“Do you see that lady who just walked in? She has breast cancer,” a man sitting near the entrance of Paddy’s Pub said shortly after Maggie Brennan walked into the bar.
“Oh how awful,” the person seated next to him at the same table replied. “Has she been fighting it for long?”
“About a year. She was diagnosed with it just after finishing treatment for lung cancer.”
“My God! Two types of cancer?!”
“Four actually. She’s also been through ovarian cancer and stomach cancer.”
“Wow, and she’s still here? Amazing!”
“I know; especially considering that she also has Multiple Sclerosis and Lou Gehrig’s Disease.”
“Wait,” his table mate said. “Don’t those things put you in a wheelchair or confine you to a bed?”
“After a certain point, but she’s only had those conditions for a couple of months. It’s not like she’s been struggling with them for ages. Now, you take her degenerative eye disease and the setbacks she suffered after having the Ebola Virus…she’s been dealing with those issues for a few years.”
“How can one person have that many health issues?”
“They can’t, but Maggie likes to come in here and tell people she has these things in hopes of getting them to buy her drinks out of sympathy.”
“Has she had much luck?”
“Loads, that’s why she hasn’t been able to shake the one disease she truly does have: alcoholism. I stopped buying her drinks after she told me she had her arm broken by circus clowns. She likely did it falling down during one of her drunken stupors.”
“Hi, Stan!” Maggie shouted from the bar. “Who’s your new friend?”
“His name is Carl,” Stan yelled back.
“Hi, Carl. I’d come over and join the two of you but it’s hard to get around on these prosthetic legs of mine.”
Carl looked to Stan to confirm whether or not Maggie honestly did have prosthetic legs. A shake of the head let him know that this was just another one of her tall tales.
Today, Maggie had to buy her own drinks.