Born to Suffer So My Brother Learns

Ever since I was young, I've always been the one made an example of. It's as though I exist solely to teach my older brother, Irwin Blanchard, a lesson.

When Irwin spends 50 dollars in an online game, Mom makes me pay off the debt for Irwin so that she can teach him to cherish money.

When Irwin gets caught for stealing, Mom forces me to kneel down in front of the store owner and slap myself repeatedly while begging for forgiveness. This is her attempt to teach Irwin to always feel shame and be humble.

After Irwin starts junior high, he gets addicted to soft drinks. That's when Mom fills soda bottles with pesticide and places them in the most obvious spots in the living room.

When I accidentally drink from a soda bottle, I'm in so much pain and agony that I keep rolling all over the floor.

Dad quickly drives me to the hospital that night. On the way there, we are flagged down by a traffic officer, who's there to catch those who drink and drive.

Even though Dad has already passed the breathalyzer test, Mom exclaims while laughing, "Your device really is useless! He already had a bottle of beer, and yet it couldn't even detect the alcohol in his breath!"

Meanwhile, I feel as though my guts are on fire as I curl up in the backseat. Yet, Mom turns to stare at Irwin.

"You see now? This is what you get for drinking!"

Too engrossed in nagging Irwin's ear off, Mom fails to notice the fact that my breathing is growing weaker.

Mom, are you happy now that your lesson has cost me my life?

"This breathalyzer of yours is really useless. My husband drank a whole bottle of beer, and you couldn't even detect it."

When I heard my mom, Rosanna Stewart, say this, I was convulsing in pain. I sprayed a mouthful of blood onto the car seat and looked at her in disbelief.

The traffic officer's expression immediately darkened. "Sir, please step out of the car. We're going to need you to take a blood test."

My dad, Tyrone Blanchard, looked at Mom, his eyes so bloodshot that they seemed about to bleed.

"Are you out of your mind? You know perfectly well I'm allergic to alcohol! Stop joking around—Helena's dying."

My older brother, Irwin Blanchard, threw himself at Mom's side, grabbing her arm and shaking it desperately.

"Mom, please stop joking around!" he begged, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "Helena has pesticide poisoning. If we delay any longer, she's not going to make it!"

Yet, Mom insisted that Dad had been drinking. Even though the breathalyzer had cleared him, the traffic officer was required by protocol to take Dad for a blood test.

Dad was the only one who could drive. Irwin didn't have a license. If this dragged on any longer, my life would really be over.

Just as the traffic officer was about to pull Dad out of the car, I used every last ounce of strength to push myself up and pleaded hoarsely, "Officer, my dad hasn't been drinking. My mom just likes to talk nonsense. Please, let us go to the hospital first. I have pesticide poisoning. I can't hold on much lo—"

Before I could finish, another violent coughing fit seized me, and large mouthfuls of blood spilled from the corners of my lips.

The traffic officer's expression changed instantly at the sight of me.

Pesticide poisoning was no small matter.

But right now, it was in the middle of rush hour, and the intersection was completely gridlocked.

There weren't enough officers assigned to the DUI checkpoint here to begin with—everyone was on duty as it was. So, there was simply no way to spare any personnel or a vehicle to take me to the hospital.

The traffic officer glanced at the body camera that was recording, then barked sternly at Mom, "Did your husband drink or not? If he didn't, you're all free to go right now.

"But if he did, we're taking him in by the book, and whatever happens after that is on you."

I wept and begged Mom, "Mom, please, just tell the truth. I can't hold on much longer. If you just tell the truth and save my life, I'll accept whatever scolding and punishment you want to give me later."

The passersby around us couldn't stand it anymore either and started speaking up.

"Ma'am, you heard what your daughter said. Right now, the most important thing is to save her life!"

"Exactly. What kind of joke is more important than a human life?"

Hearing the criticism, Mom finally waved her hand dismissively at the traffic officer.

"Alright, alright, what's the big deal? I was just messing around."

The knot in my chest finally loosened. My body, which had been rigid with tension, just went limp all at once.

But just as the traffic officer pulled back her hand and Dad was about to start the car, Mom chuckled softly.

"You people are so gullible. My husband drank quite a bit at his class reunion today. If you'd let him go just like that, he'd definitely run over and kill a few people."

The traffic officer's face turned livid. She yanked Dad right out of the driver's seat and barked at her colleague to take him back to headquarters for a blood test.

I nearly couldn't catch my breath. The excruciating pain in my stomach and the suffocating tightness in my chest twisted together, and my vision went black. I almost passed out right then and there.

Irwin, watching my body convulse uncontrollably, couldn't take it anymore. He screamed hysterically at Mom, "Mom, have you lost your mind? Can't you see Helena's already in a critical condition?"

Mom just replied calmly, "Oh, pipe down and take a good look. Today, I'm going to teach you a lesson through Helena's suffering, so that you'll commit it to memory.

"Never touch a drink when you don't know where it came from, and for goodness' sake, stop guzzling soda all day long."

My eyes widened in disbelief.

It was literally a matter of life and death, and Mom was actually using it as a teachable moment for Irwin!

Dad was trembling with rage, his voice cracking. "Helena is barely holding on, and you still—"

He was so furious that he couldn't even finish his sentence, but Mom was completely unfazed.

"I diluted that bottle of pesticide with quite a bit of water, so it's not nearly as potent. Besides, Helena is young and fit. Honestly, I don't understand what you're so worried about."

She turned to Irwin, her tone growing even harsher.

"I've had it with you pounding back a soda or two every day. Today, I'm going to make darn sure this lesson sticks."

I lay there, the burning sensation of the pesticide searing its way from my stomach all the way up to my throat. All kinds of sounds blended together around me, but I could barely make them out anymore.

Just then, a car suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, and a middle-aged man strode quickly toward us.

It was none other than Dad's childhood best friend, Ronny Ramirez.

He said loudly to the traffic officer, "Officer, I grew up with Tyrone and watched both his kids grow up. I haven't had a single drop of alcohol today, and I have records to prove it.

"Let me take Helena to the hospital for emergency treatment. You go ahead and check Tyrone for drunk driving however you're supposed to, but you absolutely cannot delay saving Helena's life."

Irwin, holding my increasingly cold body, instantly reddened at the eyes. He thanked Mr. Ramirez again and again, barely able to form complete words. Then, he ran toward Mr. Ramirez's car with me in his arms.

Dad also choked back tears and told Mr. Ramirez that he would do everything in his power to repay him afterward.

Curled up in Irwin's arms, even as the searing pain in my stomach nearly tore me apart, I finally let out a breath of relief.

Mr. Ramirez was Dad's best friend. If he took me to the hospital, I could get my stomach pumped, receive treatment, and survive.

But just as Irwin was about to carry me into Mr. Ramirez's car, Mom suddenly rushed over and desperately clung to the car door, refusing to let us get in no matter what.