Another Mother

My brain was on autopilot, answering the doctor’s questions while ignoring my peripheral vision, which was seeing images I didn’t want to process.

The white-coated orderlies. Brightly lit hallways with gated windows. The locked door behind me.

From somewhere down the hall a wail echoed in my consciousness. A keening sound, painful and piercing.

I tried to tune it out. To focus on what was right in front of me. I was here. Had to be here for my son’s sake. But mothers shouldn’t be standing next to their firstborn sons talking about hallucinations and disassociated reality.