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When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My mom was at a wine tasting downtown and wouldn't answer her phone. The coach had to drive me to the ER himself. She finally showed up three hours later, complaining about missing her event.

When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My mom was at a wine tasting event when the coach called. She told them to just take me to the hospital and she'd check on me tomorrow. I sat in the ER alone for four hours.

The Metropolitan's marble foyer echoed with whispers as Diana Ross glided through the crowd, her sequined gown catching light like captured stars. Industry executives tracked her movement with predatory eyes, their champagne glasses raised in false toasts while calculating tomorrow's headlines.

The desert sun hung like a brass coin in the cloudless sky, beating down on the weathered boardwalk. Sarah Matthews stood in the shadow of the general store, her cotton dress heavy with dust, watching as riders approached through the shimmering heat waves.

When I was 14, I collapsed during track practice. The school nurse called my mom's office, but she told them she was in an important meeting. My coach ended up driving me to the ER while I drifted in and out of consciousness.

When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach drove me to the ER, and my parents didn't show up until three hours later. They were at a wine tasting.

When I was 12, I fell off my bike and broke my arm at summer camp. The counselors called my mom, who was at a wine tasting. She told them to just handle it and send her the medical bill later. I sat in the ER alone for four hours.

When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was at a business dinner. The coach drove me to the ER herself. Dad's response when they called? "Just set it and bill me."