Chapter Three - Scene 4

Quebec, Canada                                                                                           Tuesday 9th March, 2.22 p.m.



JOHN Daroux carefully propped his son against the trunk of the tree. He had removed Felix’s skis and made him comfortable, supported by the soft powder snow. Felix sat desultory and forlorn, the shock of his accident wearing off. In his right hand he held his father’s handkerchief, carefully covering the gash in his right cheek to staunch the flow of blood.

Interrupting the quietness, John, keeping his voice calm, asked, “Felix, are you comfortable?”

“My chest, Jesus, it’s on fire!” Half sob through pain.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘It may be worse than it appears,’ he thought to himself. Still keeping his voice steady, he shifted to a kneeling position as he spoke. “Felix, I’ll need to check you out as you may have other injuries.”

“Be bloody careful,” interjected Felix through clenched teeth, “and try not to take too long. It’s getting damned cold up here!”

“Just sit there quietly, close your eyes and relax. I’m not going to touch you and it won’t hurt, OK.” John Daroux’s voice was quiet and insistent. “Just relax.” Silence from Felix, indicated that his son was fighting a battle against pain.

Carefully, John arranged his legs into a semi-lotus position. He sat upright, hands resting on his knees, fingers lightly clenched. Closing his eyes, he took three deep breaths, expelling each slowly. He counted himself down. As he relaxed, his mind switched to his right brain and the alpha waves swept over him. His consciousness retreated.

Mentally, he visualized his son’s body. Starting at his head he pictured his brain, eyes, nose and mouth. They were all clear. But the jagged edges of the hole in his cheek glowed like a red star, confirming the injury. ‘It will have to be attended to immediately,’ he thought.

He continued checking over the rest of Felix’s body. It was all clear except for two red spots on his right rib cage. ‘Looks like he’s cracked a couple of ribs. Can’t do much about that at present.’ Counting himself back—three, two, one—John opened his eyes, clear in his own mind about the steps he had to take.

“Felix, I think you have cracked a couple of ribs on your right side which will account for the pain there.” Pausing, watching his son’s face carefully, he carried on. “I can’t do much about that, but I want to have a go at healing your cheek. It needs immediate attention . . .”

“Come on DAD!” Felix forced out his interjection. “This sounds like the hocus pocus stuff Mum said you picked up in Japan. I don’t believe . . . “ He didn’t finish his sentence because the pain shot through his wounded face.

“I know son. I know. But you’ve nothing to lose and it’s a long way to the bottom where we can get proper medical attention. So just relax.” John’s voice was persuasive and calming, overriding his son’s apprehensions. “I want you to stay relaxed and to picture in your mind your wound healing. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I hear you.” Felix’s lack of conviction was clear to both of them.

Undisturbed, his voice soothing, John continued. “Relax Felix, relax. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them. Hold the handkerchief lightly on your cheek. You will feel your face become warm. It should tingle as the healing process takes place. Expect it. Welcome it. But remain relaxed and keep your eyes closed.”

Arranging himself again in a semi lotus position, John closed his eyes and counted himself down to his level. Quiet and relaxed, he focussed on a vivid mental picture of his son.

Going first to his heart, he imagined his hands encircling it, holding it quietly, slowing down its pumping so as to lower the blood pressure and minimize the bleeding. Directing his attention lower, he pictured Felix’s spleen. Ordering it and visualizing it, in his mind’s eye, he saw it emptying its reservoirs of blood into circulation, and intensifying the production of leukocytes.

Shifting his attention to the site of the wound he observed that the tissues had been shredded, the cells, nerves and capillaries torn apart. The hole was open to invasion by a host of disease germs. Imagining a vivid ceremony, he pictured an elaborate written order being handed over to his son’s body, instructing it that a constant supply of leukocytes, phagocytes and macrophages were to be directed to the wound to devour the bacteria, consume the dead cells and dispose of other debris.

Urging the body to react quickly, he further ordered the release of lymph and plasma to keep the wound moist. Now that the preliminary process of cleansing the wound and protecting the body from infection had been initiated, the healing could proceed in an orderly manner.

Vividly picturing the cheek, he instructed the immediate creation of a new component from the blood on the wound site. Called fibroplast, it began acting as a kind of scaffolding and reinforcement. A living substance, it began to fill in over the surface of the wound, creating a patch. Emphasizing urgency in the healing process, John pictured the patch strengthening over the fiber trellis. A constant supply of material was now being transferred from other parts of the body. Tissues were being broken down and muscle changed into amino acids. The materials were being transported directly to the wound site.

“My face, my face. It’s so hot.” Felix’s cry broke the silence of the snow-covered hillside.

“Just relax. Keep your eyes closed. The healing process is working.” John’s voice was muffled as he broke temporarily from his deep meditation.

Now he urged the body to concentrate on creating granulation tissue. The drilling of capillaries and nerve terminals.

He could see the muscle fibers growing, meeting and splicing together. New skin was being formed under the scab by the skin cells. Elongating and stretching out until a fine covering formed. The new skin cells knitted together in an orderly way as the wound fully healed.

In his mind John became aware of a peaceful feeling coming over him. The red glow around the wound had disappeared. Felix’s face now had a healthy glow. His breathing was regular and relaxed.

The psychic healing had worked.

Counting himself out, John opened his eyes, and instructed his son to do the same. Gently reaching out, he lifted Felix’s hand away from his cheek. The gash had gone. In answer to the look of amazement in his son’s eyes, John smiled as he said: “There’s not even a scar for you to boast about to your friends!”