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I realized it when my parents rushed my brother to the ER for a scraped knee while I sat at home with a 104-degree fever and pneumonia.

I was 12 and my brother Danny was 8 when this happened. I'd been sick for three days, but Mom kept saying it was "just a cold."

That Saturday morning, I could barely breathe. My lips were blue and I hadn't eaten in two days.

"Mom," I wheezed. "I think I need a doctor."

"Take some Tylenol," she called back. "Danny and I are going to the park."

An hour later, Danny fell off his bike and scraped his knee. Not even bleeding much—just a surface scrape.

"Oh my baby!" Mom screamed. "We need to get you to the hospital right now!"

"Mom," I croaked from upstairs. "What about me?"

"You'll be fine," she said, grabbing her keys. "Danny might need stitches."

He didn't need stitches. It was smaller than a quarter.

They spent four hours in the ER getting it cleaned while I lay alone with pneumonia, my fever climbing to 104.

I passed out around 3 PM.

When they got home, Mom found me unconscious on my bedroom floor.

The paramedics said I was minutes from respiratory failure.

"How long has she been this sick?" the EMT asked.

"Just today," Mom lied. "She seemed fine this morning."

At the hospital, the doctor was furious.

"This child has severe pneumonia. She needed medical attention days ago. Why didn't you bring her in?"

"She said it was just a cold," Dad mumbled.

"Her fever is 104. This isn't a cold."

I spent five days in the hospital. Danny got a popsicle for his scrape.

"Danny was so brave," Mom told the nurses. "He didn't cry once."

His procedure was putting Neosporin on a scrape.

The pattern never stopped.

When Danny got food poisoning, they kept him home for a week and demanded the school investigate.

When I got food poisoning from the same cafeteria, they sent me to school anyway. I threw up in the hallway.

When Danny broke his wrist, they took him to three specialists.

When I broke my finger, they taped it to another finger. It healed crooked.

When Danny had nightmares, he got to sleep in their bed for months.

When I had nightmares about suffocating, they told me I was too old to be scared.

The breaking point came at 16. I'd been having chest pains for weeks.

"Can we go to the doctor?" I asked Mom.

"You're fine," she said. "You always think you're sicker than you are."

That same day, Danny complained his stomach hurt after eating candy.

"Oh no!" Mom rushed over. "Let's get you to urgent care right now!"

It wasn't appendicitis. It was a stomachache from Halloween candy.

They spent $300 on tests while I sat home with chest pains.

"Danny's pain could have been serious," Mom explained. "Yours is just anxiety."

My anxiety came from nearly dying while they treated a scraped knee.

Senior year, I got into pre-med programs. I wanted to become a doctor since I couldn't count on anyone else for my health.

"Medical school is so expensive," Dad said. "Are you sure about all that debt?"

Two months later, Danny wanted to be a veterinarian.

"That's wonderful!" Mom beamed. "We'll help with whatever you need!"

They paid Danny's entire college tuition. I took out $200,000 in loans.

Last month, Danny called from vet school.

"I'm thinking of dropping out," he said casually. "It's harder than I thought."

"Danny, they spent $150,000 on your education."

"They said they don't mind. They just want me to be happy."

When I struggled in medical school, working three jobs, they told me I'd chosen a difficult path and needed to figure it out myself.

Yesterday, Mom called.

"Danny dropped out to become a yoga instructor," she said cheerfully. "We're so proud he's following his heart."

"What about the $150,000?"

"Money isn't everything. His mental health comes first."

"What about when I had panic attacks in med school?"

"That was different. You're more resilient."

I wasn't more resilient. I just never had the option to fall apart.

Some people realize they're not the favorite child through small slights.