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When I was 12, I broke my arm at gymnastics practice. My mom was at a wine tasting and told the coach to just drop me at the emergency room. I sat there alone for three hours before my aunt finally showed up.

My sister demanded to use my car for her vacation, saying it's what family does. When I refused, she called our parents who started threatening me. But my husband walked in, saw everything, and immediately called the police. They don't bother us anymore.

When I was 14, my appendix burst during a school field trip to Atlanta. The teachers called my mom five times before she answered. She was at a wine tasting and told them to just take me to whatever hospital was closest.

To Margaret, I dedicate these watercolor memories of autumn, 1924. She was twenty-three, brilliant with both brush and verse, living in that sun-drenched studio on Wellington Street. Her paintings captured what words could never express, making her more than just another artist.

When I was 12, my appendix burst during a school field trip. The teachers called my mom's office repeatedly, but she was in an important meeting. By the time I reached the hospital, the infection had spread. Her secretary told me she'd call back when she could.

When I was 14, I broke my arm at a school field trip. The teachers called my mom's office, but she was in a meeting and told them to just handle it. I sat in the emergency room alone for four hours while she finished her presentation.

When I was 14, my appendix burst during a school field trip. The teachers called my mom's office, but she was at lunch with friends. Her secretary told me she'd "get back to me when convenient." I spent eight hours in surgery alone.

When I was 12, I broke my arm at soccer practice. My dad was supposed to pick me up, but he was too busy with work. The coach drove me to the ER, and my parents didn't show up until three hours later. They were at a dinner party.