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Chapter 1

THE WISH

A selfless wish made by an innocent child 

Has the power to work miracles. 

- Eve Hillary 

In mid-October 2004, the Melbourne Royal Children’s hospital cancer ward was nearly full. A fresh shift of afternoon nurses came on duty at 2 pm. Some dreaded working in the sad side rooms reserved for children with terminal cancer. In one of them was Sarah Westley  - a tall, lean girl with legs a fraction too long for the paediatric bed. Six weeks before, she’d celebrated her thirteenth birthday. At that age, she was still a little girl, but the terrifying things she’d experienced over the past year made her look older than her seventeen-year-old sister Laura.  

           Sarah’s favourite paediatric nurse came into the room carrying a sterile dressing pack. After rubbing Sarah’s back and washing her face and hands, the nurse deftly removed the narcotic IV from the Sarah’s forearm and placed a brightly coloured band-aid over the puncture. She then carefully peeled back the plastic film from an adhesive patch and placed it on to the skin near Sarah’s collarbone. Finally, she readjusted the girl’s hospital gown and smiled. ‘The patches should take care of the pain now’, she said. ‘You’ll be able to go home soon’.  

            Sarah looked gloomy because she knew that would never happen. She was a long way from home, and would probably never again see the farm in New South Wales where she had lived all her life. ‘I’m not going home’, she explained sadly. ‘I’m going to my Aunt’s and Uncle’s house at Yarra Junction’.  

            The nurse sensed a story there, especially since Sarah was terminal and did not have long to go. ‘Oh, that’s nice. Will your family be there?’  

            Sarah struggled to sit up. ‘Not all of them. Just Mum and Dad, my sisters and brother and a few others’.  

            ‘Here, let me help you, honey’. The nurse smiled and gently propped pillows behind her back. The teenager was feather light, but her distended abdomen made it difficult for her to sit up straight. When she’d finished, the nurse went to the hand-basin and pumped the soap dispenser. ‘There you go. I’ll tell your Mum she can come in again’, she said as she patted her hands with a paper towel.  

            Sarah strained to shift her swollen legs. The fluid had settled in the tissues and left dents in her skin. ‘Mum’s upstairs resting. She just came out of the hospital a few days ago’.  

             The nurse gave such a pitying look that Sarah noticed it.                  

            ‘Do you know what?’ asked Sarah.  

            ‘What’. 

            Sarah looked wistfully out of the window. ‘I like this hospital more than all the others’. 

            The nurse smiled warmly. She sensed Sarah’s pain, but could not know the real meaning of what the girl had just said. She waited for Sarah to elaborate.  

Instead Sarah gazed out the window across the Melbourne city business district. Lately, she didn’t bother to explain any more. What had gone on over the previous two years would take far too long to tell, and most people just  wouldn’t believe it anyway.                            

When Sarah’s father, Mark, appeared in the doorway, the nurse waved him in and left them to enjoy each other’s company.          

            Mark’s solid muscle came from hard work on the family’s country property rather than from the gym. He was a traditional Australian country-bred man; gentle and slow to rile but ferociously protective if anyone threatened his family. In his hand, he clutched a bottle of Sarah’s favourite ginger ale. She had not been able to keep much down and he hoped it would lift her spirits. He settled back into his chair beside her bed. She seemed preoccupied.  

            ‘What’s up Jogue?’ he asked, using the nickname he’d given her as a baby.  

      Several times Sarah moved her dry lips before giving up. Finally, she wet them and closed her eyes. Mark thought she’d fallen asleep again. He rested his leather boot on the wheel of her bed before picking up the Melbourne Age and leafing through it.  

            ‘Dad?’ murmured Sarah.  

            ‘Yes Sarah?’ He put down the paper. She had his full attention.  

            ‘I want you to promise me something’, said Sarah as she held down the corner of her pillow to see him better.

            ‘I’ll try my best’, he said, as leaned forward to hear. In the past few days, her voice had become faint.  

            Sarah was wide-awake. ‘Seriously Dad, I want you promise me this’.  

            Mark only hoped he could give her what she wanted. ‘What is it?’ he asked gently.  

      ‘Remember what they did to me?’ she asked, ‘those people in suits and the other doctors?’ 

      Mark tensed. He knew very well what they had done to his daughter, and he would never rest until he found out why it had happened to her.  

       Sarah gave him a piercing look and asked him to grant her a wish so enormous that he didn’t know if he could ever make it happen – but he promised it anyway.  

Sarah relaxed the instant Mark took her load on his shoulders. When she drifted off to sleep, he planned to go downstairs to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. He had to get out for a while and think about what his daughter had asked him to do.  

After dinner, he planned to go to the upstairs parents’ accommodation to see how his wife was feeling. They’d all had a rough time over the past 16 months, but Dianne had collapsed with a seriously inflamed leg and spent a few days at the hospital down the road.  

An hour later, Mark balanced the meal tray in one hand, while opening the door with the other. Di was just waking up and looked fragile. Her long chestnut hair had come down from the loose roll she usually had it swept into.  

Mark put the plate of cold roast beef on the table and sat on the bed beside her.  

Di looked gloomy. ‘Mark. Could I ask you something?’  

‘You can, but I don’t know if I have any more answers’, he replied. The session with Sarah earlier had his mind reeling.  

          ‘Do you think she would have lived longer if  -’  

          ‘Yes I do’, he interrupted. ‘If they hadn’t done what they did’. Mark felt the bitterness again.  He reached over to the bedside table and transferred the plate to Di’s bed.    ‘You’d better eat something’, he said, offering her the cutlery. ‘We have to stay strong for Sarah in the next few days’.

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