Under The Same Roof

“Hear we go again,” I thought, as I drove like a madman on a mission, chasing the screaming siren and flashing lights of an ambulance along rain slick streets.  Hope Collins, my sixty-five-year-old mother, had just suffered another asthma attack and was en route to Roseland Community Hospital located on Chicago’s south side.  Over the last three years, I’ve watched Mama battle an array of ailments resulting in numerous calls to 9-1-1 and frequent trips to the hospital.  Once again, I was praying to keep Hope alive.    

Raised from roots planted deep in the soils of Mississippi, Mama is a courageous and resilient woman.  She has an elastic spirit, which allows her to keep bouncing back from physical setbacks.  Some of the nurses at the hospital have even joked in the past that Mama has nine lives.  I know she’s tired of being sick, but somehow she manages to maintain her sense of humor and dignity, unwilling to give up on life. 

For me, dealing with Mama’s sickness is like living on an emotional rollercoaster.   As soon as I begin riding high on the thought of her condition possibly improving, another setback happens, sending her back to the hospital, and me on a downward spiral. I’m up one moment and down the next.  It’s mentally and physically draining. 

A male and female crisis team wheeled the stretcher carrying Mama into the emergency area.  Beads of sweat dance on Mama’s fever stricken forehead.  She’s weary.  They work to stabilize her.  A male nurse, who appeared to be Filipino, came in and covered Mama’s mouth with an oxygen mask.  Soon after, another male nurse set up a machine used to drain the excess fluid from Mama’s body. 

When Mama first got sick, I was overwhelmed by the sight of seeing all the medical equipment connected to her body, but now I’ve become accustomed to seeing and hearing the health related gadgets used in the emergency room and ICU.  Lately, I’ve been in the emergency room with Mama so much, that I feel like I should get a certificate from one of those accelerated nursing schools because I know why all the different machines are used and which questions to ask the doctors while they’re treating Mama.    

Beeping monitors with flashing numbers occupy significant space in the small room.  A BiPAP machine is helping Mama breathe by pushing air into her weakened lungs and keeps them open to allow more oxygen to filter through.  Sometimes Mama is irritated by wearing the mask associated with the BiPAP machine, but at least it’s more comfortable than having a breathing tube inserted down her throat.  Other digital instruments track her blood pressure and heart rate.  She’s struggling, but the Lord is helping her to hold on.  I pray to God to heal my mother.    

As the oldest of three children born to Hope Collins and a father I hardly knew, I’m the responsible one.  My number is usually the first one Mama dials