I spent weeks in the hospital fighting for my life, and not one person from my family came to see me. Not my mother.

 

I spent weeks in the hospital fighting for my life, and not one person from my family came to see me. Not my mother. Not my father. Not my sister. A month after I finally came home, my father texted me out of nowhere. “We need $12,000 for your mother’s surgery.”

The first thing Mallory Hayes heard after nine lost days was a hospital monitor marking time.

Beep.

Silence.

 

Beep.

Then came the smell of bleach, plastic tubing, cold sheets, and faint lemon hand lotion from nurses who had washed their hands countless times.

Harsh fluorescent lighting illuminated her bed, making everything seem painfully clear.

Swallowing sent pain scraping down her throat.

A voice whispered, “Easy.”

Mallory slowly turned her head, feeling as though her skull had doubled in weight during her absence.

Her husband, Ethan, sat hunched in a blue vinyl chair beside her bed.

Continue Reading Part 2