my head is gonna explode.
So I've not written on this since 2005 which is crazy, but my head is a mess and my friend suggested writing. So I thought I would give this a go and see where I end up with it. I doubt anyone will actually read it but that's not really the point of it. I just want to get my thoughts down to maybe explain why I am the way I am. So here goes nothing, this is my sad and sorry tale.
A month or so before my 25th birthday in 2009, my mum started to feel unwell. This worried me more than usual because normally, God love her she was a bit of a hypochondriac. So usually I would have just dismissed it. But this time, I had had a dream that my mum had lung cancer a few weeks previously and couldn't get it out my head. As soon as I heard my mum was ill I told my boyfriend I thought she had cancer and he actually fell out with me for saying something so horrible.
Skip forward a few dozen tests and the week before my birthday the worst was confirmed. My mum actually did have lung cancer. I remember the call vividly. It was early-ish in the morning and I awake as I had been all the previous night. I didn't have the energy to get up so I was lying in bed waiting to find out the test results. My brother called. He said "Its not good" and I said "ok" Then he said "Its cancer." I made my excuses and hung up shortly after. I remember not being shocked because I was already so sure. I think if it hadn't been cancer I'd have fainted. I shed a few tears but nothing significant. I had imagined I would break down in a sobbing heap but I was weirdly calm.
At this point Paul (my boyfriend) rolled out of bed and left the flat. I had no idea where he went and I remember being totally pissed off until he re-appeared 15 minutes later with a litre of rum and the words "Its drinkin' time" Drowning my sorrows seemed like a good idea but I just couldn't do it. I think I maybe had 2 or 3 drinks the whole day. I was numb. I remember repeating the phrase "I have to go home" a few times because the only conscious thought I had was if my mum was sick, I was going to take care of her. I didn't see this as a choice. It was just a fact.
A week later on the 7th of April my 25th birthday, my mum had her first consultation with her oncologist. I spent the whole morning at the hospital with my mum and my sis. We had a plan, we waited until the doc had outlined the chemo and radiation treatment dates, then my sis got my mum out of the way so I could ask the "science questions." Thank God my mum knew how much of a geek I am and didn't even think to question it. My real goal was to ask questions like "Whats the real prognosis?" and "How long does she have?" Dr Mareshi my mums oncologist was HOT! In a way where he wasn't actually that good looking, in fact he was average. But he radiated "I'm a Doctor curing cancer" from every pore. It was like a glow of pure goodness surrounded him and he was sweet and lovely. I remember almost giggling a few times cos I kept thinking of that Billy Connolly phrase "he had the aura, aw roon" and he did.
When he heard it was my birthday from my mum, the look of sympathy he gave me almost melted me into a puddle. It was the purest look I think I've ever given in my life. It wasn't patronizing or condescending or even worse he wasn't trying to stare tears from me. It was just a pure, sweet look of concern. Unfortunately what he had to say to me wasn't so sweet. Small Cell Lung Cancer is a Demon. There are 2 stages. I wont get technical but stage one was bad enough, my mum was borderline stage 2. Either way there was no cure. The fact that she wasn't full blown stage 2 was the only reason they were even considering chemo and radiation to "ease symptoms and give her more time." How much time? Well 5% of small cell lung cancer patients make it to 5 years. As far as the doctor was concerned my mum wasn't a part of this 5%.
I asked him to be blunt with me because I needed facts to deal with it. He told me she would have a year. I had turned 25 and been told my mum had a year to live if she was lucky. It wasn't even lunchtime. How I composed my face to walk out of that office and face my mum is something I will never know. It's an inner strength I didn't know I possessed and today I couldn't summon it willingly for love nor money! But I knew my mum. If she was told to her face how bad the prognosis was, she would lose hope and give in, and she needed to fight, I needed as long as I could get with her. (deep down I think she knew, but I sure as hell wasn't going to confirm it for her) So I plastered a smile on my face and joked about how the hot doctor fancied me and how I was going to pretend I was feeling faint and swoon at his feet. Maybe get some mouth to mouth! Thankfully my mum thought he was hot too (LOL) and that gave us the conversation to make it home.
When I got home, I then had the fun job of telling everyone the truth whilst "enjoying" my birthday. I don't remember much of that afternoon. I do remember she wrote in my birthday card "hope you have a great day" even though she knew that she was going to the hospital with me to be told how long she had left to live. I sobbed at the thought of that later. I remember going out to the pub in the evening for my birthday drinks and it being the most depressing night ever. Paul had a face like he had been told that he had cancer. In my weird numb daze I never really considered that he had feelings too. And that he loved my mum and was trying to deal with things. I was just pissed that he couldn't try and crack a smile or try to cheer me up. I remember I went to my sisters with alcohol cos Pauls devastated face was making me angry.(I realise this makes me a selfish harsh cow but it's how I was feeling) He went to sleep in the spare room whilst I got drunk with my sis. Fair to say My 25th is not up there with my best birthdays ever. Unfortunately it was pretty much a downward spiral from there.
Don't know how much detail I will go into about her illness. But the doc was spot on about how long she had left. She got 1 year and 15 days from the day of my 25th birthday. It was a year filled with more misery and joy than Ive ever experienced before or since. Horrifying doesnt cover the bad parts but it wasn't all bad. My mum was so brave and dignified through a horrible and torturous death. She died at 2pm on the 22nd of April 2010. I was holding her hand and watched her take her last breath. Now I am still trying to cope with the fact I will never see her again, I will never hear any more of her random wisdom. Small pieces of advice that I took for granted. Who do I call with silly questions like "how do you sew on a button?"
{this next part I wrote previously in the June just after she died but it seems to tie into this and is relevant so I'll add it in}
I still don't know how I feel...immeasurably sad, relieved, guilty, afraid, alone, angry, hurt, pointless...
I miss my mum everyday, I don't know what grieving is supposed to feel like but I don't think its like this. I am calm most of the time. I think people think I am heartless. They stare at me like they are trying to stare tears out of me. Like they are willing me to crack up. I always thought I would. But I seem to have calmly accepted it. My mum died. If I keep saying it maybe it will sink in! I don't know if it's because I lost her in stages, and grieved each stage as she wasted away in front of me or if its because I'm still numb from shock.
Sometimes I feel like she is sending me a message. For example, the book I am reading right now is called Ursula Under by Ingrid Hill. I am enjoying it but there are loads of things in it that are very personal to me, as if someone has been listening to me for 2 months and weaved everything I have said or thought into this random story. The last 2 days of my mums life when she was struggling to breathe and hold on I had a phrase that kept going through my head. It was "Eloi Eloi Lama Sabachthani" which is Aramaic. It was meant to be some of Jesus last words on the cross and means "My God My God why have you forsaken me?" Which more people will recognise. But I had the Aramaic version in my head. The reason I know this at all, is that my mum was a devout catholic and I understand that I was thinking her God had abandoned her.
But this phrase (which I don't think is very common) was in my book in Aramaic, along with my mums favourite song (Sting Fields of Gold) and references to Julia Child whom I had never even heard of until two weeks ago. Along with various references to the way my mum died. I wish I could explain it better but now that I'm trying to think of examples they are all gone. The way the author talks about death and ancestry as well. I am at a loss to explain how much its freaking me out because I cant think of enough examples. But its true the more I notice the coincidences and parallels the more they happen.
{this is me writing from today again}
So I still feel a lot like this today. Like I haven't grieved and I don't know how to. I also, for the first time in my life feel like you die and that is it. I never, ever thought that before. Its a hard concept to deal with for anyone I imagine. But I always had some belief that a part of you moves on, not necessarily in a religious way. But that even in a physics "everything is energy" kind of way. I even say I saw my mum leaving. Which I'm fully aware sounds utterly ridiculous. But I saw it. Even in her ravaged wasted body that looked nothing like her at the end. She was still my mum. But then she made a little frown face and breathed out for the last time. And I swear everything changed, I realise how ridiculous this sounds but my mum left with that last breath. She went away is the only way I can describe it. The body lying there was no longer my mum. I felt completely comforted by this at the time.
But in the nearly 3 years since she died I have felt nothing since. She is gone. Her presence no longer lingers, I don't sense her or feel her watching over me. (I realise this concept might seem ridiculous to some but I had taken comfort from it with previous dead relatives and assumed my mum would be the same if not more so.) I don't dream of her in a happy way. In fact I often dream she is still dying in agony. Or I dream that she is fine for a while and then is suddenly dying again. Or I dream that she is fine and I am dying. Or she is alive but hates me and never wants to see me again, or tells me I'm adopted, or that she never loved me.
So sleeping my default comfort mode, has been fun ever since. To add to this tale of joy there is the part about my dad. Where to even begin with this??? My dad is and has always been a very ill man. Both mentally and physically. Physically is probably easier to explain. He was diagnosed with MS in his early 30s. MS or Multiple Sclerosis is a horrendous illness and he was in hospital for a very long time. However through sheer stubborness (I always said he kept himself with a molten core of pure spite) he managed to walk again and though very ill got back to a semi normal life.
A month or so before my 25th birthday in 2009, my mum started to feel unwell. This worried me more than usual because normally, God love her she was a bit of a hypochondriac. So usually I would have just dismissed it. But this time, I had had a dream that my mum had lung cancer a few weeks previously and couldn't get it out my head. As soon as I heard my mum was ill I told my boyfriend I thought she had cancer and he actually fell out with me for saying something so horrible.
Skip forward a few dozen tests and the week before my birthday the worst was confirmed. My mum actually did have lung cancer. I remember the call vividly. It was early-ish in the morning and I awake as I had been all the previous night. I didn't have the energy to get up so I was lying in bed waiting to find out the test results. My brother called. He said "Its not good" and I said "ok" Then he said "Its cancer." I made my excuses and hung up shortly after. I remember not being shocked because I was already so sure. I think if it hadn't been cancer I'd have fainted. I shed a few tears but nothing significant. I had imagined I would break down in a sobbing heap but I was weirdly calm.
At this point Paul (my boyfriend) rolled out of bed and left the flat. I had no idea where he went and I remember being totally pissed off until he re-appeared 15 minutes later with a litre of rum and the words "Its drinkin' time" Drowning my sorrows seemed like a good idea but I just couldn't do it. I think I maybe had 2 or 3 drinks the whole day. I was numb. I remember repeating the phrase "I have to go home" a few times because the only conscious thought I had was if my mum was sick, I was going to take care of her. I didn't see this as a choice. It was just a fact.
A week later on the 7th of April my 25th birthday, my mum had her first consultation with her oncologist. I spent the whole morning at the hospital with my mum and my sis. We had a plan, we waited until the doc had outlined the chemo and radiation treatment dates, then my sis got my mum out of the way so I could ask the "science questions." Thank God my mum knew how much of a geek I am and didn't even think to question it. My real goal was to ask questions like "Whats the real prognosis?" and "How long does she have?" Dr Mareshi my mums oncologist was HOT! In a way where he wasn't actually that good looking, in fact he was average. But he radiated "I'm a Doctor curing cancer" from every pore. It was like a glow of pure goodness surrounded him and he was sweet and lovely. I remember almost giggling a few times cos I kept thinking of that Billy Connolly phrase "he had the aura, aw roon" and he did.
When he heard it was my birthday from my mum, the look of sympathy he gave me almost melted me into a puddle. It was the purest look I think I've ever given in my life. It wasn't patronizing or condescending or even worse he wasn't trying to stare tears from me. It was just a pure, sweet look of concern. Unfortunately what he had to say to me wasn't so sweet. Small Cell Lung Cancer is a Demon. There are 2 stages. I wont get technical but stage one was bad enough, my mum was borderline stage 2. Either way there was no cure. The fact that she wasn't full blown stage 2 was the only reason they were even considering chemo and radiation to "ease symptoms and give her more time." How much time? Well 5% of small cell lung cancer patients make it to 5 years. As far as the doctor was concerned my mum wasn't a part of this 5%.
I asked him to be blunt with me because I needed facts to deal with it. He told me she would have a year. I had turned 25 and been told my mum had a year to live if she was lucky. It wasn't even lunchtime. How I composed my face to walk out of that office and face my mum is something I will never know. It's an inner strength I didn't know I possessed and today I couldn't summon it willingly for love nor money! But I knew my mum. If she was told to her face how bad the prognosis was, she would lose hope and give in, and she needed to fight, I needed as long as I could get with her. (deep down I think she knew, but I sure as hell wasn't going to confirm it for her) So I plastered a smile on my face and joked about how the hot doctor fancied me and how I was going to pretend I was feeling faint and swoon at his feet. Maybe get some mouth to mouth! Thankfully my mum thought he was hot too (LOL) and that gave us the conversation to make it home.
When I got home, I then had the fun job of telling everyone the truth whilst "enjoying" my birthday. I don't remember much of that afternoon. I do remember she wrote in my birthday card "hope you have a great day" even though she knew that she was going to the hospital with me to be told how long she had left to live. I sobbed at the thought of that later. I remember going out to the pub in the evening for my birthday drinks and it being the most depressing night ever. Paul had a face like he had been told that he had cancer. In my weird numb daze I never really considered that he had feelings too. And that he loved my mum and was trying to deal with things. I was just pissed that he couldn't try and crack a smile or try to cheer me up. I remember I went to my sisters with alcohol cos Pauls devastated face was making me angry.(I realise this makes me a selfish harsh cow but it's how I was feeling) He went to sleep in the spare room whilst I got drunk with my sis. Fair to say My 25th is not up there with my best birthdays ever. Unfortunately it was pretty much a downward spiral from there.
Don't know how much detail I will go into about her illness. But the doc was spot on about how long she had left. She got 1 year and 15 days from the day of my 25th birthday. It was a year filled with more misery and joy than Ive ever experienced before or since. Horrifying doesnt cover the bad parts but it wasn't all bad. My mum was so brave and dignified through a horrible and torturous death. She died at 2pm on the 22nd of April 2010. I was holding her hand and watched her take her last breath. Now I am still trying to cope with the fact I will never see her again, I will never hear any more of her random wisdom. Small pieces of advice that I took for granted. Who do I call with silly questions like "how do you sew on a button?"
{this next part I wrote previously in the June just after she died but it seems to tie into this and is relevant so I'll add it in}
I still don't know how I feel...immeasurably sad, relieved, guilty, afraid, alone, angry, hurt, pointless...
I miss my mum everyday, I don't know what grieving is supposed to feel like but I don't think its like this. I am calm most of the time. I think people think I am heartless. They stare at me like they are trying to stare tears out of me. Like they are willing me to crack up. I always thought I would. But I seem to have calmly accepted it. My mum died. If I keep saying it maybe it will sink in! I don't know if it's because I lost her in stages, and grieved each stage as she wasted away in front of me or if its because I'm still numb from shock.
Sometimes I feel like she is sending me a message. For example, the book I am reading right now is called Ursula Under by Ingrid Hill. I am enjoying it but there are loads of things in it that are very personal to me, as if someone has been listening to me for 2 months and weaved everything I have said or thought into this random story. The last 2 days of my mums life when she was struggling to breathe and hold on I had a phrase that kept going through my head. It was "Eloi Eloi Lama Sabachthani" which is Aramaic. It was meant to be some of Jesus last words on the cross and means "My God My God why have you forsaken me?" Which more people will recognise. But I had the Aramaic version in my head. The reason I know this at all, is that my mum was a devout catholic and I understand that I was thinking her God had abandoned her.
But this phrase (which I don't think is very common) was in my book in Aramaic, along with my mums favourite song (Sting Fields of Gold) and references to Julia Child whom I had never even heard of until two weeks ago. Along with various references to the way my mum died. I wish I could explain it better but now that I'm trying to think of examples they are all gone. The way the author talks about death and ancestry as well. I am at a loss to explain how much its freaking me out because I cant think of enough examples. But its true the more I notice the coincidences and parallels the more they happen.
{this is me writing from today again}
So I still feel a lot like this today. Like I haven't grieved and I don't know how to. I also, for the first time in my life feel like you die and that is it. I never, ever thought that before. Its a hard concept to deal with for anyone I imagine. But I always had some belief that a part of you moves on, not necessarily in a religious way. But that even in a physics "everything is energy" kind of way. I even say I saw my mum leaving. Which I'm fully aware sounds utterly ridiculous. But I saw it. Even in her ravaged wasted body that looked nothing like her at the end. She was still my mum. But then she made a little frown face and breathed out for the last time. And I swear everything changed, I realise how ridiculous this sounds but my mum left with that last breath. She went away is the only way I can describe it. The body lying there was no longer my mum. I felt completely comforted by this at the time.
But in the nearly 3 years since she died I have felt nothing since. She is gone. Her presence no longer lingers, I don't sense her or feel her watching over me. (I realise this concept might seem ridiculous to some but I had taken comfort from it with previous dead relatives and assumed my mum would be the same if not more so.) I don't dream of her in a happy way. In fact I often dream she is still dying in agony. Or I dream that she is fine for a while and then is suddenly dying again. Or I dream that she is fine and I am dying. Or she is alive but hates me and never wants to see me again, or tells me I'm adopted, or that she never loved me.
So sleeping my default comfort mode, has been fun ever since. To add to this tale of joy there is the part about my dad. Where to even begin with this??? My dad is and has always been a very ill man. Both mentally and physically. Physically is probably easier to explain. He was diagnosed with MS in his early 30s. MS or Multiple Sclerosis is a horrendous illness and he was in hospital for a very long time. However through sheer stubborness (I always said he kept himself with a molten core of pure spite) he managed to walk again and though very ill got back to a semi normal life.