At the end (well, multiple ends, but I’ll let that one go) of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings epic, Frodo mentions he feels the pain of the wound on the anniversary of the attack, and he suffers from recurring weakness and shadows of fear tied to the traumatic events he endured. On one hand, I understand it was a way of framing PTSD and trauma recovery at a time when it was just called “shell-shock”.
But it always struck me – in my youth – as unrealistic. I’d think “oh, get over it already!”
And ever year around April since my 2021 visit to the hospital for COVID-19 complications (with free ICU tour!) I get a little…jumpy. I know a part of me was changed by those events. I am over it. I am. Yet there’s a little voice in my head that whispers:
Hey, remember fun times in ICU? 2 second breaths? Wow, we could have died! We were in the ICU! Death! DEATHDEATHDEATH. Maybe you’re dying in that ICU and all this is a final dream before dying.
Perhaps, like Frodo, we all have our scars from our own personal and invisible wars; we all carry map fragments of trauma. The difference? He had wizards. I have dark humor and surprisingly persistent lung capacity. Now if I could just stop the voice of Granpa Simpson saying “Deeeeath!” in my head for the rest of the day, that’d be swell.