Heidi Mae West is a dose of good medicine. You can see it in her smile, hear it in her giggle, feel it in the wiggle of her toes. Just to look at her makes you feel better.
I got my first dose of Heidi Mae about a month ago, when I spoke at a fund-raiser for the public library in Fort Smith, Ark. I looked out across a roomful of friends I'd never met and spotted her right away.
You can't miss Heidi Mae. She won't let you. She shrieks -- a happy little whoop, like a mini car alarm -- just enough to let you know she is there.
When I heard it, I stepped to the edge of the stage and said, "Bring me that baby!"
Heidi Mae's mama, Nicole West, looked a bit sheepish, as if she'd just gotten caught spiking the punch bowl. But when she saw I meant business, she trotted up and handed over her 10-month-old baby girl.
And for a few fine minutes, Heidi Mae sat on my hip -- pulling my hair, grabbing the microphone, tugging at every heart in the room -- to help me deliver my talk.
Didn't matter what I said. I could've read the phone book. Nobody cared. They just wanted to watch Heidi Mae be cute. And who could blame them? Everybody needs a dose of good medicine now and then.
There was a time, years ago, when I lived with one or more of my three glued to my hip. These days I seldom see babies, let alone get to hold one.
Sometimes on long flights, I get frazzled parents to let me baby-sit. But it doesn't happen often. Not often enough.
The thing you forget about babies is how heavy they are, especially when they're full of milk. Heidi Mae looked little, but she felt pretty big. When my arm started to snap, I gave her back to her mama and tried to carry on alone. But the talk lagged appreciably from there.
That night, I had an e-mail from Nicole. The tickets to the talk were a Mother's Day gift for her mom, she said. When her sitter canceled at the last minute, she decided, rather than disappoint her mom, to take Heidi Mae to the luncheon.
I had seen Nicole's mother, Karen Sharp, snapping pictures of Heidi Mae pulling my nose. Karen had been battling cancer for years, Nicole said, and was scheduled to have surgery two days after the luncheon to remove part of her lung.
"I never wanted to be 'that mother' who takes her children places best left for adults," Nicole said, but "the smile on my mother's face is worth so much more than I can say."
You can learn a lot watching people walk on water. I asked Nicole to keep me posted and, bless her, she did.
Her mom's surgery went well, but her recovery would be slow and painful. Meanwhile, Heidi Mae had to have some tests that Nicole called "a big old ball of scary." And Nicole wasn't feeling so well herself.
Two weeks ago, she wrote again to say she and her family were celebrating because all in one week they had learned:
First, her mom, though still very weak, wouldn't need radiation treatments after all.
Second, Heidi Mae passed all her tests with flying colors.
And finally, Nicole was pregnant with her second child.
When I asked permission to tell you their story, Nicole replied, "We are big believers in 'Tell the truth and shame the devil,' so we are open books!"
She had taken Heidi Mae with her to see the doctor to let her listen for the heartbeat of her baby brother or sister.
When she heard it, she said, Heidi Mae clapped her hands.
Talk about good medicine.
Maybe she'll do that the next time she helps me give a talk.