Her eyes fixed on me and Every one else in the room was weakening my legs. I couldn't see Her, I couldn't go near her, I couldn't tell her that this is the medically right thing to do, I couldn't hold her hand And look into her eyes and say that this is the next reasonably right thing to do. I couldn't. She was my mother and she was resisting to be put on ventilator. She knew what it meant so all she kept insisting on was for us to take her home. But how could I have when the medical literature said there is a chance even though it was only less than 5%. Because in medicine things happen and I couldn't let myself think of anything else than that. But oh God! She knew, she knew so well. So she kept denying the last protocol.
As the team of doctor surrounded her, she tightly hold my hand and sternly said 'no' and I pleaded with her and tried calming her down. She held her ground. The emergency doctors stared at me with a look of saying 'you know better' but she wasn't a patient to me, she was my mother. Minute by minute they circled around her bed with their tubes and I couldn't bare to look at it. And being my mother, strong as she always was, scolded me for not making them go.
The rush of people at that hour was so overwhelming that I forgot what I was suppose to do as a daughter. They asked me to sign the paper and i failed to make the judgment because I saw how my mother looked at my hand holding the pen. She silently conveyed it to me about how displeased she was with me with that look in the eye. Mothers! Their looks after all is always so potent. And since then it had stamped my mind and torturers me each night.
Now when I think of it all, I can't help but blame myself. The guilt of not have tried harder to make it easy for her is something which I guess will always stay with me. I blame myself for not acting like the adult I was. I blame myself for not trying hard to stay longer with her until anaesthesia took over her. She wouldn't have left me alone under similar circumstances. She would have faught harder but all I did was not try hard enough. And the guilt comes to hurt me every minute of every hour and steals away the comfort of my tired body and mind.
It's half past four in the morning and sleep refuses to become me. I've tried, tried so hard for it to soothe my mind but looks like it has gotten on cold war just with me. After going through the elaborate classification on cataract and it's management , the only thing I should be able to do is doze off but nothing. I made it dark around and closed my eyes and found tear drops trickling down my face. So I write This. Write this with a hope that as I go line to line, my pain perhaps will ease. And somehow I'll be free.
Author Notes: No body should have to watch their parent slowly drift towards the other side feeling completely helpless. No one deserves to watch their parent go without that last word.
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India • 31 years old