They Ate Me Alive, But I Was Their Lifeline

I was only nine when the weight of Mom's illness pressed down on me heavier than the extra pounds I gained as a bone marrow donor.

For a while, my family served me sympathy on a silver platter. They spooned it out like a warm meal and celebrated me as their little angel—until Ginny dined with us as the adopted girl.

She was delicate and everything I wasn't. Suddenly, I was starved of my family's affection while she was full of it.

Then came the day she forced me to eat spoiled food that almost killed me. The taste was foul, but what left the worst aftertaste was the realization that my family wouldn't lift a finger to save me.

Not long after, my bone marrow was needed again when both my mom and my brother ended up in the hospital.

And just like that, they wanted their little angel back—the one who satisfied their insatiable hunger to be obeyed.

But I couldn't serve them anymore.

"What a pity," I said. "I don't save devils."

——

My mom... She was lying in the emergency room—clinging to life.

My bone marrow was her only chance, they said.

So I ate meal after meal—eight times a day, stuffing food into my mouth, forcing down every bite even when I felt like I would explode. I ate and ate and ate and didn't care if I felt sick. I was desperate to gain the weight that might save her, and I needed to do it fast!

Before I knew it, my arms and legs grew heavier. I looked in the mirror, and my face was round and puffy. I couldn't even recognize myself anymore.

But I didn't care how I looked. I didn't regret a single pound or layer of fat on my body. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I would go through it again if I had to. Besides, it's far easier to lose weight than it is to lose a mother.

Finally, after what felt like forever, I hit 90 pounds! My bone marrow was enough, and Mom got the transplant. She began to recover, and my family had never been happier.

But the relief didn't last long. The doctors warned us her leukemia could relapse again at any moment.

No, I couldn't let that happen! I didn't want Mom to fight for her life in the hospital again!

So I kept my weight up—in case she needed me again.

Little did I know that decision would come back to haunt me.

One day, Dad and my brother went shopping and came home with a skinny little girl.

"We found her wandering the streets," Dad explained. "She's an orphan. We couldn't just leave her behind."

So there she was—clinging to Dad's side and staring at me with those big, nervous eyes.

Oh my gosh! I finally had a sister!

I grabbed my favorite toy and ran over, super excited to welcome her into our family.

But before I could even say anything or touch her, she collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Tears streamed down her tiny face, and she looked so small, so scared.

I stood there frozen, my heart feeling heavy. When I thought I could help her, my brother pushed me aside.

"Stay away from her!" he yelled. "You're so fat, you didn't even notice you're hurting her!"

The words stung more than when I accidentally ate a raw garlic clove. I blinked and looked at him—at his hair, face, clothes, and body.

Was it really my brother saying those mean things? His eyes looked so big, terrifying like he wasn't even Charlie anymore.

What if this wasn't the same Charlie who left the house? My dear brother had never looked at me like that before.

For the first time, I felt so big yet so small at the same time.

My fingers were trembling, and I was afraid I might cry if I opened my mouth. I could only wave my hands, hoping they would not misunderstand.

I looked at Charlie, then at Mom, and then Dad. I wanted to tell them I hadn't even touched Ginny.

But they looked at me like they were disappointed. Like I was in trouble. Like they caught me lying.

I watched Mom gently pick Ginny up and whisper, "Oh, sweetie, don't worry. Betty didn't mean to scare you. She'll be careful next time. Right, Betty?"

No one wanted to hear me. It's like they'd already decided I was guilty. How come they believed I could hurt someone? It felt so unfair!

But how could I stand up for myself when all eyes stared at me impatiently, demanding an apology?

Ultimately, I could only look down and take the blame for something they believed I did.

"S-Sorry, Ginny..."

That night, the dinner table was filled with dishes Mom only made on special occasions: braised brisket, baked ziti, salad, garlic bread, and cheesecake with the words "Welcome to the family, Ginny!" elegantly written on top in whipped cream.

It was Ginny's first dinner with us. We were having a celebration.

I smiled at the creamy cake and even wider when my eyes landed on the platter of Buffalo chicken wings! The best dish in the whole universe!

The sight and smell made my mouth water. I could hardly wait to dig in and dip them into the bowl of blue cheese dressing!

But just as I reached for a piece, my brother pushed my hand away and grabbed the whole platter. My mouth opened in shock, and my heart sank into my stomach.

He smiled big as he handed Ginny the platter. "Here, Ginny. You gotta try this," he said. "Mom's chicken wings are the best!"

I put my hand back on the napkin on my lap under the table and stared at the chicken wings on Ginny's plate.

"Ch-Charlie?" I said quietly when the platter rested near Ginny, hoping he'd serve it to me, too.

But instead, he turned to me with his forehead furrowing like he was fed up. "You're already as fat as a pig!" he snapped. "Let her eat! Stop being selfish!"

I felt my cheeks burning like a pie left forgotten in the oven.

"I-I-I'm not!" I stammered, unsure if I was defending myself against being called a pig or a selfish girl. "I wasn't trying to stop her!"

I glanced at Dad, hoping he'd come to my rescue. But he only gave me a look that made me go quiet.

Pretty soon, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I remember feeling so loved and special—Mom making my favorite food, Charlie always serving me first, and Dad paying attention to my appetite. The dining table used to be my haven.

But in a snap, everything just suddenly felt wrong and different.

The sharp clang of utensils on plates and occasional compliments on Mom's cooking screamed everyone's eagerness for the next bite. No one even glanced at my plate.

I felt invisible; nobody even seemed to notice I had left the table. Quietly, I ran upstairs, and that's when the tears finally spilled over.

For a moment, I glanced back at the dining room. Ginny smiled sweetly, thanking Mom and Dad like they'd just completed her dream.

In that instant, I felt like I was the orphan, watching someone else's family have the perfect dinner.

A metallic taste filled my mouth, and a mix of anger and sadness bubbled inside me.

Later that night, Mom came into my room with a plate of leftovers. The smell of the chicken wings I had craved all evening filled the air, but I had no appetite anymore.

She sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, her face etched with worry. "Ginny's an orphan, sweetie. Can't you just be a little kinder to her?"

Her voice was soft, but it made me feel like a villain.

I turned my back to her, pouting. "I don't want to eat anymore," I muttered, crossing my arms.

I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair. I wanted to complain and cry in her arms like a baby. I wanted to tell her how much I missed my family. But words got stuck in my throat.

Mom gently placed her hand on my back, and I felt consoled just like that.

I waited for her to say, "I'm sorry, sweetie," or "You will always be my daughter," or something. But then, we heard Ginny's cry downstairs.

My teeth clenched. Seriously? The one time I finally had Mom to myself!

Charlie's frantic voice followed. "Ginny! Oh no, did you twist your ankle? How bad is it? Let me see!" The next second, his voice rang out again, louder. "Mom! Dad!"

Mom instantly rushed out of my room, her steps loud and big.

The leftover food sat cold on my bedside table as I watched the car in the garage speed off toward the hospital.

Minutes passed, and I found myself staring at the gate, waiting. Maybe someone would come back. Maybe someone would sit with me.

But everyone was with Ginny.

They all left me in the house, wondering, 'Am I still part of this family?'