I never know when it’s going to happen.
Sometimes I’m reading, or driving my car, or talking to a friend, and then I am hit.
Terrible visions fill my mind.
Doctors gathered around her bed working frantically.
Pharmacists hurridly mixing drugs right in front of me.
Her heart monitor and oxygen saturation monitor dropping…rising…dropping…dropping.
I can’t stop the nightmares from flooding in, taking over, knocking me breathless.
I try to think of happier times, but the bad images keep rushing back.
I hate that I can’t control it. I hate that these horrors hit me when I am trying so hard to focus on the positive things. I hate that I will be talking to my husband and I’ll be transported back to that day without any warning, only to realize I haven’t heard a thing my husband has said. It’s the reason why I prefer to talk on email, or text, or chat, because at least there is a transcript I can refer back to.
I don’t, for a second, regret being in the room when it all happened. I needed to be there for her, and I know that if I hadn’t, my imagination would be just as cruel.
I just wish I could control the nightmares. They’re not always at night.