My mother has been chronically ill for almost 17 years. She is often covered in wounds and abrasions, and has so many things wrong with her insides, its a miracle she's still here. Even though I wish I didn't have to say it, I've grown used to it. Yet, no matter how acclimated you are to a situation, life will still throw something at your to make your head spin. You will suddenly experience something that is out of the ordinary, something that wrenches your thoughts and emotions from their usually fixed places, and cause them to morph and adapt in ways you didn't think were possible.
Last night was one of those nights. I received a text while teaching dance classes, and I quickly looked at my phone while my students began filing in for Jazz class. These words jumped out at me; "mamma, hospital." My stomach dropped for a moment, but didn't settle there. The hospital is a joke in my family. My mom's illness is so severe, the hospitals have turned her away. Then again, the hospital is where you go when all hope is lost... so what was going on? Was tonight the night? Was death knocking on our door? I wouldn't think about it. I taught class, and resumed my happy instructor face as normal.
As soon as classes were over, I called. Mom was ok. She didn't even want me to come to the hospital. The pain had been crippling a few hours before, but she was much better now. They almost called the ambulance, but things would be alright. They were giving her pain meds. It was manageable now.
This has always been the problem, the pendulum swinging back and forth between all sirens blazing to a relative calm. The instability is incredibly difficult to deal with. I may come home between jobs and enjoy a few minutes of conversation and a snack with my mom, or I might end up with my hands covered in blood from cleaning out my mom's wounds, listening to her moan and moan and moan. Its maddening.
Last night, after she came home, we attacked her wounds with all the effort of old fashion surgeons. I am there, with my mother, scraping and pulling on bio-tissue that has attached itself to her skin. She swears intermittently, and I curse myself inwardly for wishing this would all go away. I am tired from working all day, but this is my real job, helping my patient. My dad is out to lunch in other room, nursing his stupid cold, and I am with my mom. The hours tick by. Its 10:00 pm. At least I don't have to go anywhere tomorrow. Its 12:00 am. I can't believe this tissue is so stubborn!
Its 1:00 am. Finally, my mom tells me to go to sleep. I feel guilty for leaving her, but I am so exhausted. Why do I ever complain about getting sick? Oh my gosh, is this my life? How am I ever going to get out of this?? Who else suffers from this disease? What if we lived in a third world country where we didn't even have a roof over our head, and clean bandages, and ointment? I feel sick inside. I can't cut out the tissue that bothers her so much... I wish I were a doctor with endless resources. I wish I were a surgeon! I wish I had more energy and time to help! I wish she didn't have to suffer like this...
And my mind bends, and bends, and bends, until I can't recognize my thoughts anymore and I fall asleep. At least I know what love is, and I will take no substitution. I am lucky to see and experience so much pain, because I am really hurting, really living. I feel the purpose of life so keenly, and I will stop at nothing to make myself stronger and able to abate the pain.
