Too Much to Bear

Just after Christmas, thin, black-haired Mrs. Montell Purcell saw something which made her turn cold: her pigtailed, four-year-old daughter Carolyn Joan was holding toys close to her face as she played in the Purcells' dingy little house at Alpharetta (pop. 647), Ga. Smiling, the child explained why: it was the only way she could see them.

Mrs. Purcell and her husband Frank, an unemployed stone mason, hurried Carolyn Joan to a doctor. But the mother could not bring herself to believe the dreadful medical alternatives: the child would have to lose both eyes, or die. Mrs. Purcell's first baby had died "sudden like" in 1937, and it seemed impossible that God could permit such cruelty twice. She took her daughter home, put her to bed, and sat up beside her, night after night, waiting for her to get better.

But Carolyn Joan's eyesight got steadily worse. Last week the Purcells brought the little girl to Atlanta's Grady Memorial Hospital, to seek hope from a team of four specialists. After sending Carolyn Joan to play in the hospital corridor, the specialists confirmed the original diagnosis. The little girl had retinoblastoma, a cancer of the eyes. The doctors urged the parents to let them remove both eyes immediately.

Frank Purcell was willing. But his wife, who seemed on the verge of hysteria, could not bring herself to consent. "It looks like it's more than I can bear," she said, absently wiping away tears. "I don't know. I don't know. I've got to leave it to the Lord."

At week's end, a group of Atlanta Masons arranged for Carolyn Joan to be flown to the famed Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., for further examination.

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