I walked down the old, wooden stairs of my university apartment into the cool, damp spring morning on my way to the bus stop. The clouds were grey, but there were a few colorful flowers peeking out of the muddy ground lending a sprinkle of hope to the dismal day. I was heading to a computer lab to do some of my homework, as it was a Sunday morning and there were no classes to attend. I had been invited to a barbeque for dinner at one of my friend’s houses to celebrate my birthday, so I wanted to get as far ahead on my school work as possible.

I had met this group of friends my first year in college while living in the dorms. Among other things, we would often hang out in the dorm common areas playing pool and poker together. The poker games I played in were never for more than pennies, as I had the most awful poker face. My emotions were displayed for all the world to see, and jubilant giggles would always erupt out, unbidden, at the strategically worst times. We were only playing for fun then, and the camaraderie and friendship were what we really all gathered to share. I suspected poker would be one of the past times available at the barbeque tonight, if I chose to play.

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket while I navigated the sidewalk along the road, nimbly side-stepping the puddles in the cracked and uneven concrete. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone to listen to the most recent message. It was my stepdad. My mom was asking to see me in the hospital again. I sighed sorrowfully, as I knew that my plans for that day would have to be changed.

I dialed my stepdad to arrange for the forty-minute ride back to my home town so I could visit my mom in the hospital. It was always heartbreaking to visit her. She had been in the ICU for months, so it was impossible to stay nearby 100% of the time while taking full time classes in college, even though that’s what I wanted to do. The doctors had given her a 5% chance of survival, at best. I had already stepped down, temporarily, from my lead position on the NASA C-9 microgravity team and had passed on a dream internship opportunity at Lockheed Martin in Sunny Vale, California to be close to her while she was still in this world.

Her memory at this point had been addled either by the drugs she was taking or the persistent, sky-high fever that she had. She believed, without a doubt in her mind, that she was locked in a garage with the Queen of Hearts, and her children had been taken away from her. The even bigger twist was that her mind had transported her back to when my two brothers and I were young kids. So even when she asked for us and we came to visit, she would never recognize us, tell us fervently that we weren’t her children, and lament that she wanted to see her children. I knew this time would be no different, but it was a Sunday and coming down wasn’t all that difficult.

I walked cautiously into the ICU room that she had been occupying for so long. The smell of strange medicines and cleaning solutions bombarded my nose as I took in the heart-wrenching picture before me once more. No matter how many times that I walked into the room, my eyes still stung with tears and my heart leapt into my throat. A pale stream of light peeked into the dim room through the seam of the closed curtains, illuminating my mother’s body. She was hooked up to numerous IV bags on rollers surrounding the bed with needles poking into her everywhere. Her dark hair was matted with sweat around her gaunt face while the rest of her body was covered with the white, sheet-like garment hospital patients wear.

Only two people were allowed in the ICU room at a time, so I went to sit next to my youngest brother at a table where people placed their “Get Well Soon!” flowers and cards. Their bright colors and well wishes seemed dreadfully out of place, even slightly obnoxious, in the melancholy of this room. She turned in our direction, and she called for me again in a cracked and strained voice that sounded nothing like my mother’s. It had morphed as completely as her appearance had on this hospital bed.

I slid over in my chair to her bedside and gingerly touched my hand to hers, carefully, so as not to disturb the IV lodged into her vein. I noticed that her skin was yellowing around the needle itself and cringed slightly. When I looked up to her eyes, I could see her face was beginning to sallow as well. She bombarded me with questions at this point, pleading desperately, “Who are you? Where am I? What day is it? How did I get here?”

I put on my best smiley face and replied as simply as I could, “I am your daughter, Theresa. Today is my 21st birthday, and I wanted to spend it with you. You are in a hospital room right now.”

She looked down to her hand and across her sickly body. I could see the panic begin to overtake her facial features as she absorbed the sight. She spoke terrified words in a low groan, “But I was just at home… What happened? When will I get better? I want to go home! I don’t feel well.” She paused her panicked rant briefly before looking straight into my eyes with tears filling her own. Red and blue veins began to appear near her frightened, bloodshot eyes. She clenched my hand in hers and choked out the words, “Help me… I’m scared.” Everything inside me froze for a moment as my heart pounded against my chest attempting to escape. I analyzed the situation and the options I had in those brief moments, and I knew what I had to do. I had to try.

I put on the most reassuring smile that I could muster and said with the utmost confidence, “You’ll be fine soon. The doctor’s say you’ll be out of here in a day or two so long as you keep your spirits up and keep following the directions of the nurses. No need to be scared, they are taking good care of you. You get some rest now, and you should feel better when you wake up.” I saw the fear abate slightly in her eyes before she told me that she was tired, and sleep sounded like a good idea. I nodded my approval, and her hand unclenched mine as her eyes closed into what I hoped to be a peaceful rest. I turned back to look at the reddened face of my brother, and instantly all the tears and fears that I had been holding back washed over me.
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Sometime in the next few days, I was back at college and received another message from my stepdad. Miracle among miracles, my mother had taken a turn for the better. This was the first sign of progression that we had seen yet. I nearly dropped the phone in amazement. Somewhere inside of me, I must have been resigned to the fact that I was going to lose her, but at the end of that message, I was able to let that weight go. I was able to hope again. I was able to believe. I don’t know if it was because the medicine that they had been given her began working or if it was just a strange coincidence, but a part of me likes to think that in those brief moments of conversation I had with her, I gave her the hope, belief, and will to live that she needed. I will never truly know, but that is the day I like to believe that I played poker with death… and won.

Copyright © 2017 by Theresa Biehle