MSbP      

Mary Bell was never abused, but I was. Her father didn’t come home six days a week and on the days he did, he smelled like whiskey with every breath he exhaled. I would say, “Jimmy please stop” as he searched through the house. He would glare at me, pull my hair, and slam my face to the wall until I collapsed on the floor. He would then kick my stomach and I’d point to where the money—the money I made working at the local, lonesome, restaurant during the six days he was gone—was before he killed the baby inside. He would grab those cash in the drawer and head out the door. On those nights, I would pick up the phone and dial my aunt. She would hear me crying on the phone and drive over to cuddle me under her arms.

“Leave him, I’ll take care of you and your baby,” she would say. I could hear her heart beat and her warmth on my skin. I always wanted to say yes, but somehow, I shook my head no every single time. “Honey, that man will kill you and the child,” she would say as she left the house, shaking her head.

“I know, but I love him,” I would say, “Maybe he’ll be different the next time he comes through this door.” I would then wait six more days, and repeat those nights.

                                       *****

Mary never met her father. Jimmy was found dead in the cold winter river. The police said he must have fallen from the bridge drunk, while I was in labor. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking that Mary is his reincarnation. The way she laughs with her nose wrinkled up, sleeps curled under the blanket, looks at me straight with her innocent eyes, -- nothing’s similar but I always felt like I was with Jimmy. It had to be him. I missed him so much. I miss Jimmy.

                         *****

Being a single mother, I did a good job of raising a child; especially Mary. She was delicate and I went to the hospital frequently with Mary dangling unconscious in my arms, tears filling up my eyes. The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, they never did. But there has to be something wrong with her. She vomited in the middle of the night, had red bleeding blisters all over her body, and blood found in her urine. I went to hospital all over the town, then neighboring cities. But none of them could find out what was wrong with Mary. I stayed by Mary all the time. I tried to be the best mother possible.

I remember the first time Mary and I visited the hospital. She was only eight month old, and the poor child had a high fever. She was loosing consciousness, trembling, and her face was burning red from the fever. I panicked. I called the ambulance and screamed at them. “My baby’s dying. Oh lord, please save her!” Mary was all I had after Jimmy’s death. I couldn’t let her die.  

Mary’s seizure got worse and worse as I waited for the ambulance, to the point that she was biting on her tongue too strong that it started bleeding and I jammed my finger in her mouth to keep her from ripping off her tongue. My finger bled along with a blunt pain. I was crying. I don’t remember if it was because of the pain or from panicking, or just simply from the fear of loosing Mary. But I was crying while I saw the red lights flashing out the window along with a high pitched siren.

At the hospital, the doctor took Mary into a small room and came out in less then fifteen minutes.

“Ma’am your daughter’s all right now. These things happen to toddlers all the time. Now, I gave Mary some medicine and I want to make sure everything’s alright so she’s going to have to be with us for couple of days. Are you fine with that?” The doctor said.

“Yes, thank you” I said and self the room to Mary.

She was sleeping, somewhat more peaceful than earlier. I held her hand, and felt a relief in me.

The clock was ticking slowly but loud when my aunt rushed into the hospital, she heard the news from my next door neighbor.

 “Honey … are you okay? How’s Mary doing? Oh God!” she said, “Is she doing better now? Are you fine?” repeating the question.

I nodded.

She looked at Mary, then me. Mary was sleeping quietly, like an angel; smiling in her dream once in awhile. I sat next to that angel, with my red swollen eyes burning my skin.

“Honey, your eyes,” she touched my face, “it’s all right now, I’ll be here” and then she hugged me tight.

She stayed by me like she said, cuddling me under her arms nice and at-homed, until the doctor said that Mary’s fine to go back home.

Mary was normal after that, for about two months. During the time, I went back to my life that I had been repeating after Jimmy’s death. I would take care of Mary until six, cuddling her under my arm, singing her I’m a little tea cup, feeding her milk I carefully measured and adjusted the warmth for Mary. Then I would put her to sleep and have my aunt come over to take care of her while I work at the restaurant. My job was hideous. There was only the cook, who stayed in the kitchen, and me, who wasn’t allowed to enter the kitchen. Customers barely came to the restaurant and I used to mop the floor all night long. I felt isolated from the world working there. I was with Mary morning until evening, and then I worked alone from evening until night. I felt myself going crazy from the loneliness and I quitted the job.

 Then Mary’s mysterious symptoms appeared. It started off with the red blisters; the size ranging from size of her pinky nail to a golf ball. She cried all day long and I tried to calm her but her bloody blisters were all over the place, pain taking over her. She even shoved my hands away from her when I tried to hold her in my arms to calm her down. I couldn’t believe this was happening to Mary and I told my aunt about it. She gave me sympathy and she started visiting me more frequent, to see how Mary was, and also me. The blisters didn’t go away one week, two week, and one month later. Matter of fact, she started getting bloods in her urine and I had to take her to the doctor.

The inspection took forever. The doctor looked at Mary over and over, taking MRI of her, sample of her urine, her blood. He compared the data’s over and over, then tilted his head.

 “I’m sorry; I really can’t do anything at this moment, this is just something I never saw before. I’ll give you prescription for medicine you can apply over her blister but that’s all I can do at the moment” was all he said.

I left the hospital, feeling unreasonable, then came back four days later, noticing that Mary had now started vomiting often.

The doctor gave Mary actual treatment this time.

The doctor told me that Mary might be diagnosed with a serious, unknown disease and that they need to keep Mary for a long time this time. I agreed and decided to be with Mary, to support her.

During the hospitalization, my aunt visited me frequently, then my old friends that I stopped talking with since I got with Jimmy. They told me how sorry they were and I would tell them this is my duty, as Mary’s mother. They would then hold my hands and tell me they’ll be there for me, that they’ll do anything to help me, and I would thank them. Even the nurses and doctors, told me how amazing I was and that they’ll try their best to save Mary. One of the nurses also told me that she wished I was her mother, wanting a mother who cared for her so much so I told her she can think of me as her mother. We were so close after that. But after almost a year, the doctor told me I had to leave the hospital.

“I can’t believe you’re telling me to leave, what’s going to happen with Mary? I thought u were going to save her!” I screamed at him.

“Ma’am I understand I said that, but we couldn’t find what’s wrong with your daughter during this past year. The treatment we gave her didn’t cure any of her symptom and we don’t know what else we can do.” the doctor said.  

“But Mary, what’s going to happen with her? She’s not going to die right?”

“We’ve already contacted a first-class hospital around the area. Your daughter will be under their care,” he said and I left to the new hospital as he suggested. But the same thing happened in the new hospital, telling me to go a different hospital, then the next. After our fourth hospital switch, I was tired of this, that I started transferring through hospital myself.

                                       *****  

Tonight was horrible. I had just fed Mary her favorite carrot flavored baby food and left her under her cozy pooh bear blanket. While I laid her next to me, I watched the 8’clock news. I must have been tired from the past days of hospital visits during the day and work during the night; I was sleeping until nearly ten, when Mary’s cry, filling up the room woke me up. I looked at Mary. She was covered in her own vomit and choking on it. Then she started shaking. Then three big twitches, and she stopped. Dead. I didn’t mean it to be this serious, it wasn’t suppose to. I wasn’t suppose to sleep. I was suppose to be up, watching her so I can take her to the hospital on time. it worked all the other times, why not today? It’s not my fault. Mary didn’t die because of me, I didn’t put anything her carrot food. I didn’t. It was one of her mysterious disease that took her away. Not me. Yes her disease, she was the one who 

I didn’t do anything. Mary was never abused, I was.