In light of the recent situation within my family and all of the questions I’ve been receiving, I’ve decided to kick myself out of this stalemate I’ve been in and share my side of the story.
The weekend had started out as a normal four-day weekend. There was supposed to be a couple fantastic dance parties so on Friday a couple friends and I decided to go to the mall to get ready for them. When I got home my mom and Jodie were about to leave for yet another dance competition in San Jose. “Good luck.” “Break a leg, but not literally.” “Make sure the house is clean when I get home.” The usual goodbyes heard in our house. The usual goodbyes were followed by a usual night when my mom is away: we had junk food for dinner, then sat around and did absolutely nothing.
Saturday morning I woke up pretty excited for the first night of parties. But, before I could begin to get ready, I had to go to work. On my way I almost got in a car wreck because of some d-bag, and there was a moderate amount of traffic; it was a normal day so far. It wasn’t until I took my ten that I even knew anything wrong was going on—had been going on for a few hours. Hollie called me and said that Jodie was in the hospital down in San Jose and that the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, “don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry about it. Me, not worry? Psh! After we hung up I couldn’t stop crying; it was like the Hoover Dam had burst. Somehow I managed to compose myself before I went back to work, but the rest of my day was pretty much ruined, and all of my coworkers could tell that something was wrong. I had to cancel my plans—not that I was in the mood to go out anyway—and go home immediately after work to babysit Hazel and Daniel with Abby (who, of course, was absolutely no help).
The next morning I woke up to Hollie saying that I needed to call in to work because now Mom was sick. Shit. On the upside they now knew what it was: meningococcal meningitis—definitely not nothing. From what I had heard about meningitis it was easy to conclude that it was actually a very big, bad something to be sick with.
That morning it was decided that I would stay home again to watch the kids while everyone else went to San Jose. I was so upset about it but I didn’t want to object. I was afraid that if I said anything I’d start crying. The day passed by slowly but eventually they all came home. My dad told me that I could go to the second dance party. I didn’t really want to, but I felt that I needed to get out of the house, so I went anyway. It was probably the lamest party I’ve ever been to. I would have been much better off staying home. What’s worse, some of my friends started joking about my family’s situation. I was annoyed and upset and I just wanted to cry. So I left; I went home and went to right bed even though it was only nine-thirty.
The next day, Monday, everyone said that I could finally go to see my mom and sister. But Jodie looked so helpless and small in her hospital bed that I couldn’t stay in there for too long. I spent most of the time there in my mom’s room, since she was awake and talking. The doctors decided that she would be able to go home that afternoon, but Jodie would have to stay for at least ten more days.
The next few days were really all a blur: I went to school, I went to work, I went home. People asked questions and I answered. The doctors kept changing their minds about when Jodie could come home. Finally they place a PICC line in her arm and she could take her antibiotics here, in Manteca. Even though it had apparent from the get go that she would be okay, I was relieved and finally convinced that she would be. And I could breathe again.