Ann Martin: Claudia And The Sad Goodbye

"Low blood pressure," I heard one technician say. Then, "Semiconscious. Doesn't know where she is."

A few minutes later the ambulance drove off with Mimi in it. Mom rode with her. Dad and Janine and I followed them in our car. Nobody said a word on the way to the hospital.

What happened next is pretty boring, so I won't even go into it. All you need to know is that Mimi was admitted to a hospital room (it seemed to take a long time), but since she no longer acted too sick, we just stayed with her until she fell asleep, and then we went home. Before we did that, one doctor did give her a shot of something after he examined her briefly, but he didn't hook her up to any machines and no one was rushing around wringing their hands or calling, "Code blue!" So even with Mimi in the hospital, I felt relieved.

Janine and I even went to school the next morning, and Dad went to his office, but Mom took a personal day off from work to be with Mimi at the hospital. And, of course, I went straight to the hospital from school that afternoon. I'd had a baby-sitting job lined up, but

Mallory was able to take it over for me.

I peeked into Mimi's private room, carrying a small teddy bear behind my back that I'd bought at the hospital gift shop. I figured everyone would be sending Mimi flowers, and that flowers are nice to look at, but that she might want something to hug, especially when she was getting a shot, so I bought the bear.

I tiptoed into the room because Mom had her finger to her lips, signaling to me that Mimi was asleep. I nodded. Then I set the bear on her bed, and Mom and I silently left the room.

Out in the hallway, Mom kissed me and smiled. "How was school?" she asked.

"Fine," I replied. "How's Mimi? What's wrong with her?"

Mom shook her head. "The doctors aren't sure. She had some tests today and they think it's a problem with her blood, but they don't know just what."

"Leukemia?" I whispered, terrified.

"No," said Mom. "And not plain old anemia, either."

"Hemophilia?"

My mother smiled. "You have to be born with that."

"Oh." I paused. "You know, if you want to

go to work for awhile, you can. Mallory took my baby-sitting job for me. I can stay with Mimi for the rest of the afternoon."

"We-ell.." After some hemming and hawing (Mom's term), she took me up on my offer.

So I spent the afternoon with Mimi.

She slept. I held her hand.

Two more days went by. No one could figure out what was wrong with Mimi's blood. They did test after test, and Mimi talked about weirder and weirder things. They even tested her for something called toxoplasmosis, which you get mainly from cats. I told this one doctor that we've never had a cat, but he didn't care.

I spent the afternoons at the hospital with Mimi, since my family all thoughtmyactivities were less important thantheirs.I didn't mind much, though. I guess. And I was pleased to be the one who was at Mimi's side when the doctors, as a last resort, decided to give her a couple of pints of fresh, healthy blood. Boy, did that do the trick! Soon we had a new Mimi on our hands, one who wasn't dizzy or faint, whose appetite came back, and who started talking like a normal person again.

The next day they gave her some more blood.

"I think I would take little walk," Mimi said.

"You want to take a walk?" I asked her. (Of course,Iwas the one there that afternoon. I was missing an art class.)

"Not outside. Just in hospital. Okay?" said Mimi.

I checked with a nurse. It was okay. Guess where we walked? To the nursery! We stood outside a big glass window and looked at eight babies in their cribs or isolettes or whatever they're called.

"I see Asian baby," said Mimi, pleased.

"Look at all his hair!" I exclaimed. "Or her hair. It stands straight up."

"You look like that. When baby," Mimi told me.

"No, I didn't!" I cried.

"Yes. Yes." Mimi smiled fondly at the memory. She squeezed my hand, and I felt bad for eventhinkingabout missing art classes and stuff.

The next day, Thursday, Mimi went home. She'd been in the hospital for just over a week, and no one had a due as to what was wrong with her, but she wasn't faint or dizzy or weak. She was her old self. Maybe she was like a car that just needed its oil changed.

Maybe.

But I still thought it was weird not to know what was wrong. I think the doctors thought so, too, because they told Mimi to stay in bed as much as possible for awhile. If she was well, why did she have to stay in bed?

So Mimi was home with us again. She could be on her own for short periods of time, but Mom and Dad took turns staying home with her for part of every day, and guess who got to watch her in the afternoons? Me. Janine had a big biopsychiatry test coming up, and my parents let her study for it all she wanted.

One Wednesday afternoon, Mimi asked for special tea. I fixed it and served it to her in bed.

"No!"' cried Mimi. "All wrong!"

"Whatis wrong with it?" I asked testily.

Mimi couldn't find the words to explain.

I grabbed up the tray and huffed out of the room with it.

"Sorry, my Claudia," Mimi called after me in a small voice.

I didn't answer.

On Friday, right before a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club, Mimi asked me to help her to the bathroom. When she was back in bed, she asked for a glass of water. Then, as my

friends started to arrive, she said, "Bored. Newspaper?"

It was 5:35. Upstairs, Kristy was waiting for me impatiently. I was sure of it. So I gathered up a stack of magazines and newspapers and threw them on the foot of Mimi's bed.

"Anything else?" I asked rudely.

Mimi's gentle eyes filled with tears. She shook her head.

Of course I felt terrible. But I had to go upstairs to the meeting.

"Mimi, I'm sorry," I told her, and fled from her room.

And I was sorry. Very sorry.

I was also sick and tired of being Mimi's maid.

Chapter 4.

I think that Friday, for me, was the lowest point of Mimi's illness.

It had been awful and scary to see her being loaded onto a stretcher in our dining room, or to see her with bags of blood flowing into her arms, but what I did to her that Friday afternoon was unforgivable. I apologized to her three different times after dinner that night, but I felt only a little better.

Luckily, I have learned that sometimes really awful things are followed by really wonderful things. And guess what — Friday was followed by Saturday (duh), which was the day of the first art class that Mary Anne and I gave. And the art class was wonderful!

Here's who had signed up for it: Corrie Addison (of course), Myriah and Gabbie Perkins, Jamie Newton, Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold (twins!), and Matt Braddock, this wonderful

little boy whom Jessi sits for a lot who's totally deaf. We love him to bits, but he and the others, put together, made up an odd class. Mary Anne and I would-be teaching five girls and two boys, including twins and a deaf child, ranging in age from two and a half (Gabbie) to nine (Corrie).

Mary Anne and I had decided to hold the art classes in my basement. "That makes the most sense," I said. "All my materials are right upstairs in my room. And Mom said we could use that big utility table down there if we spread newspapers over it and under it. And we have those folding chairs the kids can sit on."