Hello everyone,
to that, how she’d just finished her contract for her temporary job so she had more time to lounge around in the morning, how that one morning her fingers just happened to brush against a part of her that wasn’t usually there … I know now that had that not happened, my mother would have died in less than a year.
And then I think about where my family and I were, this time last year. Last Saturday marks one year since my mother received her second diagnosis. And yet I’m still pushed into thinking at how lucky we were to have caught it so early. Had her check up been a week earlier, the tumour wouldn’t have been picked up & I would be feeling something very different today. As this year has progressed, I have become familiar with something I had long hoped I’d never have to know again. I’ve learned more about what my mother had to go through the first time. At 10 years old I was completely unaware of the relentless hospital visits and risks to my mother’s life. She tells me the stories every now and then. And every time I feel my stomach churn. How she was rushed to hospital in a critical condition merely hours after her own father’s death … the profound effects the entire ordeal had on her mental health for years afterwards ... the effects that I was - and arguably still am - so painfully unaware of.
If I think too much about it all, I feel heavy. Sort of like how I do right now. Even though my family have passed through arguably the most challenging parts of our lives, I can see the everlasting effects that cancer has had on all of us. My dad was unable to treat cancer patients for a year after my mum’s first diagnosis. My sister, now more familiar with it since earlier this year, goes quiet every time it’s mentioned. I guess even I do. I hate hearing the word when it’s not being said by me, which I know sounds so weird. It’s almost as if, when I say it , I feel in control over my emotions - I know that it’s coming. When it’s said by someone else, to raise awareness, or in a film, or even flippantly like ‘oh don’t drink from the same plastic bottle, you’ll get cancer’. I just feel this shudder and a chill. Sometimes I feel an irrational sense of anger, that people have the power to say something so life changing and pivotal , without even batting an eyelid.
I’m not sure what the purpose of this was. I’m not sure if I’ll even share it. I think writing this served as a cathartic experience. The effects of illness in a family are something that linger even when everything seems normal. I often think people forget that. After my mother was cleared I felt this sudden shift, almost as if no one - apart from my family - regarded it as a problem anymore. And I guess it wasn’t. She’s healthy now, that’s all we ever wanted. But I still feel that there’s a lot of me that hasn’t said what I’ve always wanted to say. But that’s okay, I understand that. These things are such taboo topics and things that are so understandably difficult to talk about. I never want to make anyone uncomfortable by forcing them into talking about it, and so I think that’s why I never asked.
Watching the film today truly spurred my most evaluative thoughts. I’m so grateful that my mum is still here. I’ll be the first to admit that the relationship with my parents needs a LOT of work. We have an unhealthy abundance of arguments, but it’s moments like this - when my mind replays everything we’ve experienced together, that I think of how lucky we’ve been. And I get reminded of what all I have to fight for. I know I’m not special. So many people endure what we had to go through and much worse. I don’t regard myself as particularly strong either - that’s all on my mum, she was the fighter. But I do think that I got to learn a lot about myself during both times & how I’ve grown in between them. So I guess I’ll end this here. It’s still so weird to think that this time last year, I was lying in my bed with tears streaming down my face - staring at the ceiling , just completely and utterly dreading 2019. And here we are. Having gone through what I thought would be my worst year, and being ready for the next decade of my life. I’m hopeful.
Today I watched a Hindi film called ‘The Sky is Pink’ , it’s based on a true story and follows a family dealing with illness. It was so beautifully raw and captivating. To think of what that family has had to endure made my heart squeeze. I suppose it also got me thinking about my own experiences with illness within my family. I feel so fortunate to have all of my immediate family with me still. Though there are moments when I think of how different my life could have been if even the smallest events hadn’t occurred. If I think about when my mother first found a lump in her breast, I’m overwhelmed with this chilling emotion and realisation that we got lucky. And I know that sounds bizarre. How could we possibly be lucky ? But if I think about the events leading up
And then I think about where my family and I were, this time last year. Last Saturday marks one year since my mother received her second diagnosis. And yet I’m still pushed into thinking at how lucky we were to have caught it so early. Had her check up been a week earlier, the tumour wouldn’t have been picked up & I would be feeling something very different today. As this year has progressed, I have become familiar with something I had long hoped I’d never have to know again. I’ve learned more about what my mother had to go through the first time. At 10 years old I was completely unaware of the relentless hospital visits and risks to my mother’s life. She tells me the stories every now and then. And every time I feel my stomach churn. How she was rushed to hospital in a critical condition merely hours after her own father’s death … the profound effects the entire ordeal had on her mental health for years afterwards ... the effects that I was - and arguably still am - so painfully unaware of.
If I think too much about it all, I feel heavy. Sort of like how I do right now. Even though my family have passed through arguably the most challenging parts of our lives, I can see the everlasting effects that cancer has had on all of us. My dad was unable to treat cancer patients for a year after my mum’s first diagnosis. My sister, now more familiar with it since earlier this year, goes quiet every time it’s mentioned. I guess even I do. I hate hearing the word when it’s not being said by me, which I know sounds so weird. It’s almost as if, when I say it , I feel in control over my emotions - I know that it’s coming. When it’s said by someone else, to raise awareness, or in a film, or even flippantly like ‘oh don’t drink from the same plastic bottle, you’ll get cancer’. I just feel this shudder and a chill. Sometimes I feel an irrational sense of anger, that people have the power to say something so life changing and pivotal , without even batting an eyelid.
I’m not sure what the purpose of this was. I’m not sure if I’ll even share it. I think writing this served as a cathartic experience. The effects of illness in a family are something that linger even when everything seems normal. I often think people forget that. After my mother was cleared I felt this sudden shift, almost as if no one - apart from my family - regarded it as a problem anymore. And I guess it wasn’t. She’s healthy now, that’s all we ever wanted. But I still feel that there’s a lot of me that hasn’t said what I’ve always wanted to say. But that’s okay, I understand that. These things are such taboo topics and things that are so understandably difficult to talk about. I never want to make anyone uncomfortable by forcing them into talking about it, and so I think that’s why I never asked.
Watching the film today truly spurred my most evaluative thoughts. I’m so grateful that my mum is still here. I’ll be the first to admit that the relationship with my parents needs a LOT of work. We have an unhealthy abundance of arguments, but it’s moments like this - when my mind replays everything we’ve experienced together, that I think of how lucky we’ve been. And I get reminded of what all I have to fight for. I know I’m not special. So many people endure what we had to go through and much worse. I don’t regard myself as particularly strong either - that’s all on my mum, she was the fighter. But I do think that I got to learn a lot about myself during both times & how I’ve grown in between them. So I guess I’ll end this here. It’s still so weird to think that this time last year, I was lying in my bed with tears streaming down my face - staring at the ceiling , just completely and utterly dreading 2019. And here we are. Having gone through what I thought would be my worst year, and being ready for the next decade of my life. I’m hopeful.
