Continued from Monday, November 3
I thought I heard my mom mutter something to herself. Something like, “I should have known.”
I wanted to ask how she did know something was wrong, but I was too tired. I was always too tired. Erica, want to go to the pool? No, I’m too tired. Wanna go to the park? Maybe later. All you ever do is sit around and read. I’m just tired.
I shut my eyes. I replayed the conversation at the doctor’s office shortly after my diagnosis. “Her body didn’t know how to break down carbohydrates,” he explained to my mom. “So it’s been burning fat instead. That’s why she’s lost so much weight.”
My mom, always emotional, was practically in tears while I looked on, wishing I had a sweatshirt to put on over my tank top. Why is it always so frigid in doctor’s offices? Were they trying to make you even more uncomfortable? “I thought she looked thinner. I was just telling her she had the skinniest chicken legs. We were in Shakey’s Pizza, remember?” she tossed my way. “But sixty-nine pounds? … I had no idea.”
Well, I had thought, that explains why I’m so cold. No fat to warm me up. Why am I not more upset? I blinked out a few tears just to prove the news affected me. It was too much work, though, so I gave up.
Fourteen miles, thirteen miles, twelve miles. Why do parents always blame themselves? A flash of irritation flared in my stomach and shook me awake. That flash of emotion—that felt like me. I sat up straighter and put my feet back on the floor. I’m still me, I told myself. A tiny voice at the back of my head was haunting me. I don’t feel like me. But I ignored it. I’m still me. I’m still Erica.
My movement snapped my mother to attention.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Four miles, three, two.
“You. The doctor was really impressed with how early you caught it. You prob’ly saved my life,” I informed her unnecessarily.
We pulled off the interstate and began following the signs: McFarland Clinic .6 miles. “Well, I’m your mother. That’s my job.” She was worried and tired and stressed and all alone. Like me.
“I have no idea where we’re supposed to be,” she said pointing to the hospital’s parking lot. Then she slid her arm across and smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “But we’ll just park and meet your dad and figure it out together, okay?
I nodded.
Okay.
