We went to see my mother’s boyfriend, K, today in the hospital. (First part, you can read Here). They’d stopped giving him the heavy drugs that kept him under, but he hasn’t regained consciousness, and is connected to all these machines.
Now there’s nothing to do but wait for potential signs of life. I do not recall having ever seen a person in that state and it looked really scary. He’s walking the fine line between life and death. The doctor said they can’t predict whether he will wake up or not. She added “that’s gonna take anywhere between a few days more, to a few weeks more”.. to see if he can regain consciousness. And if he has brain damage or not. I do hope they can say something soon. Cause for my mother, this is the definition of torture. Not knowing. It makes her cling to every hope, false or true. Of course. I get that. Hope is the last thing that leaves us humans. But let me tell you, that hope can also be a torture chamber. Cause you don’t feel hope 100% of the time. Maybe 50% at best. The rest of the time, doubt and fear ride you like avenging angels in their chariots of fire.
The things that made my mother (and me and my brother) cling to hope, were little things. Like, when K started to “breathe on his own” for a few seconds (although the doctor said clearly: that does not “mean anything”, really). He was still aided by the machine, but it started making strange sounds, and that’s when they told us “Oh, that’s cause he breathes on his own, sometimes”. The other thing was that we played K:s favorite song to him, and during those minutes, his blood pressure went up, just a little bit. We all interpreted that as a sign that on some level maybe he could “hear” the music. The blood pressure went down again after the song stopped. It was quite amazing to see that on the monitor. The doctor was gone by then, so we didn’t get a chance to ask about it.
What made me less hopeful was that the doctor had said: “His heart is not strong, so that is a risk factor”.
I don’t think my mother will give up hope until the last minute, when we get the final judgement from the doctors. It just hurts me to see her hopeful cause there’s a huge risk that K doesn’t wake up ever again. Don’t get me wrong, I want him to wake up, more than anything. I just saw the doctor’s serious facial expression, and that’s never good. Also, I just know how hope sometimes just isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I know when you’ve been up on your cloud of hope, and you get thrown down all the way to the gates of Hell, it hurts even more. It’s like all the bones in your body shatter, at once.
I know I should not be this dark but sometimes you know, this… life and death. It gets to you. It’s not until you reach the age where people start getting sick and dying around you, that you understand how frail we really are. How everything can get ripped away in a split second. How we are all just a small scribbled line in the universe’s infinite cosmic calendar. We sort of get one little hour earmarked for us, out of infinity.
I didn’t show any of my dark thoughts to my mother of course, I gave her all I could of positive thoughts. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t keep any myself, and came home to pour out all this darkness in writing, instead.
I am so sorry for K, and for my mother. I have a shard of hope, too, so I can’t do anything else than to cling to that, right now.
Once again I say: cherish yours and your loved ones’ “little hour” in the universe’s time calendar, cause it’s awefully short!