Delirious. Daniel James Palmer

      It was too late. Soon as he unclenched his eyes, he saw that his mother had miraculously shifted position. It was a startling sight, because he knew it was an impossible one as well. She had turned her head and was now facing him. Her eyes, shuttered before, were open wide and golden yellow, like those of a wolf. He could smell her, too, a sharp and pungent odor, as though she had been bathed in some medicinal antiseptic. The stench filled his nostrils and made him gag. The noise of her ventilator rose, too, in a crescendo so deafening Joe had to cover his ears.

      His mother’s mouth, framed by thin lips that were cracked and raw, somehow had been freed from the repressive oxygen mask. As she began to speak, all color in the room faded to shades of gray, except for her eyes, which stayed that disturbing yellow.

      “Help me,” his mother wheezed in a breathy whisper. “Pleeaassse, Joe. Help me.”

      His mother’s bony, veined hand reached out from her hospital bed and touched Joe on the leg. He leapt to his feet, startling the nurse standing behind him, who in turn cried out in fright. With a shake of his head, Joe made a furtive glance about the room, relieved but also saddened to see his mother’s gaze as it had been before, fixed to the ceiling, her eyes again closed, the oxygen mask back in place.

      It was a dream perhaps, he thought. Maybe he had fallen asleep and had a dream, nothing more. But it could be more. It could be the enemy, the schizophrenia that had plagued his adult years creeping up on him, craftily beating back the drugs, which formed only part of his defenses.

      Schizophrenia.

      Joe settled himself back onto the vinyl-covered armchair. His breathing grew shallower and more rapid. The nurse came around to face him. She kneeled low, perhaps to make her presence less threatening.

      “Are you okay?” she asked.

      She touched him on his knee, and this time Joe did not flinch. He nodded that he was fine, but did not feel ready to speak.

      “You gave me quite a fright,” the nurse said.

      Joe knew better than to ask if she had seen his mother open her eyes or heard her speak to him. Whether it was a dream or a waking nightmare, the moment was his alone to experience. If it was the schizophrenia baring its teeth, Joe reminded himself that it was simply a chemical reaction in his brain, something to do with too much dopamine in the nerve cell synapses and D2 receptors, or so he’d been told.

      Despite the nurse’s continued attempts to reassure him, Joe still felt ill at ease. He wasn’t sure if he had been dreaming or not, and decided the experience might make for an interesting post on his blog, the aptly titled Divided Mind, taken from the Greek roots of schizophrenia. Comparing dreams to a schizophrenic episode would get his readers chatting, Joe suspected.

      Over the years Joe’s blog had garnered a loyal readership, and its popularity had been growing steadily among mental health patients and professionals alike. There was a powerful sense of community that Joe had unwittingly tapped into with his entertaining, often self-deprecating prose. Heart-rending comments from readers claiming their lives had been changed in positive ways because of Joe’s informal community motivated him to keep updating the blog regularly. It was as healing for Joe to write and interact with his virtual friends as it was for them to read and interact with each other. He felt he needed them now more than ever.

      “When will she wake up?” Joe asked the nurse.

      “I don’t know,” the nurse replied. “You must be tired.”

      “A little. I’m more afraid of what will happen to Mom.”

      “Of course you are. I understand.”

      No, you don’t understand, Joe wanted to say. I need her more than you can imagine. Instead, he kept silent.

      “Would you like me to get you a drink of water?”

      “That would be nice,” Joe said.

      After she left the room, Joe reached out to take hold of his mother’s limp hand. Intellectually, he knew her hand was cold and clammy to the touch, but at that moment it felt as warm as an August sun.