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 her tiny face.
(1) and wet, my husband gave up his attempt to flag down a taxi. I knew the (2) _. Just after her first birthday, we were told our daughter Katie has a (3) brain illness. Since that moment, Doug and I felt like runners in a marathon race where the finish line kept (4) . We knew Katie was running out of (5) _. It had taken months before we finally had a name for the (6) , but we were told only a few specialists in the world knew how to (7) it. Now, as we finally found a brilliant doctor to (8) our girl, we were in a strange (9) in the cold rain.
Just at the moment, a middle-aged woman pulled over and said, "Pardon me? May I offer you a(n) (10) ?"
Before we could say anything, she continued, "It's really no (11) for me. Just get in."
It was then that I noticed her thick Irish accent, which (12) me up like hot soup. We simply said, "Thanks! Roosevelt Hospital, please," as we got in 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 a dozen times for the ride. As the woman hugged me, I (16) her face was wet with tears. 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.