PTSD

Some days the grief is overwhelming. Some days I can smell the antibacterial sanitizer I put on my hands before, feel the rubber gloves slipping on, and remember the hot breath behind my medical mask as I entered her room every day for a week. Some days I can see her swollen body, remember rubbing lotion on her dry skin, and making sure her feet were warm and that her hair was brushed. Some days I can hear the machine breathing for her, the various machines beeping, the distance announcements, and the blood pressure cuff tightening and releasing. Some days I get trapped in her last day and can see her last 4 minutes vividly. Like I’ve been transported there again. The 4 minutes between when they took her off the machine and her death. The 4 minutes from when she was here and then...wasn’t. Some days I so clearly see her last breath that I wish I could physically beat the memory out of my mind. I wish I could forget the smells, and the sounds, and those last moments or maybe I don’t want to forget completely but rather wish I didn’t have to “re-live” I was recently diagnosed with PTSD. I didn’t know I had it. In fact, I didn’t know it was even possible for someone like me to have it. I thought that term was reserved for war veterans, rape victims, or others that experienced way worse than I have. But as the months go on the grief gets worse, the nightmares wake me in a cold sweat, and the flashbacks to that day take me out of my current reality to the point where I have to yell “no! No ! No!” to come back. When I finally realized I was dealing with something more than grief it was terrifying, but also incredibly liberating and relieving. It all made sense. I want to shout it to the universe so it starts to take it’s power away. I want everyone to know because I’m tired of appearing “whole” all the time. I want to turn these moments into memories and just that. And finally move forward...