Save Me

When I thought that life and I had reconciled, it dealt me the most painful and violent blow I have ever felt, right where it hurt the most—in my little Leticia. It is not a time for tears or regrets. I must be strong enough to face what is coming. For my daughter, I am capable of anything and beyond. I will undertake whatever is necessary, even at the cost of my pride and dignity.

“How the hell can you be so indolent? It’s about your daughter, even if you never wanted to admit it. How can you go through the world with such a washed-up face, knowing that she could die?”

And here I was, asking my ex for help.

Yes, that one.

To Tom, the shameless and irresponsible biological father of my 3-year-old daughter. He humiliated me and kicked me out of his life like an old and useless toy. I wanted to avoid doing it, but desperation forced me to seek him out.

While I confronted him, no matter how much I thought about it, I could not understand it. Leti suffered, and I agonized more because I felt that Tom would do nothing to prevent it.

How could someone be so cruel?

“I am a complete idiot! I do not understand how I could have believed that you would help me. You, who abandoned me as soon as I confessed that I was pregnant, why the hell did I even assume that now would be any different?” I said it and laughed sarcastically. I was consumed by the most intense bitterness because all I wanted was to cry non-stop, to cry profusely, and to get every last drop of disappointment, pain, and anguish I had accumulated inside me out. Either that or beat the stupid man standing in front of me to death. I felt that I would lose my sanity and become a criminal at any moment.

“Alice, I am not saying no! Please understand me; I am confused! First, you told me that you were pregnant, then that you were mistaken about me, and now, after several years, you come back to inform me that I have a daughter and that, damn it! Is she dying?”

“How do I understand you? I trusted you! Hell! You know well why I walked away. Do not play the victim, Tom. And my daughter is not going to die. Not while she has me.”

Feeling much more disappointed than I thought was possible until today, I started walking towards the exit, wanting to get away quickly to stop listening to that horrible voice.

“Alice, my love. I have had bad investments. Well, you know how business is. Out of nowhere, you come back talking about amazing treatments and costs; at least give me time to absorb all this.”

“Time is just what my Leti does not have! Don’t call me ‘my love’ and forget what I told you,” I replied as I closed the door and left the office. Trying to stay strong and regain some of my nearly extinguished dignity, it was already humiliating enough to beg him for help. But even though I tried with all my might, I could not stop my treacherous tears from appearing and rolling down my cheeks non-stop.

Again, Tom disappointed me and left me alone.

Honestly, I still do not know why I expected it to be different this time. He was not there during my pregnancy or Leti’s birth, much less during her first years. And even today, in one of the hardest and most anguishing moments of my life, he is still absent.

A few weeks ago, Leti started with a persistent cough. We took her to the doctor, and she was prescribed several medications, but despite complying with the treatment to the letter, the cough did not disappear completely, although its intensity was reduced. We went back to the office; they prescribed a second treatment, and we thought that the discomfort was over.

A few days later, my sister Alana and I took my daughter to visit an amusement park for a special celebration, but suddenly, my baby started bleeding from her nose. We believed that she had hit something, which was very unlikely since we never neglected her. Or perhaps it was caused by exposing herself to the radiant sun that embraced us that morning, but other symptoms such as fever and bruises on her skin were added, the latter without apparent cause.

As time passed, what they initially defined as a virus or an infection attacked my daughter’s health to the point that, little by little, all her joy, mischief, and laughter faded away. Making her weak, irritable, without appetite, without encouragement for anything, and crying incessantly. My sixth sense, my mother’s intuition, activated all the warning signs as each new symptom appeared. Anguish took over me; I felt like I was dying when, after so much uncertainty and countless check-ups, the doctor said:

“Your daughter’s white blood cell count is dangerously high.”

My eyes clouded over, my heart began to pound, and I think I even forgot how to breathe. Those three words: ‘is dangerously high,’ were repeated in my ears countless times, so many that I did not hear the rest of his words until he gave his final diagnosis:

“Leukemia.”

My tears made their appearance. Even though I tried, I was unable to utter a word. Only an almost inaudible sob came out, as if my soul and my vocal cords had been torn at that moment. My sister’s hands squeezed mine tightly. I looked into her eyes and saw her tears. She was also affected. Alana suffered just like me.

It was then that I realized that everything was more complicated than I thought. It was no longer a question of administering a simple cough syrup; Leticia had become seriously ill. She required expensive tests and treatments; her life depended on them.

A month has passed since that terrible diagnosis. A long month in which my princess was hospitalized in a children’s clinic, receiving daily chemotherapy as part of her induction treatment. Everything has been difficult; the symptoms do not stop. My Leti continues to present with weakness, pain, and nausea, a result of the same therapies and not only the disease.

It was distressing to watch her beautiful golden curls disappear. Yeah, I know, it’s just her hair, and when we get through this whole nightmare, she will get it back, but damn it! That does not stop me from feeling sad and heartbroken.

Leti is still too young to understand change and risks. She smiles when she sees her shaved head in the mirror. She likes to play with her bow headbands and hats with other girls who are going through the same situation. That is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever had to go through, not to mention my precious daughter, who, at only three years old, has been such a hero.

I am so proud of her bravery and strength.

I have the invaluable support of my sister, who took a break from her studies to dedicate herself, with love and care, to taking care of my daughter while I take care of working and getting the money we need. She has helped me so much that I feel guilty taking up her time and youth.

Since our parents’ deaths, Alana and I have lived together. First, we lost Dad in a work accident, and then our beautiful mother left with him, leaving me in the care of my sister, who was a little girl just 11 years old. Hiding from social services, so they would not separate us, since I still had a few months to go before reaching the age of majority and being able to take care of her legally.

Despite so many situations, we have moved forward as our parents would have wanted. We continued studying, and I even obtained a university degree. That is why it hurts me that my sister stopped her education to take care of my daughter, but I have no choice.

I have been working in an accounting office for several years—since I graduated, to be more exact. And, although the chances of moving up to a tenure position and a better salary are very slim, I have no choice but to continue. I recently started a second part-time job, so I have to run from one to get to the other on time, but I cannot even cover the medical and household expenses. It is not enough.

Because we do not have health insurance, we have been forced to pay for my daughter’s treatments with the money we had saved. We even had to sell some personal belongings and furniture that our parents left us.

The situation is becoming increasingly complicated. That’s why I decided to swallow my pride and set aside my self-respect because a mother’s love, the love I feel for my daughter, is infinitely greater and more intense. That’s why I went to see Tom, and now I regret giving in to despair.

Everything was so different when I met him. He always presented himself as a loving, responsible, and honest person. Moreover, I believed in him. I was a fool who fell in love with a scoundrel.

How could I be so naive!

At that time, I was struggling to overcome the loss of my parents, and Tom was that supportive shoulder, that tear-absorbing handkerchief. Gradually, I began to see him as the man with whom I would start a family. I was an open book to him, who always knew about my dreams, feelings, and fears. That’s why discovering his true nature filled me with so much anger and disappointment.

No woman in her right mind would have gone to ask for help from the degenerate man who deceived her, led a double life, abandoned her upon learning of her pregnancy, and then simply ignored it. He shirked any responsibility, but all that is part of my past—a past that is very much dead and buried. If my mother taught me anything, it was to find the silver lining in even the worst situations, to be accountable for my actions, and to become the strong woman I am today.

Since my daughter was born, she has been my world. I live for her. I am determined to fight to the end. For my little girl, I am capable of everything, absolutely everything!

My girl, together, we will get through this painful time. You will see! As surely as my name is Alice Rouses, you will be well again.