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Chapter 1
Kaitlin
The hospital room is sterile and cold, the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment punctuating the silence as the doctor examines Andrew. I stand by his bed, my heart pounding, watching his fragile form as he lies there, unconscious.
He had another crisis, and we had to get an ambulance to rush him to the hospital. My stomach twists in knots, my heart racing so fast. Tears cloud my vision, but I do my best to hold it in.
The nurse steps in, her expression sympathetic but firm. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to wait outside while we attend to him.”
Mama looks at the nurse, her eyes wide with fear and reluctance. She clutches Andrew’s hand, unwilling to let go. I gently touch her shoulder, trying my best to project a calm I don’t feel. “Mama, we need to give them space so they can treat him,” I say softly. “Let’s wait outside.”
She hesitates, her grip tightening on Andrew’s hand for a moment longer before she finally nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. We step out into the dimly lit corridor, the door clicking shut behind us.
As we find seats in the waiting area, none of us saying a word, my mind starts to race, several thoughts swirling. I turn to Mama and see she’s silently praying, her rosary in her palm as she slowly traces her fingers through each bead.
I feel a lump in my throat and a burning behind my eyes, but I force the tears back. I have to be strong for Mama. She’s already been through so much. With my elder brother and Papa serving a drug sentence of ten years and Andrew being sick. How she’s managed to keep it together all these years is a mystery.
Two years ago, Andrew was diagnosed with leukemia. It felt like our world had shattered. But he fought hard, and after brutal rounds of chemotherapy, he beat it. We celebrated, thinking the nightmare was over. But a few months ago, it came back, and it feels even more relentless this time.
I glance at Mama again, her face drawn with worry as she prays. She’s aged so much these past few years. Seeing her like this breaks my heart. I want to cry, to scream, to let out the frustration and fear that have built up inside me, but I can’t. I need to be her rock, the pillar she can lean on.
As we sit there, the minutes dragging into eternity, I think about everything we’ve been through: the endless hospital visits, the financial strain, the constant fear. I think about how I’ve struggled to find a good-paying job despite having a degree and how life seems to throw one obstacle after another our way.
But most of all, I think about Andrew. His smile, his courage, his dreams. He’s so young, twenty, too young to face something like this again.
After a while, Mama reaches over and gently squeezes my hand, pulling me out of my thoughts. I give her a reassuring smile, even though I don’t feel reassured myself. We wait in silence, the beeping of machines and the murmurs of hospital staff echoing in the background.
All I can do is hope and pray that this time, Andrew’s strength will pull him through once again. As we wait, the silence becomes almost unbearable, interrupted only by the occasional footsteps of passing nurses and the distant hum of hospital machinery.
I’m startled from my thoughts when I see a familiar figure hurrying down the corridor toward us. “Aunt Rosa,” I say, standing up as she approaches.
“I went by your place, and the neighbor told me you brought Andrew to the hospital,” Aunt Rosa says, her voice laced with concern. She hugs me quickly before turning to Mama.
Mama’s face crumples as she looks at her younger sister. “Andrew had another crisis,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’m so scared, Rosa.”
Aunt Rosa pulls Mama into a tight embrace, whispering soothing words. “He’s a fighter, María. He’s going to get through this.”
Mama’s tears start to flow, her shoulders shaking with each sob. I feel my resolve wavering, but I take a deep breath, trying to hold it together. Aunt Rosa glances at me, her eyes filled with both worry and determination.
“We’ve got to stay strong for him,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “He needs us to believe he can do this.”
Aunt Rosa nods, still holding Mama. “That’s right. He needs all our strength and our prayers.”
We sit down, and I wrap my arm around Mama, who leans against me, her tears slowly subsiding. Aunt Rosa holds her hand, squeezing it gently. The three of us sit together, each drawing strength from the other, even as our fears threaten to overwhelm us.
The door to Andrew’s room opens, and the doctor steps out, wearing a grim look. “Mrs. Brooks, Kaitlin, could you come with me to my office?”
Aunt Rosa stays behind, giving us a reassuring nod as we follow the doctor down the corridor. My heart races with each step, dread curling in my stomach. Is Andrew going to be all right?
Once inside the doctor’s office, he gestures for us to sit. Mama’s hand is cold and clammy in mine, her grip tightening as we settle into the chairs. “How is my son?” she asks in a shaky tone.
“Andrew has been stabilized for now,” the doctor begins, his voice gentle but grave. “But his condition is worsening. He needs a bone marrow transplant as soon as possible.”
Mama gasps, and I feel my heart sink. The doctor’s eyes are filled with sympathy as he continues. “Unfortunately, your insurance doesn’t cover the transplant.”
Mama’s face crumples, and I see the fear and helplessness in her eyes. I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill. “Is there any other way?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“There are options,” the doctor replies. “We can look into financial aid programs, charitable organizations, or consider setting up a fundraiser. It’s crucial that we move quickly, though.”
