Page 73 of Simmer Down
She says she’ll be back to check on her later in the evening. I walk back into the room, confusion hanging over me like a damp fog as I focus my eyes back on Mom.
The door squeaks shut behind me, jolting her awake. She squints at me, then pushes herself up onto the pillows. “Anak. Hi.”
I stand at the head of her bed, balling my hands into loose fists. Sadness has flipped to frustration. How could my own mother keep her health problems a secret from me?
Her brow furrows when she focuses on my face. “What’s wrong?”
I shove a fist through my hair and tug. The split second of pain does nothing to dispel the frustration mowing over my insides. I wring both hands at my sides before folding them across my chest. I can’t get angry, though, not when my mom is lying in a hospital bed.
“Were you ever planning to tell me about your diabetes diagnosis?” It’s a struggle to keep my tone calm, but I manage.
“Eventually.” She shrugs, like it’s no big deal she’s been hiding a major medical issue from her own daughter.
I swallow, willing myself to remain measured and steady. “Don’t you think it’s important that I know?”
Glancing down, she smooths the bedsheet with her hand. “My health is none of your business.”
The scoff I let out is almost as loud as my voice. “Seriously? You are so out of line with this.” My hard tone ricochets against the hospital room walls. I deserve to know why the hell I was kept in the dark. “How long have you had diabetes? Why have I never seen you take your meds or check your blood sugar? And why the hell did you never tell me?”
I take a breath, but it does nothing to calm me. “And like hell it’s none of my business. I’m your daughter. It’s my job to take care of you. How am I supposed to do that if you keep your health a secret from me?”
She pushes the blanket off her chest and crosses her arms. The movement reminds me of a child who doesn’t want to go to bed yet. It’s fitting though. This moment is a role reversal for the record books. Here I am standing over my mom, scolding her for doing something unbelievably careless that could have cost her her life. She’s handling it about as well as I did as a kid when she or Dad lectured me.
“Okay, maybe I should have told you, but I didn’t want to worry you. I saw how upset you were after we lost your dad. I saw how you turned your life upside down for him, for me. I didn’t want to put you through that again.”
I toss my hands in front of me. “Mom. You can’t hide your health problems from me because of Dad. He would have freaked if he found out you were hiding this.”
She sighs, an ounce of defiance melting from her face. “You’re right about that. But I just didn’t want to worry you. You already do so much for me.”
I pause for another deep breath. “From now on, you need to be truthful about everything.”
“Fine.” She scratches her elbow. “I was diagnosed just after your dad died. I didn’t want to add to the bad news, so I kept it to myself. I take my meds in my bedroom so you don’t see. I check my blood sugar in the bathroom and my bedroom so it’s not in front of you. And I’m very careful with my diet. You see that I don’t eat junk food very often?”
I nod my head, biting my tongue to avoid another outburst. But I’m struggling to grasp the fact that for more than a year and a half, she kept this a secret from me.
“My doctor even said that if I continue doing well with my diet and exercise for a few more months, I might be able to go off my meds.”
“Fine, Mom, yes. You’re a healthy eater and that’s great your doctor thinks that. But God, what if you had collapsed in front of me and the medical staff asked me if you were taking any medications? Or what if they asked me what illnesses you had? I wouldn’t have been able to give them the right answer to any of that. That’s so unbelievably dangerous. Don’t you get that?”
“I admit, it wasn’t the best idea, but you try to control every part of our lives ever since your dad died. It gets tiring after a while.”
I scoff, my jaw on the floor. “I’m not trying to control anything. I put limits on certain things you do because if I don’t you’ll drive yourself into the ground. And look: I was right. You keep me in the dark about your diabetes, you hide your health problems from me, and see what happens? You end up in the hospital.”
“Nicole Elise DiMarco, I may have made a mistake, but I’m stillyour mother. You don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” She wags her finger up at me. “You don’t know better than me about everything.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe just because I’m your daughter doesn’t automatically mean you always know best. Maybe you should listen to me. Maybe you should be open and honest with me about your health. Is that too much to ask?”
“Open and honest, Nikki? Really?” Turning her head toward the window, she says nothing for nearly a minute. I don’t either. The silence is louder than when I was nearly shouting a minute ago.
She finally turns back, her dark eyes on mine, her voice steady. “I know you mean well. But it’s just too much sometimes. It made me not want to tell you certain things. I was afraid I would stress you out even more if I told you about my health problems. I know it was wrong of me to hide it from you, but I didn’t want you to worry about me even more. You moved here for me. You gave up your job, your friends, your life in Oregon, your dreams to help me. I feel like such a burden on you sometimes.” Her eyes glisten under the overhead lights. “I’ve brought so much worry to your life. I didn’t want to add more.”
Bracing my hands on the railings of the bed, I lean down to her. For the past year and a half I thought I did such a good job making it seem like I was happy here, all the while hiding the constant strain of trying to make a life and a living.
I open my mouth and contemplate saying that she’s mistaken, that every day is a joy, that I don’t worry nearly as much as she thinks I do, that she’s wrong to think otherwise. But when I focus on her stare, I can’t lie. Not anymore. She knew all along that I never wanted to be here in the first place.
I opt for a sanitized version of the truth. “Mom. I’m here now. I don’t want to be anywhere else, because you are my priority.”
I let out a slow exhale, relieved that my voice sounds as calm as I hoped it would. I pat her hand. “I’m going to get a coffee. I’ll be right back.”
