Reflection: Through the Shadows of the ICU

I remember those nights — when the thin line between life and death seemed to blur before my weary eyes. In that cold ICU room, my body was a battlefield, my spirit fragile. Pain wrapped itself around me like a shroud. My heart was pounding not just from sickness, but from the crushing weight of fear and loneliness.

And then — the visions came.

Clouds inside the room, floating as if the heavens themselves had bent low to meet me. Strange faces — beings I could not name — gazing at me with unknown intent. Music, clear and haunting, like the choirs of church angels singing Alleluia, filling the sterile air with a beauty that felt out of place amidst the beeping machines and harsh fluorescent lights.

And my mother — her face emotionless, her gaze steady. She, too, was there, though I knew she could not be. Was it a dream? A hallucination from my rising creatinine? Some might say so. But I was awake. I remember. I felt it.

Perhaps when the body nears its limits, the veil between worlds becomes thin — thinner than we dare to admit. Perhaps pain opens doors the mind cannot explain. Or perhaps the soul, in its deepest suffering, reaches for comfort in unseen places.

When dialysis finally came, the visions faded. The music stopped. But in their absence, I was left with raw pain, a hollow emptiness. The body cleansed, yet the spirit plunged deeper into a sea of sadness, a full-blown depression that clung tighter than the sickness itself.

Looking back, I wonder: were those visions a warning, or a comfort? A glimpse of a realm beyond my understanding, or my mind’s desperate effort to make sense of suffering? I may never know.

But I do know this — I survived. Through the visions, the music, the unbearable nights, I endured. Though depression still shadows my steps, I remind myself: if I could withstand those nights, I can face today.

For somewhere in those strange clouds, those mysterious faces, there was also a whisper: You are not alone. Keep going.

And so I will.