Free Miracle Woman by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

eyes: the flicker of hope, the silent plea for help.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Martha sighed. ‘Sue shouldn’t have said anything to you.’
    â€˜Please, Mrs McGill, my daughter is very ill. If anyone needs your help, Cass does. She’s spent more than half her life in and out of this hospital and she’s just ten years old. Do you have any idea what that is like, what it does to a family?’
    â€˜No,’ said Martha quietly. ‘I can’t begin to imagine.’
    The other woman ignored her and began to fill her in with the medical details of her daughter’s condition, her face livid with rage at what had happened to her child.
    â€˜We found out when she was about three months old. She wasn’t like other babies, not thriving. Sometimes when I was feeding her, her little lips used to turn blue. We took her to the paediatrician and fortunately he sent us here. Children’s Hospital is the finest hospital for kids in the country. Multiple congenital heart defects, they told us, and they operated on her, then another surgery the following year and the one after. Cass has had that much surgery, you should see her chest – it’s like a stitch and sew pattern kit. They’ve been talking about a transplant, so now we’re waiting for a heart. The surgeons here havealready done more than a hundred successful transplants.’
    Beth Armstrong’s hands were shaking and, without thinking, Martha reached to console her.
    â€˜Cass is getting weaker and weaker by the day. She can’t walk or run any more and some days it seems like she hasn’t even the breath to talk no more. We don’t know how much longer she can last out.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. Truly sorry,’ murmured Martha.
    â€˜Please – will you see her?’
    Beth Armstrong looked stressed, adrenalin and fear raging through her gaunt frame. She looked as if she needed a few decent nights’ sleep to rid herself of the dark grey circles under her eyes and wire-sprung nervousness. Martha was at a total loss as to what to say or what to do in the face of such overwhelming fury and pain.
    â€˜You could help her. I just know you could! The doctors are saying that there is nothing much else they can do. Please, Mrs McGill. You are a mother too. Please just come and see my child.’
    Martha wiped her hands with the paper napkin. The other users of the cafeteria, sensing the distress of her table partner, were turning around, curious.
    â€˜Just a few minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking!’
    â€˜You’re mistaken, Beth. I’m nothing special. I can’t do anything to help someone like Cass, honest I just can’t.’
    She could tell Beth didn’t believe her and was choosing to ignore unwanted information.
    â€˜Come upstairs and see her!’ pleaded Beth Armstrong.
    Lifting her jacket, purse and newspaper, and against her better judgement, Martha rode the elevator upstairs with the child’s mother.
    â€˜What room is she in?’ she asked.
    â€˜Number 325.’
    Upstairs a mural of Peter Pan flying over a pirate ship decorated one wall of the corridor of Boston’s Children’s Hospital.
    Beth pushed in the door of her child’s room. A blond girl with a pretty face turned, curious about the new visitor.
    â€˜Cass, this is an old friend of mine, Martha. We just bumped into each other down in the coffee shop, and she wanted to drop by and say hi and see what a beautiful daughter I got.’
    Cass raised herself higher in the bed, letting go of the book she’d been desultorily glancing at.
    â€˜Hello,’ she said shyly.
    â€˜Hello, Cass.’ Martha introduced herself.
    â€˜How you doing, Cass?’ her mother asked anxiously. ‘Did you eat the nice lunch the nurse brought you?’
    Cass stuck out her tongue.
    Martha couldn’t help but notice how frail and undersized the child was.
    â€˜Maybe