Looking for a Miracle

He saw her from across the street. She was sitting on the footpath, leaning back on the brick wall looking up at the stars. It was almost eleven o’clock, on a balmy autumn night in April. The air was still, but full of the noises of a city that never slept. 

He'd seen her there earlier in the evening, sitting alone with a cigarette in one hand and a huge cup in the other, looking stressed and tired. He had wondered briefly then, if she noticed the admiring looks on the faces of passers-by, or if she even knew how pretty she was despite the careworn look on her face. He had noticed the first time he saw her there how her face, framed by her hair, with her high cheekbones and large almond shaped eyes, captured the attention of nearly every person who walked by. He had wondered briefly if she was a patient at the hospital, until he noticed that her hair was beginning to show grey at the roots.

He had been at the hospital for hours now, and his daughter’s distress and the worry clearly showing in his wife, on top of his own stress worry and fears had all gotten too much. He wanted to lash out, to hit something or someone. He was starting to feel extremely claustrophobic again so he went outside again for some air.

He was pacing back and forth almost directly opposite her, talking on his mobile phone. He too was tired and stressed, but also frustrated, as he tried explaining to the listener, what was happening in the emergency department with his daughter.

The woman sitting by the wall near the hospital entrance caught his eye again, and it was then that he noticed she was crying. Although she was trying to control herself, her breathing was ragged, she was gulping in air like she was drowning and her tears were streaming down her face like floodwaters as she looked up at the stars through the ever present hazy glow of Perth city's lights. His compassion overrode his frustration, as he finished his call and he crossed the street and squatted down in front of her.

"Excuse me, I’m sorry to bug you, I couldn’t help but notice you here. Are you alright?" He asked her gently.

She looked at him and tried to smile through her tears. "I guess it would be hard to not notice a silly woman sitting on the footpath bawling her eyes out! But thank you for asking. Honestly, I'm doing the best I can" she replied. "Truth be told, I come out here so my son doesn't see me cry. He would waste what little energy he has left worrying about me instead of getting stronger and staying alive”

"Is your son in emergency too? My wife is in there with our daughter but sitting, waiting for answers was driving me crazy" he said with a crooked smile.

"I know how you feel" she replied "but no," she paused relit her cigarette, took a long drag and continued. "My son is on the fifth floor, in ward 5A. We were raced up here on the flying doctor, two days ago. You see, my son has a condition called Nephrotic Syndrome a type of kidney disorder. He was diagnosed 18 months ago, and has relapsed so many times that he'd become dependent on the steroid medication used to treat it. So just under a month ago, the doctors decided to put him on another drug, with the aim of getting him into remission and off the steroids. He was supposed to have a blood test after 4 weeks on this new drug, but he didn't get to the end of the fourth week before becoming really unwell. He got bitten by mosquitoes and the bites got infected, so I took him to our local hospital. It turns out that the new medication had killed off all his white blood cells, and the infection was staphylococcus aureus." She took a shaking breath and continued, "Being already immune compromised, his body was struggling to combat the infection, and today he ran out of the energy to fight, and I don't know if he will make it through the night". Her words cut him to the core, almost as much as her tears, which were again streaming down her face.

"How old is your son? What is his name?" He asked her, not really sure what to say, but feeling her need for a compassionate ear.

She looked at him sadly and said "His name is Chase, and he's not quite 4 years old"

"Oh my god" he said in shock "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say! I feel like an idiot, I was so frustrated before, from the hours of being here with our daughter who couldn't stop vomiting. Your words have given me perspective, and for that alone, I thank you"

They both sat there in silence for a few minutes, total strangers, one drawing strength from the company, the other finding strength in the realisation that his stresses were nothing compared to that of the woman sitting on the footpath.

She finished her cigarette, rolled another and lit it taking a long drag, as his phone lit up in his hand and he scanned the message it received.

"It's my wife" he said "the doctor is seeing my daughter now". He stood up and stretched, torn between racing inside and staying with the woman sitting on the footpath. But she smiled at him and said "thank you for being a shoulder for me to cry on, but your wife and daughter need you, I'll be ok"

"Are you sure?" He asked "is there anything I can get for you? Can I call someone or get a coffee for you?"

She looked up at him and smiled sadly "Thank you but no, I'm going to finish this smoke, pull myself together and go back upstairs to Chase."

He nodded in agreement, unable to say anything more. He had a lump in his throat and his heart was breaking for that brave woman. He turned and looked at her once more before heading into the hospital, as she sat on the footpath leaning back on the brick wall looking up at the stars. Looking for a miracle.