To shield yourself

In the winter of 2013, I fell into a real hell, the name of which is the child's illness. My two-year-old daughter and I were taken by ambulance to a children's hospital with a preliminary diagnosis of acute respiratory viral infections. What kind of acute respiratory viral infection is it for such a mother if my child was ill in a way that never happens with common diseases of this kind! Doctors, may they hiccup in the next world, did not listen to me, saying that they know better how to treat, and unbalanced mothers should not interfere.

Yes, it was hell, without a doubt. For three days, my daughter slept almost without waking up, just to take medicine or get an injection. She was slowly falling into a coma. I couldn't sleep or eat for three days. I just sat there, hugging the baby, crying and praying. During this time, I lost 8 kilograms, both temples turned gray; I looked like a not very fresh corpse. Then something happened, which is why I stormed into the resident's room, cursed all the doctors there and demanded to immediately take my daughter for an X-ray and finally start treating her normally. The diagnosis was disappointing: pneumonia on the right in the lower lobe. The most vile type of this disease is not monitored with a stethoscope and is practically not detected by a blood test. Thank God, everything worked out — the ivs and antibiotics did their job, my daughter got better and a week later she was already playing in the hospital corridors with other children, eating with an appetite and reluctantly going to bed.

What happened then, on the third day of our stay in the hospital, became my worst memory. Having not slept for more than two days, I fell into a strange stupor, half asleep, half awake. In this state, lying on the edge of the bed and habitually hugging my daughter, I saw a dark shadow waving near us, going up to the ceiling. It's strange, because I left the night light on, and now it was dark in the room. I felt a chill of fear, I couldn't move, looking at the dark anthropomorphic figure. She seemed to be wearing a hood, along which faces were constantly changing, flowing into one another. The many-faced trash stretched out its paws to my daughter! Dark, tentacle-like appendages were moving half a meter from the bed when rage replaced fear. "I won't give it back!I croaked, rolling over with an effort and covering the baby with myself. There was only one thing in my head: to hide her, to hide her, to prevent the demon who came from the darkness from taking her away from me. Something cold and burning touched my back, tracing paths on my shoulder blade. Unbearable pain twisted my body, I screamed and jerked...

The ward was flooded with the soft light of a bedside lamp. The dark essence is gone, dissolved. I won.

Two weeks later, we were discharged home. My daughter made a full recovery, but my condition was only getting worse. I was plagued by a constant, exhausting cough, and no medications helped. I've had a lot of tests, gone to all the doctors, to no avail. There was only one thing left: I went to an oncologist to donate blood for cancer markers. The result should come in a few days, although I probably already know what it will be...

I have no fear for the future. Lately, I've been looking at the thin, barely noticeable lines of scars on my shoulder blade in the mirror more and more often, and I'm thinking. I think that on that fateful night, I shielded my child from an unknown dark creature, saved the person most dear to me. It's probably worth my life.