“I’m serious about the million
dollars, Dr. Berman. When my daughter is
well and her weight is normal for her height, I will donate one million dollars
to this hospital. I also want someone
trained in eating disorders to be with her from when she wakes until she goes
to bed. And I want a daily report on her
progress. Not much sense making all the
dough I’ve made if I don’t use it to save my daughter’s life.”
“We’ll do all we can for
Lisa. I’ll take a personal interest in
her case and certainly look forward to the day you write us that check for a
million dollars because it will mean your daughter is well. I know how concerned you are, Mr. Abrams and
we’ll do everything in our power to make her better.”
* * * * *
I believe Elaine tried not to be
bitter but it came out. I was putting on
my pajamas; Elaine was already in bed.
“You were never here for dinner.
The most important time to be with your children and you were never
here.”
“Would it help if I told you I
was wrong? I should have been
there. It doesn’t change a damn thing
but I’m sorry.”
I told her about my meeting with
Doctor Berman and what was happening.
“You think you can buy anything, don’t you?”
And so it went. Even a gentile wife can make you feel damn
guilty, especially when she's right.
* * * * *
They started feeding Lisa
intravenously. Elaine and I went to the
hospital every day. We watched as our
daughter declined and became weaker. I
tried, God knows, I tried to save my little girl.
I begged her to eat but to no
avail.
“What’s happening to her
hair? Her skin is brittle, even her
fingernails are rotting,” I asked Dr. Berman.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “Her body’s using whatever nutrients it can
find to sustain her life, give her energy.”
The harder I fought to save her,
the more Lisa struggled for control.
Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn’t intervened. Toward the end, she was bedridden and
suffered from memory loss. We sat by her
side that last morning.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
Elaine nodded unable to
speak. She sat next to the bed holding
Lisa’s hand. I knelt next to my wife and
watched the liquid drip into my daughter’s emaciated arm.
“Don’t give up, darling. Please,” I begged.
But she was gone. She closed her eyes and I could see her
struggle cease. Elaine sat still holding
her hand as the nurse called for a doctor.
I wept.