I learned how to love from my mother; those lessons continue.

I got to White Plains Hospital at 1:25 in the afternoon and I knew I was in trouble. My head was spinning. My legs felt like jelly. My face felt like it had been struck with a bat and I was nauseous. Still, I made from the parking garage to my mom’s room just in time to hear her tell my dad on the phone that her latest infusion costs $90,000. But, this drug could revive her kidney and prevent the need for a transplant.

I tried to hide the fact that I felt ill by showing off my newly dyed hair, asking my mom about her medications and her eating habits. But, she’s my mom and she could tell I wasn’t well. Within 20 minutes, she instructed my “fiancé” to get a bucket off her window sill for me to vomit in. I held it as my “fiancé” searched for a bathroom. When he got back, I took his arm and went to the restroom. By the time I emerged, I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. My “fiancé” escorted me to back to the room to say goodbye.

The next morning, my phone rang. My mother was calling from her hospital bed. She wasn’t complaining about the three lines in her neck, the port in her chest, or her fluids filled arms. She was concerned about me, my health. She waited until I told her how I was feeling to let me know there are signs that her internal bleeding has finally stopped after nearly a month.

I asked her why she didn’t lead with that bit of good news. She said she was calling to find out about me; that my well-being was more of a concern at that moment than her own. She reminded that true love, like between a mother and child, is selfless; it’s prioritizing the needs of other above our own when necessary.

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