Fear Factor

Writing makes it real.


That's what I've been telling myself lately. And lately, reality has been difficult to deal with. Since many of you are friends in my head, you have a right to know as well.


If we're friends on the book of Face or you're my follower in the Twitterverse, then you already know my mom is in the hospital. Again. And this time it was far worse than any previous hospital stay. She was in ICU in a medically induced coma for almost a week. And this time, she wasn't in NY. So I've had to travel back and forth to tend to her. As I type this, I'm in a nice hotel suite, with ocean and outlet stores views, away from home but trying to make it some semblance of home, and barely enjoying any of it....well, except for housekeeping. I always enjoy that.


Going through this, as you can imagine,......there are really no words to express the emotional roller coaster I've been on. On one particular restless night, (as there have been many), my BFF, TootieZilla, recommended that I write. Her exact directive was: "Go write. Then eat something." Neither option was appealing. Nourishment of my body nor my soul felt right. As I tried to navigate a way through my thoughts and fears, that's when I convinced myself:

Writing makes it real.


And that stopped me dead in my tracks. The doctors told me my mother's condition was "fragile". How could I write about my fears of losing my mom if the mere act of writing it somehow makes losing her a reality? Admitting that feels asinine. However ludicrous that sounds, its what I felt. And I couldn't shake it. Not that I tried very hard to shake it. I believed, so writing was put on a time out punishment.


Seeing my mother on a ventilator was hard. Just laying there, sleeping so peacefully, yet seeing this tube machine contraption actually inhaling and exhaling for her was something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. It is only by God's grace that I didn't go completely stir crazy when I walked into her room and saw her like that. Having to make rational decisions regarding her care while fully emotional is an epic internal battle that left me bruised, broken, and weary.


Its no coincidence that 2 days after she was removed from the ventilator and breathing on her own, and 1 day after she transferred from ICU to a regular floor in the hospital, that I've returned to blogging. I feel a bit more free to wander around in my writing mindspace, explore the things I've put up on a mental shelf for safekeeping, get reacquainted with what means so much to me.

Writing feels real again.