing powers. Did my palm help? I don’t know. But I do know that my overarching presence, my calmness, my touch, and my positive thoughts and prayers certainly did. Sometimes, we don’t need a scientific explanation to explain something we can only feel.