It was Friday the 13th.

Mom had been confined to the hospital for a couple of days, and I was the night’s designated watcher. It was almost midnight and for the past one and a half hours, I had been trying to make her comfortable even as she complained of having a headache, experiencing pain in her tummy, running a fever, and just generally feeling that something was horribly wrong.

The on call doctor had already visited her twice, and the nurse a couple times more. I thought things were finally under control when she calmed down and placed her head on a pillow. That’s when the on call doctor and what seemed like a whole floor’s worth of nurses and interns bust through the door and descended on me and mom.

It was something that I’ve seen many times before in medical dramas, and I knew it only meant one thing: Mom and I were in deep shit!

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Having a hospital “staycation” has become something of a family tradition for us. Every year, around August or September, Dad would be confined to the hospital for one reason or another. He’s had several major procedures through the years so we sort of already have our SOP down pat.

When Dad called to say that Mom was going to be confined, it felt different. Mom had never been a fan of hospitals. She avoided them as much as she could. But her heart was racing and had to be confined for her physicians to make a proper diagnosis.

We were ready for a three-day, two-night stay, which would sometimes stretch to a five-day, four-night one. We were not prepared for the eight days which we eventually logged in at the hospital, some of which we spent at the ICU.

Oh, I’ve got stories to be sure, but honestly, some are still a bit difficult to retell.

When you see your parent, your mom, attached to all sorts of contraptions, pumped up with all sorts of medication, everything else in the world fades away. You forget everything. You forget about all the other things that you thought were so important in your life. You peel off the bullshit because all you could think of and pray for is for mom to get well.

After the Friday the 13th episode, we found ourselves in the ICU, and I’ve got to tell you that it is one of the most life-draining places on the face of this Earth. If it weren’t for the cheerful nurses, it would have been sordidly depressing. Fortunately, our room had a window, and I would sometimes entertain myself by staring out into the night or looking at the passersby in the morning.

There were so many people walking in and out of the hospital, so many stories unfolding, so many tears being shed. We were at the hospital for eight days, and during those eight days, we knew of three souls who eventually passed on. It was heartbreaking.

My sister and I took turns watching over mom, and we were very efficient. We were on time for our shifts, monitored whatever it is we were supposed to monitor, and advised each other and the rest of the family of the goings-on. We’d sometimes meet for coffee when my shift started at night or have breakfast together when she takes over in the morning.

It was dreary, but sometimes we did get to laugh. Because really, what else can you do?

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Mom is home now, resting. Me, I still have to get back my rhythm. I only started writing the other day, and it felt good to be in my element. I know that I now have to turn myself into a writing machine, having missed a couple of deadlines, and I welcome it. There is nothing I want more today than to lose myself in words.

I do miss boxing and sweating but those would have to wait. I’m so out of shape that my trainer would probably look at me in dismay. It doesn’t matter.

All I know is that I am grateful, grateful for the tears and the prayers, grateful for family and friends, grateful for love, grateful for peace, grateful for modern medicine!

Grateful.