My Blog Bubble

Sometimes I think I have got it all together and that I am going to be OK.  Other times I find myself crying as I am driving along.  And there are times like now I can feel my stomach churning and my entire body shouting "I'm not ready yet". I have had the pragmatic conversations.  We have spoken wills and funeral services.  I have even looked at coffins and scatter tubes.  I know where Mum wants her ashes to be scattered and the type of hymns she likes.  I have asked if I could read a poem and if my daughter can attend.  I can do all of this but I cannot accept that it is going to happen. I can say that Mum has had a good life and had the opportunity to travel.  That we, as a family, have had more years than we thought we would be graced with.  Never did we imagine Mum could fight off the MS as she has done. Never in a million years did we see this happening and am I ready for it?  Am I heck as like.  I feel like I hav...

I originally published this post on 13 December 2016, a year before my son was born, and four years ago today.  I thought, with the anniversary of Mum's death on the horizon, and with losing two friends to this disease in recent times I would re-publish these posts (minus the fundraising bits for Pancreatic Cancer). I thought long and hard about writing something knowing Mum doesn't like to talk about these things.  However I think that everyone now knows and, being selfish: for me this is cathartic. Much like my #100SadDays blog I don't want this to be all doom and gloom.  I want to talk about how it has made me feel and how it has affected everyone; including my beautiful mum. I have written about #cancer before; it isn't a new subject for me.  I have spoken freely about how I feel about it and how it has affected both me, my family and my friends. I have said that it doesn't "touch" people as so often is coined: it rapes and kills and blights...

It seems amazing to me that I am writing another post.   As I rounded the corner at the hospice this morning, walking towards the bay you are in, I held my breath.  I was greeted by smiles and there you were. More amazingly I said hello and you spoke back!  Mum you are incredible, amazing, an inspiration. Lying there listening, with Alex and I, to some Graham Kendrick.  We have moved you to your own room to give you some peace and the freedom to leave us when it feels right for you. In the meantime I am in awe, as a Biologist, that you are still here.  All of the staff are amazed and all we are pleased able to offer you respite.  You aren't in pain, at least we don't think so, and we know you can hear us. I think you are just catching up on all the sleep you have missed over the years.  All of those early mornings; all of those sleepless nights due to your "hot legs". We thought we would lose you to the MS but we were wrong. ...

In 1996 Mum was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS) and our lives changed forever.  Rachel and I were to realise just how fallible our parents were.  Both she and I recalled a time when we lived with Mum and were watching a documentary on the TV; it was about a man that had MS and his story.  He fell ill and got worse and worse until one day he lost all control of his muscles and could do nothing for himself or speak.  We both vividly remember Mum saying "Girls if ever i should become like that please kill me".  Little did we know that less than 10 years later fate would diagnose our mum with this horrible illness. I was away at Uni in 1996 and felt useless.  When I would come home I would do all I could and make sure others rallied around.  Mum started to be able to talk and walk again and her symptoms went in to remission. .  Neurologists decided this was not the first episode but probably the second - her specialist having written on ...