Photo by: “Myrte”

I woke to the feeling of my mother’s hand gently stroking my forehead. She was smoothing over my matted bangs. I was still disoriented and not sure where I was. I had changed rooms so many times during my hospital stay. I still felt foggy and confused. I was also becoming increasingly frustrated because I was not able to follow conversation well. The ringing in my ears was loud and my head was buzzing from medications.

Photo by: Adam Shaylor

Mama said I kept asking about college registration, worried that I would miss the deadline to sign up. This was almost comical to my mother, in light of all that had transpired over the last dozen days. I was lying there worried about signing up for college courses and she was worrying about whether or not I would survive this illness. She tried to reassure me that we would take care of registration, but all she really wanted was for me to make it through this ordeal.

Photo by: Maddy Rogers

After my last dialysis treatment, Mama told the doctors and nurses that she wanted to be the one to give me my first bath. She was adamant about this and wouldn’t let anyone else do it. She had watched my body become bruised and full of holes and sores where I had been poked, scraped, and prodded and she wanted to tend to my battle scars. My body was still covered with a rash, and I was red, raw and torn in the most sensitive places. Blood vessels had broken in my eyes, causing the white parts to appear bloody. The outsides of my eyes were now black, and my eyelids and lips were scabby and cracked as they had bulged and split open from the fluid retention. Mama sent everyone away, pulled the curtains around my bed, and told me she was going to wash me up a bit.

She left briefly to prepare a pan of warm water with a small squirt of Phisoderm soap inside. Then she brought in some soft washcloths so she could give me my first bath since I had arrived at the hospital well over a week ago. Mama bathed me and then soothed me with Lubriderm lotion. Her cleansing touch alone was divine, even if it couldn’t heal every sore.

Photo by: “Stephen”

Bathing me also gave Mama a chance to catch me up about what had been happening. Even though I was there, I had pretty much been “out of it” most of the time. As she gently patted my body with water, I told Mama about these horrible dreams and images I had in my mind about being raped. My throat hurt when I talked, but I continued.

“People were doing things to me, Mama,” I croaked.

Mama noticed my voice sounded far off when I spoke, as if I were in a tunnel.

“I think they were trying to rape me,” I cried.

She was sad to see me so afraid. Her eyes filled with tears as did mine. I strained to hear Mama explain that the event I was probably referring to was from almost a week earlier when the Kidney Specialist had ordered another pelvic exam and ultrasound. She tried to reassure me that she understood how my experience would have led me to believe that, but she was there in the room with me the full time and that they were not raping or hurting me. They were doing exams to try to find out what was wrong. I had been delirious with fever and my understanding was clouded. I trusted Mama, and knew she was telling me the truth. So, I began to let go of those images.

Photo by: “Stephen”

We both fell silent and l let the warm water and my mother’s healing touch cleanse me of this bad dream.

Posted by LaRonda on Thursday, January 11th, 2007 at 4:53 am.