When I woke up, it felt like being underwater.
That was the first sensation. Pressure. Sound warped and distant. Light too sharp. Then came the dryness in my mouth, the ache in my chest, and the steady beeping that told me I was in a hospital before I could even focus my eyes.
A nurse noticed and rushed in. She said my name, asked if I could hear her, then explained where I was.
St. Francis Hospital. ICU. Diabetic ketoacidosis. Severe dehydration. Critical blood chemistry when I arrived. They had stabilized me, but I had been unconscious long enough that they were still monitoring me closely.
I tried to speak but could barely whisper.
“Mom?” I asked.
The nurse’s expression shifted just slightly—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me.
“She’s here,” the nurse said. “Do you want her in the room?”
That question told me everything.
Because no one asks a teenager in the ICU if they want their mother unless something has already gone wrong.
