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There will be times in every persons life when they find themselves sobbing at 2am and praying that no one will find them in their state of puffy, teary-eyed woe. That'd be me right now. My brave face had been nicely packed away since I'd moved back to school, and I'd almost forgotten it existed until tonight.

There's something all too real about coming home.
Seeing someone who has an illness in their own home (even if said home was your former residence) is much different than seeing someone with an illness on your own turf.

My Mom is everything to me. She is the bravest, most beautiful woman I've ever met-- and I happily embrace all of her quirks that I acquire as the years pass. But having Multiple Sclerosis, even for someone as brave and strong as my mom, is still a scary scary thing.

To her, hospital visits happen so frequently that she gauges them on a "need to call the kid" and "we'll just tell her about it later" scale.

Tonight was a "we'll just tell her about it later" night.

I didn't know anything was wrong-- my mom and I were having a lovely post-work, 1:00am chat, and she casually mentioned that she'd been in the hospital just hours before.
Another allergic reaction to a drug. They decided not to call me because it wasn't too serious-- but the tiny fact that she had to be rushed to a hospital was serious enough for me to be blindsided by my overwhelming amounts of fear.

I can't decide if her allergic reaction is scarier, or if I'm more frightened by her being so nonchalant about it.

I finally said the thing that I've avoided saying all along: I'm scared.