Letters to a Dead Daughter

From the day I was born, Mom never treated me like her daughter. I was Catherine Baldwin's older sister, the example Mom used to keep her in line. When Catherine stole ten dollars from Mom's purse to buy stickers, Mom made me stand facing the living room wall all afternoon. Then she pointed at me and told Catherine, "Look at Allison. For every dollar you steal, she stands there for an hour. You do the math." When Catherine refused to eat her vegetables, Mom stopped giving me breakfast for three days. I got so hungry that I snuck into the kitchen and ate cold leftovers straight from the fridge. When Mom caught me, she didn't yell. She simply turned to Catherine and said, "See how hungry Allison is? Keep being picky, and you'll be the one who goes without food next time." When Catherine started dating in middle school, and a teacher caught her passing notes to a boy in class, Mom sent me to the school in her place. She made me stand in the main office and read Catherine's written apology aloud in front of the teachers. Halfway through, my voice gave out. Mom snatched the paper from my hands and finished reading it herself, slowly and clearly, making sure everyone heard every word. Afterward, she pulled me into the hallway and said, "Catherine has a reputation to protect. I couldn't let her be humiliated in front of her teachers. You're her sister. It's your job to take the fall for her." I was 15, and Catherine was 13. By then, I had already been punished for her, gone hungry for her, and humiliated myself for her. It took me years to realize that was only the beginning. The worst was yet to come. Chapter 1 I came down with a cold. At first, it was nothing more than a slight tickle in my throat. There was a box of cold medicine in the bathroom cabinet. I was about to make myself a dose when Mom stopped me. "That's for Catherine. She said her throat feels scratchy, too. You're older, Allison. You can handle it." So I put the medicine back. I tried to tough it out for three days. Then my throat began to burn. Every swallow felt like sandpaper scraping it raw. Then came the fever. First 100.4 degrees, then 102.2. I told Mom I needed to see a doctor. She was in the kitchen frying chicken wings for my sister, Catherine Baldwin. Catherine had final exams and said she needed a good meal to help her focus. The exhaust fan was so loud that I had to repeat myself. "In a minute," Mom said without looking back. "Catherine still has her math exam tomorrow." So I waited. I waited for Catherine to come home and eat every last chicken wing on the plate. I waited for Mom to wash the dishes, wipe down the stove, and make sure Catherine had everything ready for the next morning. I waited until ten that night. Only then did Mom come into my room and press a hand to my forehead. She pulled it away almost at once. "How did your fever get this high?" She went into the bathroom and dug through the medicine cabinet until she found a bottle of ibuprofen. She checked the expiration date. They had expired six months earlier. "They're still fine. They won't hurt you." She shook two pills into her palm and handed them to me. "Take these and get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow. You're the older one. You've always been strong." I took the pills. By the next morning, my temperature had dropped slightly to 100 degrees. "See?" Mom said. "I told you they'd work." Then she went to work, and I went to school. During the second period, I started coughing up blood in the middle of class. The girl beside me froze, then threw up her hand and screamed for the teacher. By the time my teacher reached me, I was already slipping out of my chair. She caught me before my head hit the floor. Her fingers brushed my neck, and she later said my skin had been frighteningly hot. The ambulance arrived within minutes. As I lay on the stretcher, I heard my teacher call Mom. "Mrs. Baldwin, Allison collapsed in class and coughed up blood. We're in the ambulance heading to the local hospital. You need to get there as soon as you can." There was a brief silence on the other end. Mom's voice soon came through the phone. She wasn't speaking loudly, but even the paramedics could hear her. "Can't it wait until I get off work? I'm on the late shift. If I leave now, they'll dock my pay." My teacher's voice sharpened. "Your daughter is coughing up blood, and you're worried about losing a few hours' pay?" "You don't understand." Mom suddenly sounded exhausted. "I have two daughters. Every dollar matters. Just stay with her until I get there. I'll come as soon as my shift ends." She hung up. The paramedic placing an oxygen mask over my face was a woman in her forties. Her hands went still for a moment before she continued. She didn't say anything, but her eyes had turned red. I stared at the flashing lights on the ambulance ceiling. I wondered if Mom would hug me first when she finally got there. Chapter 2 Mom still hadn't arrived when the ambulance reached the hospital. They rushed me into the ER and hooked me up to a maze of tubes and wires. A nurse asked where my family was. I told her Mom was on her way. She asked if there was anyone else who could sign the paperwork. I said Dad was working at a construction site and couldn't be reached. In the end, my homeroom teacher, Rachel Carr, signed everything. The doctor on duty reprimanded her for signing without authorization. She stood in the hallway, her voice growing louder with every word. "I'm her teacher! Her mother wouldn't come. What was I supposed to do, stand there and let her die?" I could hear her from inside the room. I wanted to call out and tell her not to argue, that I was alright. But I couldn't get the words out. It felt as though something was lodged in my throat, making every swallow hurt and every breath tighter. The doctor's expression grew grim as he reviewed my scans. It was pneumonia, but not the kind that had only recently developed from an untreated cold. Mine had gone untreated for so long that fluid had already begun collecting around my lungs. The doctor said I needed to be admitted. That was when Mom finally arrived. She rushed in still wearing her supermarket uniform, a red vest with the store's name across the front. In one hand, she carried a plastic bag filled with Catherine's favorite strawberry cookies. The first person she saw was Catherine, sitting alone on a bench in the hallway. Catherine had come home from school, heard from a neighbor that I'd been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, and rushed over by herself. Mom immediately crouched in front of her and checked her over from head to toe. She felt Catherine's forehead and hands, then asked if she was cold or hungry. Catherine said, "Mom, Allison…" "Your sister's fine," Mom interrupted her. She stood and pressed the bag of cookies into her hands. "Eat something. I don't want you going hungry." Only then did she come into the ER. She stopped beside my bed, staring at the tubes attached to me and the numbers flickering across the monitor. The first thing she asked was, "How much is this going to cost?" The doctor said the hospital stay would be around 3,000 dollars. Her expression changed. Three thousand dollars. Dad made 5,000 a month. Mom made 3,000. The mortgage was eighteen hundred, and Catherine's tutoring cost another six hundred. I knew what 3,000 dollars meant to our family, but I still thought she would pay it. After all, she was my mother. Mom stood beside my bed in silence for a long time. After that, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bank card. "Put it on the card." I let out the breath I had been holding. However, I relaxed too soon. Mom went to the billing desk and didn't come back for a long time. She still hadn't returned when the nurse came in to change my IV. The numbers on the monitor began to change. My heart rate climbed, and my oxygen level dropped. The nurse looked at the screen, and her expression shifted. She ran out to get the doctor. By the time the doctor came in, my lips were already turning blue. "Has she paid yet? We can't release the medication until the payment goes through. The system won't allow it." The nurse ran out to find Mom. Her voice echoed down the hallway. "Mrs. Baldwin! What are you doing out here?" Then came the sound of hurried footsteps. When the nurse brought Mom back into the room, she was still clutching the bank card. She had an expression on her face I had never seen before. It wasn't reluctance. It wasn't fear over the cost. She was hesitating. Three thousand dollars to save my life, and she was hesitating. In the end, she swiped the card. Once the payment went through, they brought in the medication and started the IV. My oxygen level slowly began to climb again. The nurse adjusted my oxygen mask, then rested her fingers lightly against the back of my hand. "What's wrong with your mother?" she whispered, so quietly that only I could hear. "Why did she wait so long to pay?" I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat felt swollen shut. I knew why Mom hesitated. That 3,000 dollars was the money she had spent 6 months saving for Catherine's summer dance classes. Catherine said she wanted to learn how to dance. Mom promised she could. And Mom never broke a promise to Catherine. Chapter 3 Less than an hour after the IV was started, my condition suddenly took a turn for the worse. The monitor began shrieking. My oxygen level dropped from the nineties into the eighties, then the seventies. My heart raced wildly before slowing to a terrifying crawl. The doctor rushed in, glanced at the monitor, and his expression changed. "She has myocarditis. Her heart is inflamed." He turned to the nurse. "Get her transferred to Riverside. Now." The nurse ran out to make the call. The only sounds left in the ER were the machines and the dull thud of the doctor pressing on my chest. Mom stood in the hallway, watching through the glass in the door. She was still clutching the bank card. When the nurse returned, her expression was grim. "All the ambulances from the city are out on calls. The soonest one can get here is 40 minutes." "She doesn't have 40 minutes," the doctor said. "Tell her family to take her themselves." The nurse hurried out to speak to Mom. Mom froze. "How am I supposed to do that? I can't drive!" "Call a cab. Get an Uber. It doesn't matter. Just get her there." Mom pulled out her phone. Her thumb moved across the screen twice, then stopped. "How much will it cost to get to Riverside?" "Probably 100 dollars." Mom's finger hovered over the screen. "Can't the hospital take her? Wouldn't that cost less?" The nurse raised her voice. "Your daughter's heart is about to stop, and you're still worried about money?" "I'm not just worried about the money!" Mom shouted back. "I only have a little over 2,000 dollars left on my card. If I spend 100 getting her there, what happens if I can't afford the treatment at the other hospital?" The hallway fell silent. Then, someone spoke. "I'll pay for it." It was Rachel. She was still sitting on the bench, clutching the pen she had used to sign the paperwork. She stood, pulled a 100-dollar bill from her purse, and pressed it into Mom's hand. "Is that enough? I can get more if you need it." Mom stared at the bill. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Then she closed her fist around the money. The ride was booked. The app said the car would arrive in five minutes. During those five minutes, my heart stopped twice. The doctor brought me back the first time. Then it stopped again, and he brought me back a second time. The defibrillator charged three times, leaving two angry red marks on my chest. Mom stood on the other side of the glass, the cash clenched in one hand and the bank card in the other. Catherine stood beside her, tugging at the hem of her shirt. "Mom, is Allison going to die?" Mom didn't answer. She kept staring through the glass at the doctor pressing down on my chest and the jagged line jumping across the monitor. The car arrived, and the driver called to tell us to hurry. The nurse rushed my bed toward the elevator. Mom followed, with Catherine close behind her. Rachel came after them. Just as the elevator doors opened, Mom's phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and answered. "Hello? Yes, this is Diana Baldwin... Catherine's dance school? The payment is due today?" The elevator doors slid fully open, and the nurse pushed me inside. Mom stayed in the hallway with the phone pressed to her ear. "Could you give me two more days? I'm in the middle of…" The nurse held the doors. "Mrs. Baldwin! Are you coming or not?" Mom looked at me inside the elevator, then down at her phone. The person on the other end was still talking. Catherine's dance classes cost 3,000 dollars. If Mom didn't pay that day, Catherine would lose her spot. She had spent six months saving that money. The elevator doors began to close. Mom stepped back. "You go ahead. I'll finish this call and meet you there." Chapter 4 The elevator doors slid shut. Through the narrowing gap, I saw Mom turn away with the phone still pressed to her ear, gesturing with her free hand. Catherine stood beside her, staring up at her. Then the elevator began to descend. The nurse swore under her breath. The doctor continued pressing on my chest, again and again. I stared at the ceiling. Mom was still talking to the dance school. Even as the elevator carried me down, her call still wasn't over. My heart stopped again after we reached the highway. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the doctor performing CPR. He jerked the wheel in shock. The nurse shouted at him to keep going and drive faster. Dad later told me the driver sped the entire trip and ran 3 red lights. The moment we reached Riverside Medical Center, they rushed me into a resuscitation room. I lay beneath lights so bright that they hurt my eyes. Someone was shouting orders. Someone else pressed electrode pads against my chest. The defibrillator charged again. My body lifted off the table, then fell back down. Up. Down. The line on the monitor went flat. The doctor kept performing chest compressions. Ten minutes went by. Then twenty. Thirty. Finally, he stopped and looked at the clock on the wall. His gloves were slick with sweat, and his arms trembled from the effort. The doctor stepped out of the resuscitation room. Dad was already in the hallway. Rachel had managed to reach him, and he had rushed over from the construction site without even changing out of his dust-covered work clothes. She stood nearby with red-rimmed eyes. The doctor pulled down his mask. "I'm sorry. She got here too late. The myocarditis caused her heart to fail. We did everything we could." Dad braced himself against the wall, then slowly slid to the floor as though his legs had given out. He didn't cry. He just sat there for a long time, staring straight ahead without blinking. Then footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. Mom had finally arrived. She was still carrying the plastic bag, now filled with a change of clothes for Catherine; red pants and a white T-shirt. Her other hand held Catherine's. She saw Dad sitting on the floor, Rachel wiping away tears, and the closed doors to the resuscitation room. She let go of Catherine's hand and walked toward them. "How's Allison?" she asked Dad. He didn't look up. "Honey?" Mom crouched in front of him, trying to see his face. His eyes were bloodshot, but there were no tears. He slowly raised his head and looked at her. "Where were you?" Mom froze. "I-I was on the phone with Catherine's dance school. Today was the payment deadline. If I didn't pay, she would've lost her spot…" "I asked where you were," Dad cut her off. "I was downstairs making the call. I came up as soon as I finished…" "When Allison came down in the elevator, you were on the phone. When they put her in the car, you were on the phone. While she was fighting for her life in there, you were still on the phone." Dad got to his feet. His legs were shaking, but his voice was steady. "Diana, Allison is dead."