Agave
Click, click, click
Doctor Small’s shoes echo on the checkered hospital floor as he comes to peek behind the curtain
I am in a lavender paper gown that is being inflated with hot air
Because hospitals are cold
And I am alone
Covid makes a undignified situation worse without the option of someone to hold your hand through it
His lips are moving and I start to see stars
Golden stars falling like raindrops around the room
Did that fluffy yellow bumble bee get stuck in my ears?
I left her on the lanai thinking she was an omen of healing
But now I am buzzing
Heat spreading through my face and cheeks, yet I am cold and shaking
Pound, pound, pound
Liev is on Maui so how did he implant himself in the center of my heart?
With his matchbox truck
He is flailing toward my sternum
Mama, mama, mama
I am here but I can’t be with you
Mama, mama, mama
All I want is my boy,
my man,
my mama, mama, mama
And I think I might explode
If I do, maybe Liev will break out of my chest and into my arms
Not trapped as an invisible pressure behind the prison of my ribcage
And I will kiss him till I’m submerged in an oxytocin ocean
Not this fentanyl swamp they are drowning through my ruptured veins
It makes my brain melt and I hear the voices of angels
But they sound like Siri
Who is set to the voice of an Indian man I named Siresh, because I thought that was funny after all my time in India
And a little bit of levity never killed anyone
But the doctor told me I might die a lot faster than I’m ready to accept
So fuck you, Siresh, just let the angels speak in their own voices
Maybe my grandma’s
Her voice was soft like her silk shirts
I want to crawl into grandma’s lap and play with her rings
Let her feed me those sticky, fruity candies from the pillbox in the bottom of her pocketbook
Panting, panting, panting
Remember I’m supposed to take deep breaths to activate the parasympathetic nervous system
To get those calming hormones to squirt into the center of my heart
Where Liev is having a tantrum that mama’s in the hospital and he is alone
Rest, rest, rest, Little Bug
Mama is getting knocked out soon
Intubated and can’t speak for a while
But my heart still beats, beats, beats for you, Peanut
I want to scream
But a cactus has sprouted in the pit of my throat
And my cries are obstructed by a tangle of agave blossoms
I read that the plant’s flowers are a sad event because
She dies, She dies, She dies
Right after she blooms
Doctor Small’s shoes echo on the checkered hospital floor as he comes to peek behind the curtain
I am in a lavender paper gown that is being inflated with hot air
Because hospitals are cold
And I am alone
Covid makes a undignified situation worse without the option of someone to hold your hand through it
His lips are moving and I start to see stars
Golden stars falling like raindrops around the room
Did that fluffy yellow bumble bee get stuck in my ears?
I left her on the lanai thinking she was an omen of healing
But now I am buzzing
Heat spreading through my face and cheeks, yet I am cold and shaking
Pound, pound, pound
Liev is on Maui so how did he implant himself in the center of my heart?
With his matchbox truck
He is flailing toward my sternum
Mama, mama, mama
I am here but I can’t be with you
Mama, mama, mama
All I want is my boy,
my man,
my mama, mama, mama
And I think I might explode
If I do, maybe Liev will break out of my chest and into my arms
Not trapped as an invisible pressure behind the prison of my ribcage
And I will kiss him till I’m submerged in an oxytocin ocean
Not this fentanyl swamp they are drowning through my ruptured veins
It makes my brain melt and I hear the voices of angels
But they sound like Siri
Who is set to the voice of an Indian man I named Siresh, because I thought that was funny after all my time in India
And a little bit of levity never killed anyone
But the doctor told me I might die a lot faster than I’m ready to accept
So fuck you, Siresh, just let the angels speak in their own voices
Maybe my grandma’s
Her voice was soft like her silk shirts
I want to crawl into grandma’s lap and play with her rings
Let her feed me those sticky, fruity candies from the pillbox in the bottom of her pocketbook
Panting, panting, panting
Remember I’m supposed to take deep breaths to activate the parasympathetic nervous system
To get those calming hormones to squirt into the center of my heart
Where Liev is having a tantrum that mama’s in the hospital and he is alone
Rest, rest, rest, Little Bug
Mama is getting knocked out soon
Intubated and can’t speak for a while
But my heart still beats, beats, beats for you, Peanut
I want to scream
But a cactus has sprouted in the pit of my throat
And my cries are obstructed by a tangle of agave blossoms
I read that the plant’s flowers are a sad event because
She dies, She dies, She dies
Right after she blooms
Obstacles
River stones
Black and smooth
Shaped like coins or elliptical eggs
Act like obstacles for the flow
Much like the current state of affairs
I wish to be water
Undisturbed by the hitches
Moving like a dancer from the arms of one man to another
Flicking heels and leaping
A single drop dissolves into vapor
Somewhere a dark cloud weeps and releases it back to earth.
Someone told me to act
And I shuffled my feet from stage to stage
Black tuxedos and character shoes
The image of something I wasn’t
Something refined
I know I’m not that.
I dug my toes deep in red clay
And licked salt off the reef
Watching silver fish tango between my legs
Wearing the current like a gown on their scaly backs
They reminded me of something
I can’t remember it now.
The dark moon rose
And I released my blood back into the earth
Watering our peace lily in the garden
Hoping she’d take my primordial ocean and transmute it into buds
Her petals wilted and fell
Life is no match for concrete and global warming.
My son’s eyelashes flicker at 3am
Soft whimpering leaves his pillowy lips
And his head nuzzles into my breast
He is safe here and I know
These moments are fleeting
At best.
I approached the gulch from the East
Pine needles crunched under my boots
Green islands floated in the distance
While whales breached and sang sad songs to each other.
I think one of them lost their baby too.
I went up the mountain alone with one mission
Releasing trauma can be a singular act
I let out a primal scream
Felt it vibrate against the cliff face
And under my feet
But I didn’t feel better
So I walked back down in silence.
Every dawn my eyelids blink open
Like clockwork
Neon pinks and orange streak the sky
That’s the time I acknowledge the humming
Something further away than my fan
And far more vast
I think it might be the sound of the universe spinning
I hear that a lot.
Small birds flap their wings outside my window
Their grey feathers speckled with white dots on the crest of their necks
Sharp talons scarring the branches of my mango tree
And singing something I don’t understand
I like it though.
My son picked up a purple shell on the edge of a ravine
Mermaids were lounging at the bottom and singing to him
Their multicolored fins flapping in a seductive attempt
Beckoning him to sing or dance or swim in step
He threw the shell back at them
Because he didn’t understand.
As I watch grey clouds fill the atmosphere
Palm fronds gyrate side to side
They are the only indication where the sky ends and the ocean begins today
I think I might get lost in that space for a bit.
Black and smooth
Shaped like coins or elliptical eggs
Act like obstacles for the flow
Much like the current state of affairs
I wish to be water
Undisturbed by the hitches
Moving like a dancer from the arms of one man to another
Flicking heels and leaping
A single drop dissolves into vapor
Somewhere a dark cloud weeps and releases it back to earth.
Someone told me to act
And I shuffled my feet from stage to stage
Black tuxedos and character shoes
The image of something I wasn’t
Something refined
I know I’m not that.
I dug my toes deep in red clay
And licked salt off the reef
Watching silver fish tango between my legs
Wearing the current like a gown on their scaly backs
They reminded me of something
I can’t remember it now.
The dark moon rose
And I released my blood back into the earth
Watering our peace lily in the garden
Hoping she’d take my primordial ocean and transmute it into buds
Her petals wilted and fell
Life is no match for concrete and global warming.
My son’s eyelashes flicker at 3am
Soft whimpering leaves his pillowy lips
And his head nuzzles into my breast
He is safe here and I know
These moments are fleeting
At best.
I approached the gulch from the East
Pine needles crunched under my boots
Green islands floated in the distance
While whales breached and sang sad songs to each other.
I think one of them lost their baby too.
I went up the mountain alone with one mission
Releasing trauma can be a singular act
I let out a primal scream
Felt it vibrate against the cliff face
And under my feet
But I didn’t feel better
So I walked back down in silence.
Every dawn my eyelids blink open
Like clockwork
Neon pinks and orange streak the sky
That’s the time I acknowledge the humming
Something further away than my fan
And far more vast
I think it might be the sound of the universe spinning
I hear that a lot.
Small birds flap their wings outside my window
Their grey feathers speckled with white dots on the crest of their necks
Sharp talons scarring the branches of my mango tree
And singing something I don’t understand
I like it though.
My son picked up a purple shell on the edge of a ravine
Mermaids were lounging at the bottom and singing to him
Their multicolored fins flapping in a seductive attempt
Beckoning him to sing or dance or swim in step
He threw the shell back at them
Because he didn’t understand.
As I watch grey clouds fill the atmosphere
Palm fronds gyrate side to side
They are the only indication where the sky ends and the ocean begins today
I think I might get lost in that space for a bit.
Two Pink Lines
Two pink lines folded between my fingers.
The same fingers that have been clawing at my vacant womb month after month for years.
Wondering why the blood kept coming at strange intervals until it stopped and nothing came anymore at all.
The same fingers that longed to shovel the earth and plant tulips.
Pink and yellow from my childhood.
When I clung to my mother in the garden as we buried my goldfish. Their pungent perfume neutralized by the black earth.
The same fingers that signed the decree proclaiming my freedom from a life sentence of abuse.
And now
Two pink lines between those fingers and a porcelain bowl full of blood
Red and clotted.
Dry for months
Like a desert in July.
Wondering why there was one pink line and I was still empty
With nothing more than cherry pits and arsenic in my stomach.
Maybe this is one more thing that I don’t deserve.
I live in a constant war between lack and abundance.
Abundant in all the places that fool my neighbors.
The pictures look good from paradise but I sit alone in a dark room with nothing but blue frames projected on white walls
Bouncing and flickering their empty shapes between my glassy eyes
Numb from the oil and wet from the waterfalls.
And this white bowl
Full of red clots
Taunting me
That finally I have what I’m longing
The two pink lines that symbolize my roots growing deep.
Deep into the same soil my grandfather cultivated and healed.
He was a gentle genius.
I sat near his bed for a week while he was dying.
Watching him shift in and out of consciousness and talking of a reunion with his beloved.
His breath slowed like the pendulum on an antique clock
Oak and solid
Then bamboo and frail.
I never felt closer to God than that moment near death
When I looked for the last time in his eyes and whispered
“Thank you.
I love you.
I’ll be fine.”
Now this moment here
With my trembling fingers
Clutching two pink lines
Over a bowl of full blood
Weeping
“I’m not fine.
I was not fine.
I will never be fine.”
Is it comedy or injustice
Losing something I didn’t know I had?
Begging and pleading
For that trembling spirit to stay
And wondering
Where is my God now?
The same fingers that have been clawing at my vacant womb month after month for years.
Wondering why the blood kept coming at strange intervals until it stopped and nothing came anymore at all.
The same fingers that longed to shovel the earth and plant tulips.
Pink and yellow from my childhood.
When I clung to my mother in the garden as we buried my goldfish. Their pungent perfume neutralized by the black earth.
The same fingers that signed the decree proclaiming my freedom from a life sentence of abuse.
And now
Two pink lines between those fingers and a porcelain bowl full of blood
Red and clotted.
Dry for months
Like a desert in July.
Wondering why there was one pink line and I was still empty
With nothing more than cherry pits and arsenic in my stomach.
Maybe this is one more thing that I don’t deserve.
I live in a constant war between lack and abundance.
Abundant in all the places that fool my neighbors.
The pictures look good from paradise but I sit alone in a dark room with nothing but blue frames projected on white walls
Bouncing and flickering their empty shapes between my glassy eyes
Numb from the oil and wet from the waterfalls.
And this white bowl
Full of red clots
Taunting me
That finally I have what I’m longing
The two pink lines that symbolize my roots growing deep.
Deep into the same soil my grandfather cultivated and healed.
He was a gentle genius.
I sat near his bed for a week while he was dying.
Watching him shift in and out of consciousness and talking of a reunion with his beloved.
His breath slowed like the pendulum on an antique clock
Oak and solid
Then bamboo and frail.
I never felt closer to God than that moment near death
When I looked for the last time in his eyes and whispered
“Thank you.
I love you.
I’ll be fine.”
Now this moment here
With my trembling fingers
Clutching two pink lines
Over a bowl of full blood
Weeping
“I’m not fine.
I was not fine.
I will never be fine.”
Is it comedy or injustice
Losing something I didn’t know I had?
Begging and pleading
For that trembling spirit to stay
And wondering
Where is my God now?
Heaven
Grandpa is laying on a floating dock
His gills filling with ocean songs
Waves of breath floating at a shallow depth
And crashing with unconsciousness
Or perhaps the deepest layers of consciousness unknown to us mere mortals
He’s a merman now
Swimming with his beloved
My grandma with her porcelain skin and soft voice
Whispers of melodic Parkinson’s skewed her songs into theta waves of pure emotion
Grandpa reaches into the void where he enjoys eating strawberries and chocolates
While talking to his mother
My great grandma Anna
Everyone says I look like her
I smile and remember the taste of dried strawberry dust from Roca
Kneeling in the dirt with ladybugs and Tinkerbelle
Weeding through the rows of firetruck, sun and pearl berries
Finding the juiciest and most succulent ones to top dad’s cheesecake
His love blossoms in pastries
Decadent, creamy delights
Fueled with fire and water
Creating an Earthsong of affection
Something to smack our lips on and lick off sticky fingers
I eat cheesecake for breakfast because treats like this don’t come around too often
Grandpa is swimming in the liquid that fills his lungs
We all start our lives immersed in water
Only fitting to end it this way
A sailor’s euphoric departure from this dry world
Into the blue of deep and tranquil oceans
Ethereal and weightless
Surfing on the backs of manta rays
And sleeping in turtle shells
I eat corals and betel nut wrapped in curry leaves
Like I did on silent evenings in Didhoofinolhu
The Maldivian nicotine that proceeded smoking brown sugar
When the constellations turned 180 degrees in a fog of stars
Nights so clear you could taste heaven
The cream and berries of dad’s cheesecake
And my grandparents swimming in the lagoon around me
His gills filling with ocean songs
Waves of breath floating at a shallow depth
And crashing with unconsciousness
Or perhaps the deepest layers of consciousness unknown to us mere mortals
He’s a merman now
Swimming with his beloved
My grandma with her porcelain skin and soft voice
Whispers of melodic Parkinson’s skewed her songs into theta waves of pure emotion
Grandpa reaches into the void where he enjoys eating strawberries and chocolates
While talking to his mother
My great grandma Anna
Everyone says I look like her
I smile and remember the taste of dried strawberry dust from Roca
Kneeling in the dirt with ladybugs and Tinkerbelle
Weeding through the rows of firetruck, sun and pearl berries
Finding the juiciest and most succulent ones to top dad’s cheesecake
His love blossoms in pastries
Decadent, creamy delights
Fueled with fire and water
Creating an Earthsong of affection
Something to smack our lips on and lick off sticky fingers
I eat cheesecake for breakfast because treats like this don’t come around too often
Grandpa is swimming in the liquid that fills his lungs
We all start our lives immersed in water
Only fitting to end it this way
A sailor’s euphoric departure from this dry world
Into the blue of deep and tranquil oceans
Ethereal and weightless
Surfing on the backs of manta rays
And sleeping in turtle shells
I eat corals and betel nut wrapped in curry leaves
Like I did on silent evenings in Didhoofinolhu
The Maldivian nicotine that proceeded smoking brown sugar
When the constellations turned 180 degrees in a fog of stars
Nights so clear you could taste heaven
The cream and berries of dad’s cheesecake
And my grandparents swimming in the lagoon around me
Things We Find In Common
I stop short on my motorbike no more than fifteen feet away from an elephant. I haven’t seen an elephant in the road over here before. In fact, I’ve never seen an elephant that wasn’t in a place an elephant was supposed to be, like the zoo or a circus. And let’s be clear, I don’t think an elephant should be caged in any of those places either because that’s cruel. But cruelty makes money so I guess elephants are just another victim of capitalism in the grand scheme of things. She is waving her trunk back and forth across the pavement like she’s sniffing out buried treasure. The broken chain around her back right foot jingles with each heavy step she takes. There’s an elephant farm just up the hill. “Farm” may be a generous term. I think today is the day she made her break for it. I guess this elephant and I have that in common. I made my break for it 6 months ago. I ran away. I traded one jungle for another. I can’t sit still if I don’t feel safe. I’m not sure if I’m any safer now.
There are three broken coconuts on the side of the road. Their water seeps out in tiny puddles on the asphalt as an army of leaf cutter ants marches past me with their green flags waving overhead. The air is heavy with smoke. A farmer is burning banana leaves and plastic bottles in front of his hut which creates an odor that smells sweet and toxic. Smokey season makes the horizon beautiful and hazy in the vibrant orange and red sunset. It’s so hot that the white line of the pavement looks like it’s undulating. It reminds me of those old movies where someone is walking through the desert looking for water, or maybe they’re looking for a 7-Up, and this wasn’t a movie at all, but a Superbowl commercial I saw once. Sweat drips from my the tip of my nose and streaks down the center of my breasts to my belly button. I’m wearing my pink bikini. It’s too hot for clothes and besides, I left my clothes in a pile at the back of the party this morning anyway. I don’t want to go back there yet. It’s not as fun when I’m sober. I lose myself in drugs. I disappear. I don’t want people to see the real me. They might not like what they see. I don’t like it, and I know they won’t either. I’ll make it easy and reject them first.
There’s a thick layer of dried mud on the elephant’s back. I imagine she’s hiding years of painful memories tucked deep between wrinkles of her gray skin. She lifts her head and looks right at me. I always assumed elephants had black eyes, but hers are gold with a white ring around the iris. She is the most beautiful and terrifying creature I have ever seen. For a split second I try to calculate if I can rev my bike fast enough to zoom under her tall legs and be on my way. She looks at least 9 feet tall, but I must admit, I’ve never been that good at estimating anyone’s height, let alone a behemoth, so I decide not to take my chances. I don’t know if I’m still hallucinating a little bit, but I’m pretty certain we’ve synchronized our breathing and I can feel her. She is wise and sad. I have been sad for so long, I almost don’t notice it anymore. I’m just numb. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I never have been.
In an abrupt, unceremonious way, she exhales and turns away from me to walk up the hill. I guess she’s had enough freedom for one day. I have too, so I turn my bike around and drive back to the party.
There are three broken coconuts on the side of the road. Their water seeps out in tiny puddles on the asphalt as an army of leaf cutter ants marches past me with their green flags waving overhead. The air is heavy with smoke. A farmer is burning banana leaves and plastic bottles in front of his hut which creates an odor that smells sweet and toxic. Smokey season makes the horizon beautiful and hazy in the vibrant orange and red sunset. It’s so hot that the white line of the pavement looks like it’s undulating. It reminds me of those old movies where someone is walking through the desert looking for water, or maybe they’re looking for a 7-Up, and this wasn’t a movie at all, but a Superbowl commercial I saw once. Sweat drips from my the tip of my nose and streaks down the center of my breasts to my belly button. I’m wearing my pink bikini. It’s too hot for clothes and besides, I left my clothes in a pile at the back of the party this morning anyway. I don’t want to go back there yet. It’s not as fun when I’m sober. I lose myself in drugs. I disappear. I don’t want people to see the real me. They might not like what they see. I don’t like it, and I know they won’t either. I’ll make it easy and reject them first.
There’s a thick layer of dried mud on the elephant’s back. I imagine she’s hiding years of painful memories tucked deep between wrinkles of her gray skin. She lifts her head and looks right at me. I always assumed elephants had black eyes, but hers are gold with a white ring around the iris. She is the most beautiful and terrifying creature I have ever seen. For a split second I try to calculate if I can rev my bike fast enough to zoom under her tall legs and be on my way. She looks at least 9 feet tall, but I must admit, I’ve never been that good at estimating anyone’s height, let alone a behemoth, so I decide not to take my chances. I don’t know if I’m still hallucinating a little bit, but I’m pretty certain we’ve synchronized our breathing and I can feel her. She is wise and sad. I have been sad for so long, I almost don’t notice it anymore. I’m just numb. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I never have been.
In an abrupt, unceremonious way, she exhales and turns away from me to walk up the hill. I guess she’s had enough freedom for one day. I have too, so I turn my bike around and drive back to the party.
Inconvenient Truth
It’s an inconvenient truth!
The virus is real.
It doesn’t matter if it came from a butchered bat at a wet market in Wuhan.
It doesn’t matter if you think it’s a government conspiracy to roll out 5G.
It doesn’t matter if you think we are just one hop, skip and a jump away from being controlled by the government, with authoritarian rule, mandatory vaccinations and police on the streets.
To be honest, none of that shit has any relevance.
It’s a distraction from the inconvenient truth that you are not in control.
That you have never been in control.
It’s easy to be a keyboard warrior.
Or a troll under a bridge.
You can hide behind your screen name and online persona.
You can divorce yourself from the facts, but it doesn’t change that
These are inconvenient truths!
Post your sentiments without any regard for grammar or spell checks
Infect us with your personal beliefs
Create more fear for the anxious
Or better yet
Create confusion for the masses.
Because that is something you can control, and that, my friend, is a truth you’re willing to buy into.
But
It’s an inconvenient truth
To acknowledge that people are suffering
And to acknowledge that you are no more immune to that suffering than they are
It’s much easier to believe you’re invincible
That bad things happen to other people
And as long as you live in your bubble of denial you don’t have to deal with the fact
That you’re just human
And the most human attribute we all share is the belief that we’re special
And different
And starring in the greatest movie of all time.
As if we matter
As if this Planck instant we’re gifted on this planet will affect our Mother Earth in a few millennia.
She will shake us off of her and rebuild
Like she’s done time and time again
Better and stronger
More adaptable.
We are just background extras in her movie.
The illusion that we have any control is the heartiest cosmic joke of them all
And that is the most inconvenient truth imaginable.
Isolation
So I’m ripping off my hospital gown with my teeth when this nurse walks in and looks at me like I’m a feral animal. To be honest, she’s not that far off as I growl at her to help me or get the fuck out. Most of the time these doctors and nurses walk in and out of my room with hazmat suits, poking and prodding me into oblivion, but this time, I’m crazed and wild.
Anyway, this nurse looked surprised because I’m usually blank when she walks in. I went numb almost as soon as I was admitted into the hospital. So numb that as they told me I was quarantined, I floated outside of my body and had the conscious thought, “hey look at that, my nervous system just shut down!” It wasn’t hard to go almost full catatonic as they filled me back up with 2 pints of blood and an obscene amount of pharmaceuticals. But anyway, that wasn’t why my nervous system shut down. It was because I was told I couldn’t see my baby anymore as they wheeled me into isolation. Silver lining? I had a room to myself with a harbor view, and the fleeting thought that I might get a full night’s rest for the first time in almost a year. The rest of it though? Fucking miserable.
Anyway, much to the shock of just about every nurse, doctor and specialist that came my way, I was still nursing my almost 9 month old. They looked at me like I was fucking crazy when I begged them to find me a breast pump considering I was half conscious due to the fact that I had half the amount of blood a human needs to survive in my body. And here I was nursing on demand all hours of the day and night, only to be separated from my child without even saying goodbye. But my mama bear was strong as ever inside of me, much stronger than my physical body that’s for sure, and they fucking knew it too.
Anyway like I said, most of the time, they came in, I was catatonic staring out the window at a cruise ship parked in the harbor. But God forbid they’d make the mistake of mentioning my baby or my family, I’d just started screaming like a lunatic. I could see the whites of their eyes behind the plastic hazmat masks before they turned a heel and got the hell out of my room.
So yeah, I’m ripping off my hospital gown with my teeth because I have this IV in the crook of my left elbow rendering that entire arm useless, and I have to get my breast pump on. Hot tears are streaming down my face because I know if I don’t pump soon, my baby won’t have any milk for the night, and since it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him, I don’t want him to forget about me. To be honest, I feel pretty forgotten in isolation. My husband only came to see me once for 10 minutes before leaving to get the baby from the sitter. I know he’s terrible in stressful situations and I could see him shrinking in this one, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it. Anyway, my family was thousands of miles and time zones away, so they were nowhere to be found. And friends? Well, let’s just say getting sick the same day you give birth to your first child puts you in a whole different type of isolation. So you’d think that should’ve prepared me for this. Nah, no dice. I’m just fucking lonely, and my milk is drying up which makes me feel like an even more worthless mother than I thought I was before I got admitted. I mean, I couldn’t even pick up my baby for the last month. I’d put him in a chair at the edge of the shower and lay on the floor of the tub while the water veiled my tears.
Anyway, I thought that was rock bottom. But it turns out, ripping off your hospital gown with your teeth and screaming at a nurse is the new bottom. I must have scared her enough, or sparked whatever compassion compelled her to pursue a career in nursing in the first place, because she walked over to me, helped me attach the pump, and looked at me with love. She said I was an amazing mother. I cried as I thanked her for being so kind, and asked her to forgive me for being such a bitch. She smiled, and for a moment, I felt less alone.
Anyway, this nurse looked surprised because I’m usually blank when she walks in. I went numb almost as soon as I was admitted into the hospital. So numb that as they told me I was quarantined, I floated outside of my body and had the conscious thought, “hey look at that, my nervous system just shut down!” It wasn’t hard to go almost full catatonic as they filled me back up with 2 pints of blood and an obscene amount of pharmaceuticals. But anyway, that wasn’t why my nervous system shut down. It was because I was told I couldn’t see my baby anymore as they wheeled me into isolation. Silver lining? I had a room to myself with a harbor view, and the fleeting thought that I might get a full night’s rest for the first time in almost a year. The rest of it though? Fucking miserable.
Anyway, much to the shock of just about every nurse, doctor and specialist that came my way, I was still nursing my almost 9 month old. They looked at me like I was fucking crazy when I begged them to find me a breast pump considering I was half conscious due to the fact that I had half the amount of blood a human needs to survive in my body. And here I was nursing on demand all hours of the day and night, only to be separated from my child without even saying goodbye. But my mama bear was strong as ever inside of me, much stronger than my physical body that’s for sure, and they fucking knew it too.
Anyway like I said, most of the time, they came in, I was catatonic staring out the window at a cruise ship parked in the harbor. But God forbid they’d make the mistake of mentioning my baby or my family, I’d just started screaming like a lunatic. I could see the whites of their eyes behind the plastic hazmat masks before they turned a heel and got the hell out of my room.
So yeah, I’m ripping off my hospital gown with my teeth because I have this IV in the crook of my left elbow rendering that entire arm useless, and I have to get my breast pump on. Hot tears are streaming down my face because I know if I don’t pump soon, my baby won’t have any milk for the night, and since it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him, I don’t want him to forget about me. To be honest, I feel pretty forgotten in isolation. My husband only came to see me once for 10 minutes before leaving to get the baby from the sitter. I know he’s terrible in stressful situations and I could see him shrinking in this one, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it. Anyway, my family was thousands of miles and time zones away, so they were nowhere to be found. And friends? Well, let’s just say getting sick the same day you give birth to your first child puts you in a whole different type of isolation. So you’d think that should’ve prepared me for this. Nah, no dice. I’m just fucking lonely, and my milk is drying up which makes me feel like an even more worthless mother than I thought I was before I got admitted. I mean, I couldn’t even pick up my baby for the last month. I’d put him in a chair at the edge of the shower and lay on the floor of the tub while the water veiled my tears.
Anyway, I thought that was rock bottom. But it turns out, ripping off your hospital gown with your teeth and screaming at a nurse is the new bottom. I must have scared her enough, or sparked whatever compassion compelled her to pursue a career in nursing in the first place, because she walked over to me, helped me attach the pump, and looked at me with love. She said I was an amazing mother. I cried as I thanked her for being so kind, and asked her to forgive me for being such a bitch. She smiled, and for a moment, I felt less alone.
