My Mother Tried To End My Cancer Treatment To Fund My Sister’s College
Part 1
The sterile smell of the hospital room always made my stomach turn.
I adjusted the thin, scratchy blanket over my legs.
The IV machine beeped rhythmically in the corner.
It was the only sound keeping me company in the dim room.
I stared at the pale blue walls for what felt like hours.
My phone buzzed against the plastic tray table.
I reached for it with fingers that still trembled from the morning infusion.
The screen lit up with a new message notification.
It was from my mother.
I squinted at the bright screen.
The words blurred together at first.
My vision slowly cleared.
I read the text once.
I read it again.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
She was quoting scripture.
Chapter fifteen verse thirteen.
Greater love has no one than this.
To lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
She applied it to our family.
She applied it directly to me.
My breath caught in my throat.
I stared at the glowing letters in disbelief.
She wanted me to stop my chemotherapy treatments.
She explicitly stated she could not afford both my medical care and my sister’s future.
Heather wanted to go to an expensive college.
Heather always got whatever she wanted.
College was an expensive dream.
My life-saving chemotherapy was apparently an inconvenient expense.
I remembered the bizarre contract.
My mother made me sign it a few months ago right after my diagnosis.
It was a strict financial agreement for medical security.
I promised to repay her every single cent when I got better.
I thought it was a sick joke back then.
Nobody makes their seriously ill teenage daughter sign a loan agreement for chemotherapy.
I was completely wrong.
It was not a joke at all.
My mother was entirely serious.
She had been planning this for a while.
I typed out a frantic response.
My thumbs slipped on the smooth glass screen.
I asked if this was why she had me update my life insurance policy.
I asked if this was why she kept pushing back my follow-up appointments.
I hit send.
The little grey bubble appeared on the screen.
I did not want to die.
I am only nineteen years old.
I have dreams and goals just like Heather does.
I am only one year older than her.
Why was she the ultimate priority?
Why was her college tuition worth more than my actual life?
I tossed the phone onto the foot of the bed.
It felt like a heavy brick in my hands.
The IV machine continued its steady beeping.
The sound echoed loudly in the quiet room.
I pulled my knees to my chest.
Tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks.
I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
Crying would not fix this nightmare.
I needed a solid plan.
I needed to protect myself from my own family.
The heavy wooden door handle clicked.
I froze in place.
I turned my head toward the sudden sound.
The door swung open slowly.
I expected a nurse to walk in.
I expected the familiar blue scrubs and a friendly, reassuring smile.
Instead, my mother stepped into the room.
She wore a crisp beige trench coat.
Her hair was perfectly styled as always.
She held a sleek leather folder tightly against her chest.
She did not look at me right away.
Her eyes darted around the empty hospital room.
She closed the door behind her with a soft thud.
The heavy lock clicked into place.
I pushed myself up against the pillows.
My chest tightened painfully.
She finally met my gaze.
Her expression was completely blank.
She walked toward the edge of my bed.
She opened the leather folder with precise movements.
She pulled out a silver pen.
She pulled out a thick stack of official papers.
I recognized the hospital letterhead immediately.
It was a voluntary termination of care form.
She laid the papers neatly on my tray table.
She set the pen right next to them.
I stared at the black ink on the white pages.
I opened my mouth to speak.
No sound came out.
She tapped the pen twice against the hard plastic table.
She told me to be practical.
She nudged the papers closer to my hands.
I looked from the silver pen to her cold face.
I realized she was not leaving until I signed my life away.
