My name is Gabriel, and I’m a storyteller. Today’s story is gonna be a little different. There will be no characters, no fiction, no fantasy. I’m going to tell you a real story. Something that happened to me over the last couple weeks. I say it happened to me, but... that’s not entirely accurate. But I’ll get to that in due time. Before we get into this, I feel I should warn that this story might be mildly disturbing and that if talk of life-threatening medical issues triggers anything for you, you might not want to read this.
It all started about two weeks before Christmas. Around the 11th of December, to be exact. My mom, the woman who took all those nice pictures you see around this site, fell ill. Just a cold, but when you can’t stop to rest, a cold is never just a cold. It dragged on and on until Mom went to the doctor and received a course of antibiotics and steroids to clear out her system. Around this time, she complained to me about some strange stomach pain that seemed to penetrate all the way through to her back. It was minor, so we didn’t think anything of it. Fast forward a few more days and Mom was nearly done with her antibiotics, but she had to leave work early because the stomach ache was making it really hard to work. On the way home, she stopped at a couple of stores and picked up groceries as well as got a prescription for some powerful antacids. While all this was happening, I was having a mellow-ass day at home. I had caught Mom’s cold at this point and was attempting to sleep it off. At a certain point that evening, I woke up, had to pee, and stumbled out of my room. That was when I noticed Mom was home, but I was so far asleep that it didn’t really register as something unusual.
A few hours after that, I’m awakened by my mom. She says “Gabriel, I don’t want you to have a panic attack, but I’m in a lot of pain and I need you to be with me. I might need an ambulance.” Now, while every sensible bone in my body was losing its shit, I somehow managed to maintain a level head. I went into her room and sat with her for a few minutes. As she lay there in her bed, writhing in pain, it was hard to watch, it was hard to be there. Maybe one of the hardest things I’d ever done up to that point, but I stuck it out, because I had to. Eventually, she had me call her doctor, but they were already closed. In a panic, as the pain only seemed to get worse, I called an ambulance. And like a switch flipped, I sprung into action. I unlocked the doors to our apartment building, grabbed Mom’s medical papers from earlier and we waited. Before too long, the street outside was painted bright red by the lights of the ambulance. The paramedics came upstairs and started asking Mom all sorts of questions. Admittedly, I kind of tuned out. But then it was time to go. She leaned on them as they helped her to the stairs. But the pain got worse and Mom found herself unable to use the stairs. The paramedics, of course prepared for this event, ran out to the ambulance and retrieved what I can only describe as an incredibly sturdy folding chair. They loaded mom up on it and carried her out, and down to the ambulance. Inside, they hooked her up to fluids, and half a dozen machines. My insides were paralyzed; cold as ice, and yet I stayed there and kept a steady face in spite of it all.
I knew all the streets the ambulance took like the back of my hand, but the journey to the hospital never felt longer. I suppose I was in denial the entire time. Who could blame me though. Eventually, we reached the ER and the paramedics wheeled Mom inside. They took her to an emergency exam room immediately, and I just sat outside on a stool I’d borrowed from the nurse’s station. I don’t know how long I sat there for, half-heartedly following news from The Game Awards. Eventually they let me in to see her. Mom was in rough shape. In an incredible amount of pain, dehydrated, low blood pressure and throwing up her dinner from earlier. Still, she gave me some important work. She had me call my aunt and uncles, my dad, and her manager from work. I can’t be sure, but I think they all must’ve been at least as shocked as I was. By the time I got back, they had moved Mom to a bigger room and I had to sign for her and approve blood transfusions and all sorts of stuff. They sent her in for a CT scan, but couldn’t really find anything, this pointed them in the direction of an infection. Gods I wish it had been that simple.
The entire time I was there, staring at my phone trying to pass the time and not panic, I was desperate for information. The doctors and nurses were so nice to me and gave me hope. I think I knew, even then, that they were probably lying to me, but I didn’t care too much. I trusted that even if they were lying to me, they’d do their jobs and do everything they could to keep their patient, my mom, alive. When I was able to muster the courage to talk to Mom, it broke my heart to hear her apologizing to me for scaring me, even as she lay there dying. Because she was dying. The first thing that tipped me off that she may not have had an infection was her blood pressure. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was worryingly low, even to someone who knows nothing about medicine. As it turned out, that was the right thing to worry about.
Internal bleeding. Cause unknown. Location: somewhere around the pancreas. The doctor told me that there had only ever been a few hundred cases like this, but that there was hope. And so I trusted him as he wheeled her off to IR to see about fixing her without major surgery. Meanwhile, I was sent up to the family lounge outside the ICU. I made do. There were vending machines, a TV and I spent a lot of the night on the phone to various family members. Each one was kind to me in spite of how scared they must’ve been. The night passed slowly and I had plenty of time to consider what I’d do if I was alone after tonight. I tried not to let it get me down though (as stupid as that sounds, given the circumstances). Around 3AM, the doctor called. Said Mom was out of IR and that she seemed stable. Said they didn’t really do anything and that the bleeding kind of just stopped on its own. And so I celebrated. Perhaps prematurely, but I needed to. I needed that hope.
5AM rolled around, and the doctor called me back. Said the bleeding had started up again and that Mom’s blood pressure was dropping. They needed to get her stabilized so they could move her downtown for major surgery. As scared as I had been earlier, there’s a special kind of fear that creeps in when hope is absolutely shattered. I signed the last few things they needed me to, and then left the hospital. I really wanted to stay with Mom the whole time, but I had to be realistic. Me staying with her wouldn’t accomplish anything. Meanwhile there was a cat at home who needed to be taken care of. I ordered a Lyft for the first time ever and made it home just before dawn.
Damn near everything was just as Mom had left it. And aside from the cat’s stuff, I couldn’t bring myself to change anything. I flung Mom’s belongings onto our dining room table, and did my best to get some sleep. The next few days were a blur. I don’t really remember what order everything happened in, but at some point the next day, I got a call from the hospital where Mom had been moved. She was out of surgery and even though they still hadn’t identified the source of the bleeding, they pumped her full of clotting agents and managed to stop the bleeding. According to the person I spoke to, she was resting in ICU, still unconscious. It was good news for the most part, only thing that gave me pause was that the clotting agent had caused several blood clots in other parts of her body. It wasn’t great, but it calmed me down and let me hope.
Over the next week or so, I would make several trips down to the hospital with my dad. We brought Mom all sorts of things she needed, chief among them being her glasses. And each trip was so physically exerting, that I found myself becoming sicker and sicker as my cold worsened. Eventually, on Christmas eve, Mom was discharged and even though she still needed blood thinner, and had a killer scar on her torso, nothing made me happier than having her home for Christmas. She hadn’t had a chance to wrap the gifts, and the tree was only half decorated, but it was fantastic anyway.
Now, I glossed over that last week and for a very good reason. Full disclosure: I am not an independent person. My mental health and physical shape leave me fairly reliant on my family. Which is why, aside from my mom very nearly dying, I was terrified. I’ve been going to therapy for about a year and a half and have only just begun to scratch the surface of my, often, paralyzing anxiety. I have no income, no job, no nothing. And until this happened, I believed myself to be nearly helpless. This has changed a little. Honestly, I don’t know how I made it through this. In my head, whenever I played out a scenario even slightly similar to this one, it ended with me taking my own life. But throughout this whole ordeal, the idea never once crossed my mind. I didn’t do an amazing job on my own, but I took care of the cat, I kept the apartment as clean as I could, I tried to make sure I got at least one good meal a day and I even took care of some of the business that my mom would have. I guess if there’s something I can take from this absolutely harrowing experience, it’s that I’m much stronger than I think and that I should always start moving before I think too hard about it.
As I sit here writing this, it’s 4PM on January 4th 2020. Mom is home and still recovering, but she gets stronger and stronger every day. In a couple weeks, the doctor will probably want to remove those staples she’s got holding her shut. I’ve only just started working through all this, mentally. I was listening to the song Tomorrow and Tomorrow from Final Fantasy XIV a couple days ago, and just burst out crying. I couldn’t stop and so far, I don’t know why I cried other than I just needed to. Last night I had a terrible dream of being stuck in a hospital with Mom dying. And every night at sundown, a portion of the staff would go crazy and start murdering people. I think it’s safe to say that I’ve still got quite a lot to work on and I don’t think I’m ever going to be the same. But for as scary as this was, I hope that some good can come out of it, and I can start feeling a little stronger and more sure of myself. Thank you for reading.