My mother disconnected my oxygen during surgery recovery because I refused to divorce my husband. If you won’t leave him willingly, then maybe this will convince you. Mom, what are you doing? Stop. I can’t breathe. You’re going to listen to me, Tiana. That man is ruining your life. Nurse, somebody help me. My mother disconnected my oxygen during surgery recovery because I refused to divorce my husband.
I’m Tiana, 32 years old, and I’ve been married to my husband, Patrick, for 7 years. We live in Denver, Colorado, where Patrick works as a high school history teacher, and I’m a graphic designer for a marketing agency. We have a good life together, nothing extravagant, but we’re happy. Or at least we were until my mother tried to kill me.
My mother, Gloria Hayes, has always been controlling. Growing up, she dictated everything. What I wore, who I could be friends with, what activities I could do. My father, Lawrence, died when I was 16. And after that, her control intensified. She became obsessed with my future, convinced that only she knew what was best for me.
When I met Patrick 9 years ago at a mutual friend’s wedding, I knew he was special. He’s kind, intelligent, and makes me laugh even on my worst days. He comes from a modest background. His parents are both bluecollar workers. His dad is a plumber, and his mom works at a daycare center. They’re wonderful people, salt of the earth types, who raised Patrick with strong values and genuine kindness.
Gloria hated him immediately. He wasn’t wealthy enough, prestigious enough, ambitious enough. She wanted me to marry someone from money, someone who could elevate our family status. When I told her Patrick and I were getting engaged, she actually cried. Not from joy, but from what she called disappointment and betrayal. “You’re throwing your life away on a teacher,” she’d said, her voice dripping with disdain.
“He’ll never be able to give you the life you deserve. He gives me love and respect. Mom, that’s what I deserve. Love doesn’t pay the bills. Tiana, you’re being naive. Despite her objections, Patrick and I got married. It was a small ceremony because Gloria refused to help pay for anything if Patrick was the groom. His parents contributed what they could, and we kept it intimate and beautiful.
Gloria attended, but made her displeasure known throughout the entire event, wearing black like she was at a funeral. For the first few years of our marriage, Gloria kept her distance, making snide comments whenever we saw her, but generally staying out of our lives. Then, about a year ago, I started having health problems.
I’d been experiencing severe abdominal pain and abnormal bleeding. After months of tests and doctor visits, I was diagnosed with endometriosis and large uterine fibroids. My gynecologist, Dr. for Patricia Reynolds recommended a hyerectomy. At your age and with the severity of your condition, it’s really the best option, she explained.
The fibroids are quite large and the endometriosis is advanced. You’ll need time to recover, probably 6 to 8 weeks. Patrick and I had already decided we didn’t want children, so the hyerectomy didn’t devastate us the way it might have others. We were just focused on getting me healthy. We scheduled the surgery for early November, giving us time to prepare and arrange for Patrick to take family leave from school to care for me during recovery.
When I told Gloria about the surgery, her first question wasn’t about my health. It was, “Does Patrick know this means no grandchildren? We don’t want children, Mom. We’ve always been clear about that. Every woman wants children. You’re just saying that because Patrick can’t afford them.” That’s not true. and it’s insulting to both of us.
She’d pursed her lips in that way she does when she’s plotting something. Well, this changes things. You won’t have children tying you to him. You could still leave. Find someone better. I should have seen the warning signs then. I should have known she wouldn’t let it go. The surgery was scheduled for November 8th.
It was supposed to be a routine procedure, laparoscopic if possible, but Dr. Reynolds warned me it might need to be open surgery depending on what they found. Patrick took me to the hospital at 5 in the morning, holding my hand the entire time. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promised, kissing my forehead. The surgery ended up being more complicated than expected.
The fibroids were larger than the imaging had shown, and there was significant scar tissue from the endometriosis. What should have been a 3-hour procedure turned into six. When I woke up in recovery, I was in tremendous pain, hooked up to various machines, including oxygen, because my blood oxygen levels had dropped during surgery.
I was groggy and disoriented, barely able to focus. I remember Patrick’s face hovering over mine, looking worried. Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay. The surgery went well. Just rest. I drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. At some point, I vaguely remember being moved to a regular room. The oxygen mask on my face was uncomfortable but necessary. Dr.
Reynolds had explained to Patrick that I needed to keep it on for at least 24 hours while my levels stabilized. Visiting hours were strict, two visitors at a time and no one after 8:00 p.m. except for spouses. Patrick stayed with me constantly, sleeping in the uncomfortable chair next to my bed. My mother had visited briefly that afternoon, making critical comments about the hospital and complaining that the surgery had taken so long.
They probably didn’t know what they were doing. She’d said, “You should have gone to a better hospital.” Mom, Dr. Reynolds is excellent. The surgery was complicated. If you say so. She’d looked at Patrick with undisguised contempt. I suppose you’ll be taking care of her during recovery. Of course I will, Patrick had said firmly. She’s my wife.
H we’ll see how long that dedication lasts. She’d left after that, and I’d been relieved, but I had no idea what was coming that night. No idea that my own mother was capable of something so monstrous. That night around 9:00, she came back. Patrick had gone down to the cafeteria to get some food, his first real meal since breakfast.
I was dozing, the pain medication making everything hazy. I heard the door open and assumed it was a nurse doing another check, but then I heard my mother’s voice, low and urgent. Tiana, wake up. We need to talk. I opened my eyes. She was standing next to my bed. her face hard and determined. Mom, what are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.
I told them I was your mother and there was a family emergency. They let me in. What emergency? What’s wrong? The emergency is your marriage. This surgery is your opportunity, Tiana. A fresh start. You can leave Patrick now while you’re recovering. I’ve already spoken to a divorce attorney. We can have papers drawn up by next week.
I thought I was hallucinating from the medication. What are you talking about? I’m not divorcing Patrick. Yes, you are. This has gone on long enough. 7 years you’ve wasted with that man. No children now to complicate things. You can walk away clean. I don’t want to walk away. I love him. Her face twisted with anger.
You don’t know what love is. You settled for the first man who paid attention to you. I didn’t raise you to be mediocre. Get out, Mom. I’m not having this conversation. You’re going to listen to me for once in your life. Her voice was rising. She moved closer to the bed, and that’s when I saw her hand reach for something.
The oxygen tube. Mom, don’t. She yanked the nasal canula out of my nose. I immediately felt the difference, the struggle to get enough air. My oxygen levels had been borderline, and without the supplemental oxygen, I started to panic. Put it back. I need that. You need to hear me. You’re going to divorce that worthless man or I’ll tried to reach for the call button, but she grabbed my wrist.
I was weak from surgery, in pain, and struggling to breathe. She disconnected the oxygen machine entirely and the monitor started beeping frantically. That’s when the scene from the beginning happened. If you won’t leave him willingly, then maybe this will convince you. Mom, what are you doing? Stop. I can’t breathe.
You’re going to listen to me, Tiana. That man is ruining your life. Nurse, somebody help me. I was gasping, my chest tight, vision starting to blur. The monitor was screaming now, alarms blaring. My mother’s face was contorted with rage, and I realized with horror that she was actually going to let me suffocate. The door burst open.
Two nurses rushed in, followed immediately by Patrick, who’d heard the alarms from the hallway. One nurse, whose name tag read Angela, pushed my mother aside and immediately reconnected my oxygen, while the other, Terrence, checked my vitals. “What happened?” Angela demanded, her hands working quickly. She pulled out her oxygen.
I gasped, pointing at my mother. Patrick looked at Gloria in shock. What did you do? I was trying to talk sense into her. She wouldn’t listen. You disconnected her oxygen? Are you insane? He turned to the nurses. She deliberately removed the oxygen equipment. Terrence was already on the phone calling security.
Angela was focused on me checking my oxygen saturation levels which had dropped dangerously low down to 78%. Normal is 95 to 100. Mrs. Lawson, your levels dropped critically. You could have gone into respiratory failure. She looked at my mother with disgust. What were you thinking? I’m her mother. I have a right.
You have no right to interfere with medical equipment. Angela was furious. You could have killed her. Security arrived within minutes. Two officers, a man named Officer Bradford and a woman named Officer Sullivan, took statements from everyone. Patrick explained what he’d heard when he arrived. The nurses described what they’d found, and I told them, struggling to speak, what my mother had done. Gloria tried to downplay it.
It was an accident. I was adjusting her blankets and must have bumped the tube. “That’s a lie,” I said, my voice weak but firm. “She pulled it out on purpose. She was trying to force me to agree to divorce my husband.” Officer Bradford looked at Gloria with barely concealed revulsion. “Ma’am, you’re going to need to come with us.
This is ridiculous. She’s my daughter. I would never hurt her.” You literally just disconnected her oxygen, officer Sullivan said flatly. That’s assault at minimum. Possibly attempted murder given her postsurgical condition. They escorted her out while she screamed about persecution and ungrateful children.
The hospital administrator, Mr. Thompson, came to my room to apologize and assure me that additional security measures would be put in place. Gloria was banned from the hospital property immediately. Dr. Reynolds came in to check on me, looking shaken. Tiana, I’m so sorry this happened. We’re monitoring you very closely now.
Your oxygen levels are coming back up, but that drop was dangerous. You’re going to be okay, but you’ll need to stay an extra day for observation. Patrick sat next to my bed, holding my hand, tears streaming down his face. I almost lost you. If I’d been gone one more minute, I’m okay. I’m here. Your mother tried to kill you, Tiana, over our marriage.
She actually tried to kill you. The reality of it hit me then. My mother had been willing to let me die rather than accept my choices. It was so extreme, so unhinged that I couldn’t process it. The police came back the next morning to get a formal statement. Detective Harrison, who’d been assigned to the case, was thorough and professional. Mrs.
Lawson, I need to know everything that happened from the beginning of your mother’s visit. I told him everything. her demand that I divorce Patrick, her anger when I refused, the deliberate disconnection of my oxygen. The hospital security footage corroborated my account, showing Gloria entering the room, the machine’s alarm systems triggering, and her being escorted out by security.
We’re charging her with assault and reckless endangerment, Detective Harrison said. Given your postsurgical vulnerability and the medical necessity of the oxygen, the DA may pursue attempted murder charges. Attempted murder, Patrick repeated, stunned. She knowingly removed lifeup supporting medical equipment from a patient in critical recovery.
She was told to stop and refused. That demonstrates intent to harm. The DA will make the final decision on charges. Over the next few days, as I recovered in the hospital, the full extent of what my mother had done became clear. She’d told the nurse at the desk that I’d specifically requested to see her, which was why they’d let her in after visiting hours.
She’d planned this confrontation, believing she could pressure me when I was weak and vulnerable. The hospital’s patient advocate, Mrs. Fitzgerald, helped us file a formal complaint. This is one of the most egregious violations of patient safety I’ve encountered. She said, “Your mother exploited her relationship to gain access and then deliberately endangered your life.
The hospital is taking this very seriously.” My mother was formally charged with aggravated assault and reckless endangerment. The attempted murder charge wasn’t pursued, but the assault charge was serious enough. She was released on bail with a restraining order prohibiting her from coming within 500 ft of me, Patrick, or our home.
She immediately started calling family members, spinning a story about how I’d overreacted, how it was all a misunderstanding, how Patrick had brainwashed me against her. Some relatives believed her initially, but when the police report became available through public records, the truth was undeniable.
And my aunt Stephanie, Gloria’s younger sister, called me in tears. Tiana, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Gloria did this. I knew she disapproved of your marriage, but to actually hurt you, that’s beyond anything I could have imagined. My cousin Brandon visited me during recovery at home and was appalled. Your mom always seemed intense, but this is psychotic. You could have died.
Not everyone was supportive, though. Gloria’s best friend, a woman named Diane, called to lecture me about respecting my mother. She raised you alone after your father died, and this is how you repay her, having her arrested. She tried to kill me, Diane. She was emotional. You’re her only child.
Can’t you understand her desperation? Diane huffed and hung up. A few of Gloria’s other friends took her side, painting me as an ungrateful daughter who’d chosen a man over her mother. But most people, once they knew the full story, were horrified by what she’d done. The legal process was slow and painful.
Gloria pleaded not guilty, claiming I’d misunderstood her intentions and that she’d accidentally bumped the oxygen equipment. Her lawyer tried to paint her as a concerned mother who’d made a mistake in a moment of worry. The prosecutor, Ms. Washington, wasn’t buying it. The evidence is clear. Security footage shows deliberate action, not an accident.
Multiple witnesses heard her admit to disconnecting the oxygen to force a conversation about divorce. This was intentional. The case was heading to trial, and I knew I’d have to relive that terrifying night in front of strangers, a jury, and my mother herself. The trial began in March, 4 months after the incident.
I had to testify, recounting the whole horrible experience. Patrick testified about what he’d heard and seen. Nurses Angela and Terrence testified about the condition they’d found me in and what my mother had said. The security footage was played showing everything. Gloria’s lawyer tried to argue that she’d been temporarily insane with worry about her daughter’s surgery, but the prosecutor pointed out that she’d planned this visit, lied to hospital staff to gain access, and only removed the oxygen after I refused to divorce Patrick.
“This wasn’t a moment of panic,” Ms. Washington stated firmly. “This was a calculated attempt to coersse her daughter through medical endangerment. I sat in that courtroom and watched my mother show no remorse. She glared at me like I was the one who’ done something wrong. Even facing criminal charges, she couldn’t admit that what she’d done was monstrous.
The jury deliberated for 6 hours. They found her guilty of aggravated assault and reckless endangerment. The judge, a stern woman named Judge Anderson, was harsh in her sentencing remarks. Ms. Hayes, you violated the most fundamental duty of a parent to protect your child. Instead, you deliberately endangered her life in pursuit of controlling her personal choices.
You exploited your position as her mother to gain access to her in a vulnerable state, then used that access to harm. This court finds your actions reprehensible and deserving of significant consequences. Gloria was sentenced to 3 years in prison with two years probation after release. She was also ordered to undergo psychological evaluation and treatment and the restraining order was extended for 5 years postrelease.
She screamed in the courtroom. This is because of him. That man poisoned you against me. I’m your mother. You stopped being my mother when you tried to kill me. I said quietly. The baiffs led her away. still screaming, Patrick held me while I cried, not from sadness, but from release. Years of control, of manipulation, of being made to feel inadequate for my choices.
All of it was finally over. My recovery from surgery took the full 8 weeks Dr. Reynolds had predicted. Patrick took care of me the entire time, gentle and patient, never once complaining. His parents visited often, bringing casserles and homemade chicken noodle soup, keeping me company. My aunt Stephanie and cousin Brandon checked in regularly.
We built a support system of people who actually cared about me, not about controlling me. Gloria’s friends slowly stopped calling. Diane sent one last message saying I’d destroyed a good woman’s life, but I blocked her. Anyone who thinks disconnecting someone’s oxygen is forgivable isn’t someone I need in my life.
It’s been 5 months since the incident. I’m fully recovered physically, though I still have nightmares sometimes about not being able to breathe. I’m in therapy, working through the trauma of having a parent literally try to kill me. Patrick and I are stronger than ever, our relationship having survived the ultimate test. We went out for dinner last week to our favorite Italian restaurant, Bella Vista, and for the first time in months, I felt truly free.
Gloria writes letters from prison that I return unopened. She’ll be eligible for parole in 18 months, but I’ve already prepared a statement opposing it. Even if she’s released, the restraining order will keep her away from us. Some people think I should forgive her eventually, that she’s my mother and deserves another chance. Patrick’s colleague at Denver West High School, a teacher named Mr.
Peton, actually approached him about it. Family is family, he’d said. Maybe she just needs help. She was probably having a mental health crisis. Patrick had been diplomatic, but firm. She planned the whole thing. She lied to get access to Tiana after visiting hours. She disconnected medical equipment while Tiana begged her to stop.
That’s not a mental health crisis. That’s attempted murder. I appreciate that Patrick always defends me, even when others think I’m being too harsh. But here’s what people don’t understand. Forgiveness doesn’t mean allowing someone who tried to kill you back into your life. It means releasing the anger so it doesn’t consume you while still maintaining boundaries that keep you safe.
My therapist, Dr. Nuen, has helped me work through this. You can acknowledge that your mother is sick and needs help while also acknowledging that she’s dangerous to you. Those two things can both be true. I’ve come to accept that the woman who raised me and the woman who tried to suffocate me in that hospital room are the same person.
The control issues, the manipulation, the inability to accept my autonomy, those were always there. They just escalated to a horrifying extreme. Last month, Patrick and I drove to Rocky Mountain National Park for a weekend getaway. We hiked the trails, ate takeout from Chipotle in our hotel room, and talked about our future.
We’re thinking about adopting a dog, maybe a golden retriever. We’re planning a trip to Seattle next summer to visit Patrick’s college roommate. We’re building a life that’s ours without the shadow of Gloria’s disapproval hanging over us. My aunt Stephanie hosts Sunday dinners now and Patrick’s parents join us.
We’ve created our own family, one based on love and respect, not control and conditions. Patrick’s mom, Helen, brings her famous apple pie every time, and his dad, Walter, tells the same dad jokes that make everyone groan and laugh simultaneously. This is what family should feel like. I still think about that night in the hospital sometimes.
The feeling of not being able to breathe, the panic, the realization that my own mother was willing to watch me die. But I also think about Patrick bursting through that door, about Angela reconnecting my oxygen, about all the people who stood up for me when it mattered.
