“You’re just like you’re mother” or “ Meet the mother, know the daughter”. Sentences I lived in dread of hearing until Mum and I came to really understand and honour each other once she reached 80 and was placed by the mental health authorities into a secure care home.
A couple of weeks after my previous post I sought help with debilitating grief at becoming an adult orphan after losing my precious, funny, wonderful Dad. This was on top of losing three close friends just before Dad died in an instant. I told myself, slightly tongue-in-cheek that I was going nuts and was just like my mum. It made me smile to think about it as I noticed certain expressions, looks and existential stabs at the world which reminded me of her. I knew my mental state was poor, but I didn’t really believe it deep down until those two words were made real by my therapist suggesting that I was going through a type of nervous breakdown. But I wasn’t running down the street naked, singing Danny Boy at top volume ( like Mum did ) or pretending I was a prima ballerina and performing en pointe in bare feet ( again, like Mum did). I felt breathless all the time, agoraphobic and running on empty. Normal for grief and burnout, right?
It turned out that the breathlessness was from blood clots in my lungs and very low blood count. Even though I was hospitalised and felt awful I decided not to give in to the mental decline and fought the emotions, telling myself I was getting stronger. I wasn’t. I nearly died but thanks to a strong heart, the clots passed through it and lodged in my lungs. Then they told me that my low blood count could mean I went quickly into sepsis if I caught a fever. I caught that fever and was hospitalised again. While trying to make sense of everything from my hospital bed the main diagnosis came in – life threatening leukaemia – seriously?
Oh, for Heavan’s sake. What was going on?
Now I had an inkling into the mental turmoil my complicated, maddening, loving mother went through and if it was possible to love her memory even more, I did. Now I’m grateful for the near-death experiences as they’ve allowed me to understand the crazy life Mum lived and I have inherited her adventurous no-more-if-only attitude now that I’m on the road to recovery from this horrible blood cancer.
As for “Meet the mother, know the daughter”, my darling husband adored my mum and could see how I’d inherited her bravery and comical look at the world. And I’m so grateful for the chance of getting to know myself by experiencing the light and dark of life through her crystal blue eyes.
I’ve started a new blog as I feel that there’s a new adventure to tell – hop on over to www.chemo-chameleon.com for the new stuff. I’ll be checking in here whenever a situation occurs that directly relates to Kathleen Margaret Beldom. She would have been distraught at my cancer diagnosis and Heaven knows what she would have said or done in the hospital. I know one thing. It would have been the stuff of anecdotes and mayhem. Many years ago I had major surgery and Mum invited a priest one day, a very puzzled Rabbi the next and a group of gospel singers to sing outside my window. Happy days.