Saving Meghan(12)

CHAPTER 6


Holly departed with a wave goodbye and a pantomimed promise to call. Becky pressed the talk button on her cell phone after swallowing down a generous, get-up-for-it gulp of wine.

“Hi, Sabrina,” Becky said. “Is it Mom? Is she gone?” Becky dug her fingers into her leg, awaiting news.

“She’s hanging on,” Sabrina said.

Becky’s tension released. She could put off her conflicted feelings for at least another day.

“The hospice nurse thinks it could be a few weeks, may be longer” continued Sabrina, “but the doctor is giving her a lot less time. It’s hard to tell. Her heart rate is elevated, which means her body is working extra hard to keep her alive.”

For what? Becky thought. Her mother’s life had been a tortured one. Their father had died young, leaving Cora to raise two daughters on a minimum wage job. Their home was dirty—squalid being a more apt description. Becky was that girl, the gorgeous blond who’d come from nothing, the one that some sharp-eyed talent scout might have picked out from behind the diner counter if only she’d been so fortunate.

“Are you coming home?”

Home. Becky wanted to laugh.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Can’t, or won’t?” Sabrina asked.

“It’s Meghan. She’s not well.”

Silence, and then, “How’s your newfound fame?”

Of course, Sabrina was referring to the airplane incident. She knew better than to question her about Meghan. That conversation had not gone well the last time she’d tried.

“You don’t even get fifteen minutes in this day and age,” Becky said, sounding a grateful note. “How long do you think she has?”

“I can’t help you there, Becky.” The way Sabrina said it made Becky think she was talking about a lot more than just their mother.

“I feel torn, you know—Meghan.”

“Yeah, Meghan. Always Meghan. We all have choices to make,” said Sabrina.

“Not all of us,” Becky answered, her anger rising. “Not me, or you, for that matter. Cora didn’t give us much of a choice, did she?”

“I understand your feelings, but that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on. You should do the same.”

“It’s not that easy for me.”

Becky hated Sabrina’s uncanny ability to make her feel like the little sister again.

“Some regrets last a lifetime. Our mother is going to die, and if you don’t fly out here, you’ll never get the chance to say what you want to say.”

Damn. Why did she tell Sabrina of her intention to make “I forgive you, please forgive me” the final words she’d speak to their mother?

“Now just isn’t a good time,” Becky said. “We have follow-up appointments with the cardiologist and neurologist this week.”

There was a heavy sigh from Sabrina’s end, a loud “I don’t want to walk this road again” kind of sound.

“There’s always a follow-up appointment,” Sabrina said.

“This time it’s different,” Becky said, knowing in her gut that it was not different at all.

“Look, I’ve got to go,” said Sabrina. “I’ll keep you posted on Mom. Let me know your plans when you make them.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Becky heard only the click.

Her sister’s call had soured her already dismal mood. To feel better, Becky did what she did most every afternoon around this time: she went online.

She had started her Facebook group, Help for Meghan, out of desperation, back when her daughter’s illness went from being a bit player in the family to the only performer in the troupe.

Unwittingly, Becky had created an online oasis of sorts—a place where like-minded people who had taken an inexplicable interest in Meghan’s health, or had health troubles of their own, or just wanted a hand in solving a mystery, could gather to share, emote, and hunt for answers.

Becky took great pride in the group. Selfishly, she liked being in the center of things. As the online group broadened, so did its focus. Deep discussions spawned from posts on everything from fibromyalgia to autoimmune disorders. The number of difficult-to-diagnose diseases never seemed to end. Meghan, who was the initial focus of the group, had morphed into a new persona, coming to represent the struggles of many people who sought labels for a whole host of strange and unusual symptoms.

In no time at all, the online group Becky had founded grew from a handful of participants to hundreds. Most of the newcomers had read up on Meghan’s struggles, then expressed sympathy and offered advice before pivoting the conversation to personal concerns. Becky found herself researching topics far removed from Meghan’s issues so that she could share informed opinions with these strangers who had over time replaced her real friends.

In one of her prouder moments, Becky had helped a woman from Boulder self-diagnose interstitial cystitis that her doctors had initially believed to be a bladder infection. There were other success stories attributed to Help for Meghan, which Becky had since converted from a public group to a private one. It was strangers helping strangers, a collection of people who no longer cared about life’s pedestrian dramas, living online with the hope that groupthink could help keep them living in real life, too.