It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,19
miss a single thing. “I was going to say good night, but you look sort of flushed. You feeling okay?”
“Yes, Mom.” I close my screen, covering up my treacherous little email exchange. “I’m fine.”
She comes within two steps of putting her hand on my forehead, but I throw a “Mom!” at her, which makes her pull her hand back. Just like that, I’ve won a minuscule victory.
“I wanted to tell you we have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday. Dr. Rodriguez.”
“Awesome.” I’m suddenly glad that Uncle Steve and I are looking into this emancipation thing. I need to be in control of all of this.
“We’ll just listen to what he has to say, Jenna. Let’s keep an open mind.”
I face her down with an icy stare. “Really? Like I haven’t been keeping an open mind all this time? Like I haven’t listened to you and Dad and all the doctors. The army of doctors.” Doctors who could be just as “good” as Dr. Jacoby. My parents couldn’t protect me from malfeasance then, so could they really do it now?
Mom’s hands come out in front of her. “I know you have, Jenna, but this time might be different.”
I breathe out. Breathe in. Try to calm the wild storm raging inside me. “My mind is open, Mom. It always has been. I’m not the one who lied this whole time. I’m not the one who…settled.”
Direct hit. Mom deflates like a balloon. “Settled?”
“Come on Mom…the settlement…”
I’ve been sitting on this information since I found out about it, not sure how to broach the subject with my parents. Go figure it would come out in a fit of anger.
“You know about the settlement? How?” She asks. Her face pales and her hands shake, but at least she’s not crying. Yet.
“I found it online.”
“Oh.” She looks at her hands, clasps them together, and looks back up at me, her face a mix of despondence and resignation. “I knew we’d have to have this talk one day.”
“If you knew that, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” She wipes her eyes. “It was all so scary, the day you were born. Your father and I were so…” She looks at the ceiling. “So scared.”
“Because of the CP?”
“No. We didn’t know about that right away. Because your birth was difficult. We were afraid we’d lose you.” Now she’s full-on crying.
“Mom. I’m fine.”
She smooths down my hair, straight today, because Rena did it over the weekend. “I know you are.”
“But this is exactly what I’m talking about. I have a right to know. Everything about me and my condition.” And now I’m crying, too, which is awesome, because I’m trying to be all in charge and stuff.
She nods. Grabs a tissue off my night table. “I know you do. I know. It’s just, it was such a scary thing, and you have no idea what it feels like to almost lose a child.” She sits, her face completely drained of color now.
“So…medical malfeasance,” I say, pushing.
“It’s the term they used for the lawsuit, so we could set up a trust fund for you. The same fund that pays for all of your mobility aids and therapies.”
“And the doctor?”
Mom looks at me funny. “What about the doctor?”
“He just gets away with it?”
“It’s not that simple. No one knows exactly—”
“I know. He screwed up, and I’m paying for it.”
“Jenna…it’s not like that.” She stands up. She waves her arm. “And you’re doing fine.”
“You call this fine? In bed at seven, because today exhausted me? Seizures? Surgeries? What part of any of that is fine?”
Mom pulls back as if I hit her. She tents her fingers under her nose. Looks up. “This isn’t helping. None of this is helping, Jenna.”
So that’s where this ends. This is the extent of the conversation. “Tell me about when you found out about my CP. What did you do? What did you think? Were you scared?”
“Of course we were scared, Jenna. But you were fine. You are fine. You were so little, and we were worried, but you’re fine now.”
“Yes, I’m perfect, just the way I am.”
“You have a lot to be grateful for. We all have a lot to be grateful for.”
“Forgive me for not being grateful that I have these crutches and these messed-up muscles and these…”
“Stop it!” Mom waves her arm around. “Just stop it. I know things are harder for you. I understand all of that, but you have to keep going.” She puts her hand on her head. “Oh my God,