I have a friend who is going through some medical stuff with his girlfriend’s mom. The mom is in the hospital because of cancer. He was telling me about how her oxygen was low and her blood pressure was messed up. I am sympathetic because I was just going through something similar with my mom almost a year ago.
I have been in a mood since he told me about it because it has stirred up thoughts of my mom and how hard it was going through everything. I put on this brave face for everyone because that is what you are supposed to do. I try to push down the memories of what I went through, of being told my mom may not make it. I push down the thoughts of seeing the strongest woman I know lying in bed helpless. I don’t want to remember it all, I don’t want to deal with it.
The truth is that I sometimes feel like I am still stuck in that hospital room with my mom. I feel like I am still sitting in the chair by her bed, pretending to watch TV even though I can’t hear it. I am still there watching her struggle in bed with a tube down her throat and her hands tied down to the bed, listening to the alarms go of every time her oxygen drops to low, or her blood pressure is too high. I feel like I am still watching the nurses come in and out and dreading the fact that I do have to go home for a little bit to get some real sleep, get a shower, and rush back the next morning, praying nothing happened while I was gone.
There was one night they couldn’t keep my mom stable, and her alarms went off all night. I ended up curled in a blanket on the floor, back leaned against the wall, with a window above my head and my hands over my ears, staring to my mom’s bed, praying for her to stabilize, for the nurses to figure out what was wrong and fix it. I remember the light coming through the window, the light of the moon that used to always bring me comfort, but in that moment, it was just a reminder how long the night could be.
My mom is safe at home and still healing, but doing better than what I thought she would be almost a year later. My mom is okay. My mom is healthy considering what all she went through. She went back to work and then decided to retire. She drives herself to her own appointments. She doesn’t need someone looking after her 24/7. She cooks, cleans, and bathes herself. She still fusses at me when she disagrees with something I have done.
My mom is okay.
But I am still stuck in that room. Scared. Tired. Confused. The shadows of that one night follows me. The shadows of the emergency room and the ICU room have a hold on me like I am stuck in a cage, forced to rewatch the trauma unfold over and over again. Trapped in the hells of my mind because I am still processing wtf just happened.
My mom is okay, but I don’t think I am.
Labyrinth of the Mind 
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