AMMAN // Miriam Raad, two, is dressed in tiny denim jeans and pink shoes. Like most toddlers, she squirms in her mother's arms. But while one side of her face is that of an ordinary happy, gurgling baby, the other side is twice its normal size - the result of a brain tumour so aggressive it has distended her head.
The Iraqi infant was found earlier this year on a routine patrol by American soldiers, who arranged for her to be brought to Jordan for treatment. Her mother, Rasha Adel Ougla, 22, had spent weeks going to hospitals in Baghdad trying to convince them to admit the child. "I would leave the house at five in the morning, because I wanted to see the doctor before he went to work at seven - I'd stand in the car park and wait for him," said Ms Ougla. "I went to every hospital, but I couldn't get anyone to agree to admit her.
"Sometimes there was no X-ray technician, and if there were X-rays there was no anaesthesia. If there was anaesthesia and X-rays, there would be no anaesthesiologist." Ms Ougla, who dropped out of school after fifth grade at about 10 years old to help support her family in the Baghdad neighbourhood of Baya, knew there was something seriously wrong before Miriam was born. "When I was carrying her, I knew there was something wrong with her, " said Ms Ougla. "Something strange showed up in the sonar [ultrasound]. They told me to have an abortion, but I was eight months pregnant then. I thought whatever is going to happen, will happen, Praise be to God. However, when the baby comes out, I will take responsibility for it."
It was much worse than she imagined. Miriam was born with a balloon-shaped appendage, filled with fluid, attached to her head. Her husband wanted to leave the baby in a room alone and let her die. He left the day after she was born. "I'm normally afraid of a lot of things," said Ms Ougla. "But I love children, and when I saw her I wasn't afraid of her. I made myself strong, so I could take care of her."
When she was two months old, doctors in Baghdad put a shunt in Miriam's head to drain the fluid, but a year and a half later, when the soldiers saw her, the growing tumour had pushed out her skull, perforated her left eye and broken her jaw. She was close to dying. US officials arranged for Miriam and her mother to fly to Jordan to be diagnosed at the King Hussein Medical Centre. When the private American donor who was to have paid for her treatment disappeared, the Iraqi Goodwill Fund of the King Hussein Cancer Foundation picked up the US$70,000 (Dh257,000) bill, said Princess Dina Mired.
The cost of paying for treatment has left the two-year-old charity struggling to help more than 25 needy Iraqis on the fund's waiting list, Princess Dina said. "It's a big sum for a small NGO [non-governmental organisation] like ours. We can't take on all of Iraq. We try to do as much as we can," said Princess Dina, the director of the King Hussein Cancer Foundation, which runs one of the most advanced cancer hospitals in the region.
In the lift at the centre, an Iraqi man begged her for help with his mother, 58. He had brought her to the centre and started treatment, but had run out of money, he said. The family came to Jordan after three of his other brothers were killed by Shiite militias, he said. Iraqi's own health care system is as ravaged as many of the patients who seek treatment. More than 15 years of trade sanctions, war and sectarian politics have left Iraq's once leading health care system in a shambles. Hundreds of Iraqi doctors were killed or kidnapped since 2004.
When the ministry of health came under control of officials loyal to Muqtada al Sadr, the Shiite leader, in a political deal three years ago, thousands more doctors left. The shortage of medical staff is so severe, particularly outside of Baghdad, newly-built clinics have been unable to open, according to US military officials. The Iraqi government, which has had an ambivalent relationship with its citizens who have fled the country, does not contribute to the care of seriously ill Iraqis in neighbouring countries, humanitarian officials said.
A few of the lucky ones come to the attention of such charities as the Iraqi Goodwill Fund, which is funded by private and UN donations. Ms Ougla, a member of Iraq's dwindling Sabaen Christian community, seemed as determined to see her daughter cured as she had been to have the baby. The young woman who sold vegetables in the market has learnt about cancer and quotes haemoglobin levels and treatment options.
In the safety of the hospital, Miriam remains blissfully ignorant that she is not a normal child. "Habibti" and "Who's cuter than you?" the women from the Cancer Foundation cooed as she gurgled with laughter. Tufts of downy hair poked through the bandage wrapping her head after six rounds of chemotherapy. In July, with Miriam's cancer in remission, Ms Ougla was about to leave with her for Boston, where a US donor had offered to fund reconstructive surgery. The multiple operations and recovery are expected to take at least a year.
"I don't care where we live, if we go back to Iraq, just as long as I can get her to a doctor. I'm worried the cancer will come back," said Ms Ougla. Two weeks later, the tumour had come back. Boston was put on hold and Ms Ougla and Miriam were preparing themselves for another round of chemotherapy. @email:jarraf@thenational.ae
