From a room with a view; in a hospital…


It’s Wednesday, December 21st, 2011.

Really? It is?

It’s been nine days since this turmoil started; nine days since my life has been abruptly uprooted and left to the chaos of relentless tornadoes and hurricanes of circumstance. It’s been nine days since I’ve seen my bed. Nine days since all my hells broke loose and my sanity has been stretched to limits I never knew existed within my powers.

On Tuesday, December 13th, 2011, my mother was diagnosed with a brain stroke.

At this sentence, words fail me.

There’s really nothing I can say or write that can properly describe how I feel or the sequence of events that have happened and are still happening since that wretched Tuesday.

So much has happened, so many things have been said, so many things have been done, so many people have come into and stepped out of our lives.

This is too much for the human soul to bear, and now, words fail me.

I spent four days and three nights, sitting on a cold floor in front of the Intensive Care Unit while my mother was treated inside. To trust a group of complete strangers with the life of the one person you hold dearest and closest to your heart; the one person you simply cannot live without, is excruciatingly difficult.

The hardest part was when I heard her call my name from inside, needing me and asking why I wasn’t there, and they wouldn’t let me in while I screamed and kicked, cried and banged at the door.

“You can’t go in until visiting hours,” they would coldly say as they pushed me out of the ICU.

On Friday, December 16th, 2011, I took the decision to move my mother to another hospital where I knew we would receive better care and attention. Since that day, we have been stranded in a cold, cruel hospital room with a spectacular view of the Nile.

As I sit here, looking over my mother while she sleeps, I wish that I could cry.

I wish that I could cry for her and for all the suffering she has seen over the past nine merciless days.

I wish that I could cry for the confusion I know she feels as so many unknowns lurk around us, waiting to lash at us at any given moment.

I wish that I could cry for the disorientation I see in her eyes every time she wakes up.

I wish that I could cry for the hope she has and the acceptance she feels over everything that has happened over the past nine days, and over her entire lifetime.

I wish that I could cry for my best friend whose father passed away while I was within these cold, forlorn walls and who needed me but I couldn’t be there for her.

I wish that I could cry for my aching body and for my aching soul, where every inch of both throbs with maddening pain, confusion and restlessness.

I wish that I could cry for the fear I feel over the future that I simply cannot predict, yet simply cannot accept.

I need to cry…

But all I can do is  just sit here and look over at my mother as she sleeps.

I run my fingers through her hair and, in my head, I try to visualize what that cursed blood clot looks like, intertwined within the folds of her brain and living happily like a parasite that lives off a helpless prey.

I need to cry, but instead, I just sit here, doubting everything I ever believed in.

I need to cry as the voice of Dolores O’Riordan from the Cranberries runs through my head as she sings:

And all the things that seemed once to be so important to me seem so trivial now…

I’m sitting here, looking over at my mother as she sleeps and all I can do is wonder.

She’s also running a fever. The doctors have no idea what’s causing it. They took samples and samples of blood, ran echoes, MRIs and scans, and they still don’t know what’s causing it.

I need to cry over the unknown; over the mystery of every passing hour as it unveils itself and as I brace myself with every passing moment, praying that the unknowns that lurk around us will remain hidden in their shadows and just leave us the fuck alone.

There is so much going on in my head and I need to cry.

But words fail me, and tears defy me, as I sit here looking over my mother while she sleeps, in a room with a spectacular view of the Nile, in a hospital…