Friday, March 15, 2013

Liberal Arts Daughter

By Michael F. Mercurio

 
She couldn’t stand the sight of her.
Cassey saw her mother every day, and it made her shudder each time.  Her grotesque figure made the girl scream inside.

She couldn’t help it.  She hated seeing her, and that made Cassey feel like a horrible person.  But to watch her lying in the hospital bed - withered, hairless, and hooked up to tubes like that – it was disturbingly surreal.
This was the same woman who carried her from birth – played with her with boundless energy, and was always so full of life.  The woman lying in front of her now bore little resemblance to the one she remembered only five short years ago.

The cancer had been exceedingly aggressive.  Had the doctors caught it in time, things very well could have turned out differently.  It had been decades, however, since Madelyn ever had a checkup or physical of any kind.  As a single mother, she simply never had the money for insurance.  It took fainting in the parking lot on that foreboding day to force her sixteen-year-old daughter to drive her to the emergency room.

“We’ll never be able to afford it,” she protested weakly as Cassey drove the ’98 station wagon at unsafe speeds.  She was right, of course.  The visit alone wouldn’t be paid off for years to come.  Then of course came the expensive tests – blood work, x-rays, CAT scans, and the like.
So instead, they found nothing.  After a short examination, they sent her home with a $500 fee, a recommendation for further tests which were not within her budget, and an otherwise clean bill of health.  Madelyn continued to have occasional fainting episodes for the next three years.

Finally, it happened on the job – her third one, in fact, after she finished up the first two.  Her manager took it upon himself to foot the payment for a complete medical workup.  It was a very generous act on his part, as it freed the company’s home office from any potential liability.  They would no doubt be required to reimburse him, anyway.

It was on this second trip to the emergency room that she was informed – alone – that she had liver cancer.  Cassey – now nineteen – was away at college, and had no way of knowing that her mother had just been told she only had two more years to live.  Fortunately, Cassey’s number was listed as an emergency contact.  Three days later, someone from HR “promptly” called her to tell her that her mother had been taken to the hospital.
Everything transitioned so quickly after that.  Cassey was forced to leave college to care for her mother at home.  She did this as best she could between her part time jobs.  They did receive some government assistance, which helped a little.  But nothing could prepare her for the changes she was forced to witness each day, as her mother slipped away little by little.

Now, once again standing by her bedside in the hospital on her final day, Cassey had completely forgotten that her own 21st birthday was last week.  It had been a long time since any normalcy such as that had taken place between them.
Madelyn’s breathing was slow and irregular.  Eventually, it stopped.  The nurses came in, offered their condolences, and proceeded to unhook her.  It was routine, and felt oddly disconnected – nothing at all like how Cassey always imagined from television dramas.  The event passed as if it were something that happened every day.

In a way, she supposed it was.  People did die every day, after all.  But this should feel differently, shouldn’t it?  It was her own mother.  Was it normal to feel this numb?
A week passed when Cassey received a phone call from a lawyer.  Apparently, sometime after her first trip to the hospital, Madelyn had taken it upon herself to draw up a will.  Cassey met with the man who handed her an envelope, then gave her some privacy.  Her hands trembled as she read the letter addressed to her.


Cassandra dear,

                There are so many things I would like to do for you.  I love you with all my heart, and it hurts me so much that I can’t simply give you the moon.  You’re my daughter, and I always wanted to do right by you.  I couldn’t really do that before.  But now, if you’re reading this, it means I’ve gone away.  Now I can do more for you than I ever could before.  I’ve spoken with Mr. Heartman, the attorney who will be giving this letter to you.  He told me that once you’ve turned 21, the savings bond can be transferred to you if I should ever pass on.  I don’t know what the future will bring, but I want you to go to college, no matter what.
Please sweetie, don’t fall into the same trap I did.  I can’t do much, but I want to at least give you the chance I never had.

I love you always.  Happy Birthday, Cassey.
 
 
She read the letter back to herself twice over.  It was only after her third way through that she finally cried.  It came on without warning, and with a violence that caused her to hyperventilate.  In her mind, she could see her mother the way she once was, carrying Cassey in her arms again.
The Madelyn Whittman free clinic has been caring for the upper west side of greater Orlando for well over ten years now.

And to think, its founder – Doctor Cassandra Whittman – was once a Liberal Arts major.


Michael F. Mercurio
Copyright 2013

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