As my husband, Doug, stood on the busy New York city street trying to stop a taxi, I tried to protect my daughter from the cold December wind and rain. I put my head down to kiss my daughter on her 1 where veins crept up (静脉突出) the side of her tiny face.
Frustrated and wet, my husband gave up his attempt to flag down a taxi. I knew the feeling. Just after her first birthday, we were told our daughter Katie has a 2 brain illness. Since that moment, Doug and I felt like runners in a marathon race where the finish line kept 3. We knew Katie was running out of 4. It had taken months before we finally had a name for the 5, but we were told only a few specialists in the world were qualified to knew how to 6 the precious operations. Now, as we finally found a brilliant (杰出的) doctor to 7 our girl, we were 8 in a strange city in the cold rain.
Just at the moment, a middle-aged woman pulled over and said, “Pardon me? May I offer you a(n) 9?” Before we could say anything, she continued, “It's really no 10 for me. Just get in.” It was then that I noticed her thick Irish accent, which 11 me up like hot soup.
We simply said, “Thanks! Roosevelt Hospital, please,” as we 12 on her car for the ride.
“Are you going 13 the baby?” she asked us.
I nodded my head, holding back my 14.
At the hospital, we 15 her over and over again for the ride. As the woman hugged me, I 16 her face was wet with tears in worry. She promised to 17 for us before she left.
After three more visits to New York and two more 18 surgeries (手术), Katie is cured. But the 19 of the Irish Angel still rang as a constant reminder of a tiny ray of light that appeared in our 20 days.
