Real lives: One for sorrow... and for joy. How an injured magpie chick helped heal a broken family 

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Paralysed in a fall, Sam Bloom struggled to come to terms with her disability and sank into depression. But then, as her husband Cameron recalls, the arrival of an injured magpie chick transformed life for the whole family

Cameron and Sam with their children (from left) Oli, Rueben and Noah, and Penguin, an Australian magpie. Says Cameron, 'The boys immediately named her Penguin, after her black-and-white plumage, and that was that'

It was seven months before Sam was released from the spinal ward. 

The boys and I were beside ourselves to have her home but, for all the bright smiles on show, each of us felt heartbroken. Sam did her best to seem upbeat for our sake, but we could see her struggling. 

Every day presented her with a battle she couldn’t win. No longer able to follow her heart or commit her restless energy to immediate purpose, she sat at the edge of family life, mourning the loss of her former self. She would cry herself to sleep and cry herself awake.

And then Penguin arrived.

Penguin was just a small, wobbly-headed magpie chick when our son Noah found her lying in the car park next to his grandmother’s house. 

Gusting winds had tossed her out of her nest and she had tumbled her way through the branches of a towering pine and fallen on to the asphalt. One wing was hanging limply by her side and she was too battered to move a great deal. So he brought her home.

We couldn’t find a rescue shelter that would take in an injured bird, so Sam and I decided that we would care for her until she was healed and strong enough to fend for herself. The boys named her Penguin after her black and white plumage, and that was that. They had a baby sister.

Noah with Penguin the magpie

We didn’t own a cage and we weren’t inclined to get one. Penguin was a wild bird and we didn’t want her to grow up any other way. We made a nest out of an old cane laundry basket and lined it with soft fabric to keep her warm. Initially she had to be fed every two hours. 

Noah, Oli and Rueben took turns with feeding before and after school. Sam and I took over for the rest of the day.

Penguin’s recovery was touch and go. She was severely weakened by her fall and prone to illness. There were many days when she refused food and appeared so listless we thought we might lose her. Some evenings as we tucked her into bed, we wondered if she would survive the night. We did everything we could for the smallest member of our family and, over time, with a great deal of patience and love, she grew in stature and confidence.

Penguin was discovered in a car park by Noah, having been injured when blown from her nest by strong winds

Her strength increased, as did her curiosity. We never locked her inside any kind of enclosure so she was able to go anywhere she pleased. It didn’t take long before she started to forage for her own food and grow in independence. 

Despite being free to leave, Penguin chose to sleep inside the house. We were happy that she liked living with us, but we also wanted her to follow her natural instincts and develop magpie-appropriate behaviours – though, to be honest, we really had no idea what those might be.

Penguin could not have arrived at a better time, by which I mean a more terrible time. There are some things that children should never have to see, and watching their mother almost die is very definitely one of them. 

Penguin fitted right into the Blooms' family life, and became a sister to Noah (right) and his brothers

When Sam came home from hospital, she may have been out of immediate danger, but the painful reality of her condition had only just begun to sink in.

When I first carried her over the threshold after our wedding it was on one of the happiest days of our lives. But this time around, carrying Sam from the car to our front door was one of the saddest occasions you can imagine. 

To be paralysed from the chest down means many things. You cannot sit up, stand, walk, skip or run. You cannot feel the wet grass between your toes or the sand beneath your feet. Wheelchair-bound, with two metal rods screwed into her spine, Sam felt immobilised to the point of suffocation.

She suffered from unpredictable phantom pains and frightening spasms when her largely dormant torso muscles would violently contract, taking her breath away. Her injuries are such that she can never feel comfortable, regardless of the resting surface or her position. This alone is enough to unravel anybody. 

Penguin has helped Sam and her boys (from left) Noah, Rueben and Oli adapt to the challenges of their new life after Sam’s accident

Even when Sam goes to bed she is denied the relief of sleep. I help her turn over three times before dawn in order to maintain circulation and prevent pressure sores.

Sam struggled to come to terms with her disability at a level that we could neither relate to nor understand. She didn’t want our sympathy. She just wanted her old life back. The soul-crushing feeling that your life has been stolen from you is something that you cannot fathom unless you have been through it yourself. I didn’t know where to begin.

Noah with Penguin as a reading companion

This is where Penguin came into her own. She was our ambassador of love and chief motivational officer. Penguin and Sam became inseparable. 

When Penguin was weak and sickly, Sam would nurse her back to health. And when Sam found it hard to get moving, Penguin would sing her energy levels up. If Sam was inside doing paperwork or writing in her journal, Penguin would be there. If Sam was outside in the sunshine, painting, Penguin would be there.

Penguin was fiercely loyal to Sam and would provide a chirp of encouragement whenever anything proved challenging. As a patient, Sam was overly polite: she never spoke up when she needed pain relief or attention and was prepared to accept an alarming degree of discomfort without complaint. 

Penguin had no problem speaking up on Sam’s behalf and, in doing so, helped Sam realise that her needs mattered.

As Sam slowly came to terms with her strange new world, Penguin did the same – always cheerful, always there. When training and physical therapy were over for the day, or the pain got too much to bear, they would lie outside. I would often overhear them having what sounded like conversations about what they were going through. 

Penguin getting up close and personal with Sam

Sometimes Sam would speak softly to Penguin, sometimes Penguin would sing to Sam, and sometimes neither would make a sound for hours. I came to believe that each knew exactly what the other was feeling.

Their beautiful relationship was part mother and daughter, part nurse and patient; two sister spirits, strong yet fragile, united by a single word: up. Sam wanted to stand tall on her own two feet, and Penguin wanted to fly above the trees and the clouds.

Sam worked incredibly hard to build up her strength to regain as much independence as possible. As she progressed she finally saw a glimmer of daylight and her outlook brightened. There were fewer tears in the shower and more laughter around the house.

In the beginning we thought we were rescuing Penguin, but now we know this remarkable little bird has made us stronger, brought us closer and given us countless reasons to smile and laugh during an extremely difficult time. 

In doing so, she has helped us heal emotionally and physically. So, in a very real way, Penguin rescued us.

Oli kissing Penguin goodbye

It’s hard to recall just how weak, crippled and near death she was when we found her. Her complete transformation is a daily reminder that we are not our past, no matter how traumatic or life-changing it might have been. 

Time and time again Penguin showed us what a difference we can make just by giving our family and friends a reason to smile when they see us. Penguin taught us that helping others feel better is the easiest and best way to help yourself feel better. She showed us that there is so much more love in the world than we could possibly imagine. 

Regardless of how bad things get, compassion, friendship and support can come from the most unexpected places. 

Noah serenading Penguin in the early morning

Sam’s story

Penguin the magpie became Sam's confidant: 'She always listened without becoming visibly upset and never accidentally said anything thoughtless in response'

I cannot pretend I am happy with how things have turned out. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a happy person or that I’m not glad to still be alive. 

I have enjoyed a great many things since my accident and I believe there are better days ahead. 

That said, I don’t want to gloss over what has been and continues to be a great and terrible hardship.

Without the love and support of my family and friends (especially Penguin), I’m not sure I would still be here and I know I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am. 

Being paralysed is a little like waking from a coma to find you are 120 years old. There is so much I want to do, so many dreams that now lie in pieces at my feet. My numb and useless feet.

Penguin joins Sam in her training routine

Becoming a paraplegic has not been an unexpected gift and cannot be equated with a great spiritual awakening. I don’t feel this experience has made me a better person. 

There have been many occasions when I have felt so bitter that I wanted to vanish into the wilderness and scream my lungs out. These days I don’t have as many dark moments, but I still have them.

Penguin was a wonderful sounding board for me. She always listened without becoming visibly upset and never accidentally said anything thoughtless in response. 

My swearing might have made the angels blush, but I was able to vent all my frustrations and know that I was harming no one. 

It helped me feel better and put me in a far more positive mood around the many wonderful people who were doing their best to help me.

Caring for Penguin when she was a sickly little chick was incredibly rewarding. Helping her regain her strength and independence helped me on so many levels. 

Now, as often as I am able, I try to put myself in a position where people rely on me and not the other way around. It could be just making dinner or driving someone where they need to go – such opportunities reaffirm that I have something to contribute to those around me and that I am in control of my life. 

I have often felt like two-thirds of me has died, and I suspect I will always have a small storm cloud of sadness and anger lurking over my shoulder. But so long as you have choices, then you are still your own person.

It took me at least two months just to be able to sit in a kayak without tipping myself into the water. I used to love to surf but had never been in a kayak, and it was a spinal physiotherapist who encouraged me to start. Now I love it. 

'Caring for Penguin when she was a sickly little chick was incredibly rewarding. Helping her regain her strength and independence helped me on so many levels'

I go about five times a week. I didn’t take it up with competition in mind – I just wanted to be out on the water. I loved getting out of the house; I craved the physical release; I enjoyed finessing my technique. Last year I went to Milan to compete in the world championships.

Penguin left home in August 2015, the day before Cameron and the boys were due to join me in Milan. She just flew away and never came back. Isn’t that timing weird? I miss her, but she has been spotted locally. I think maybe she has found a boyfriend!

The book can be ordered at a discount (until 9 October) from you-bookshop.co.uk

• This is an edited extract from Penguin Bloom: The Odd Little Bird Who Saved a Family by Cameron Bloom and Bradley Trevor Grieve, to be published by Canongate on 6 October, price £14.99. 
• To pre-order a copy for £11.24 until 9 October, visit you-bookshop.co.uk or call 0844 571 0640; p&p is free on orders over £15. A percentage of the royalties will go to the spinal cord research foundation Wings for Life UK; wingsforlife.com

Click here for a video preview of the book 

• For more, visit penguinthemagpie.com and  instagram.com/penguinthemagpie