I wish I had said goodbye

This is my final diary excerpt. You'll find the previous parts here, here and here.

"Dad had hurt his back and was unable to drive – but I was told not to tell mum.  So because I wasn’t working I was the designated driver, and I was taking gran out to the hospice, and also dad and Alison.

Alison had her sixth year ball, and so she had spent all afternoon getting all dressed up for it.  I drove her out to the hospice so that mum could see her, and then I took Ali to her friend’s house to take some photographs.  I was filling my mum’s shoes and it was difficult.  I remember my prom, and mum was there with my friends mums.  We were all drinking a wee glass of fizz before being waved off. I think Ali must have found it really hard with me as a substitute.

In terms of mum’s care, as far as I was aware, it was good.  However, I would have liked to have been informed more of what was happening.  Ali and I were taken into a separate room one time we visited by one of the nurses because mum was in a bad way and didn’t know who dad was and dad didn’t want us to see her like that.  The nurse asked us if we had any questions – but we both just said no.  Whereas I think if they had taken us one at a time and asked us if we had questions, the reply might have been different.

Mum’s condition progressively worsened, and she was transferred to a room on her own.  She was getting so thin – it was really horrible to watch.  She couldn’t eat anymore, and the only thing she could take was small spoons of ice.  How the tables had turned, and it was now me that was spoon-feeding my mother.  Conversation was still difficult, but mum was tired a lot and she couldn’t really hold much of a conversation anymore.

I remember being there in the room with gran, and mum was still asleep – and with time she woke up.  But I don’t think she knew who we were.  And she was hallucinating – grabbing at things, and staring into the wall and mumbling – nothing was there."

And that's where the diary stops... but basically it was shortly thereafter that she died. I didn't say goodbye, and she was on her own when she died. I wish things had been done differently. 

I saw a Cruse Bereavement counsellor for a while which certainly helped, but nothing takes the pain away of losing a parent.

I miss her every day.

Regret

This is Part 3 of my diary excerpts. You'll find Part 1 here and Part 2 here...

"My flights home took me via Frankfurt to Edinburgh and my dad was collecting me there to drive me back to Aberdeen.  However, when I arrived in Frankfurt, I saw the ‘departures’ board that indicated that my flight to Edinburgh was delayed, and then minutes later it was cancelled.  I rushed to the airline desk and was in tears – I really needed to get home.  The lady at the counter was brilliant.  Quickly my flights were re-arranged and I was not only booked on a flight from Frankfurt to Glasgow, but also a second flight from Glasgow to Aberdeen.  I phoned dad, and managed to catch him before he left to collect me.  He was to meet me in Aberdeen later that day.

Back at Aberdeen airport, dad picked me up and we drove straight to the hospital to see mum.  I remember walking through the corridors – we had a short cut that we used to get us to mum’s room – and I asked dad ‘I don’t know what to say – what should I say’.  I don’t remember the reply, but mum was still mum when we got to her room.  She didn’t look particularly ill at this stage, but this was to get much worse.  I remember mum telling me that she was just really glad that I returned home safely.  I had half expected her to pass away quietly then, safe in the knowledge that I had returned home from Israel, but that wasn’t the case.  Mum was only 51 – and her organs were in full health.  It was just the cancer that was the problem.  It had spread to the bowels, and there was no longer an option to operate, and chemotherapy would not have helped in this case.  It was just a case of waiting for mum’s body to pack in.  I don’t know if she was in pain, but I presume she had painkillers etc.  I think her diet by this stage was soup, and you could see that she was losing weight.

Dad and I had a meeting with one of the staff at the hospital, because mum had requested that she wanted to come home to die.  This was one of the most difficult situations I had been faced with, because I had to have the guts and say that I didn’t want her to come home because it would be too difficult for us.  Dad was working full-time, Ali was still at school – and it would have been myself that would have had to care for mum.  She needed 24 hour assistance, and I just didn’t feel capable.  I also didn't want to have sad memories of her at the house - I just wanted to cling to the happy ones. We agreed that it would be ideal if we could get mum a bed at a hospice.  Thankfully, a bed came up at the hospice and mum was moved there. 

The  hospice was lovely – the grounds outside were peaceful, the staff were friendly and it was a much nicer environment than the hospital.  Mum was in a room with about 5 other ladies – and to be honest, from what I remember, mum was the youngest.  She was able to get her hair done, as a hairdresser used to visit the hospice.  She also got reflexology sessions, and I think dogs used to come into the hospice also and the patients were allowed to pet them.  There was a little ‘café’ where we could go and sit with mum – she’d be in her wheelchair, and we’d sit in the other chairs round in a little huddle.  It was the one time that mum was able to have soft drinks, as I think mainly she just had soup and water, but she used to have some of our coke when we visited, and she would suck up the coke through the straw really quickly because she enjoyed it so much (but then she'd get really gassy!). Conversation was always difficult.  I always was asking about the nurses and the other staff, and what the different uniforms meant – and I wish I had the guts to ask more questions.  There are so many things that I regret."

Two Weeks to Live

Continuing on from my last post, 'Mum has Cancer', here's the next excerpt from my diary...

"In the summer of 2000 I headed off to America to work at a children’s summer camp in Connecticut as part of BUNAC (British Universities North America Club). (As an aside - this was the most amazing experience and I'm so glad that I took part in the scheme - I'll try and post about this separately).  I had packed my rucksack, dad dropped me off at Glasgow airport and I was away.  It was the first time I had flown solo, and also my first time in America – and so I was slightly apprehensive, but looking forward to the experience.

From camp I received letters from mum updating me on the news from Aberdeen (I still have these letters and it's nice to have a copy of her handwriting), and I also managed to phone home frequently.  However, one phone call brought more bad news – mum was in hospital again and the cancer was back.  She had to undergo more chemotherapy and it was heartbreaking.  I took the day off and cried my heart out in the ‘hospital’ at the summer camp.  I immediately wanted to return home, but mum and dad told me to stay, and assured me that mum would be fine.  In the end I stayed, and did manage to enjoy the rest of my trip, and I also went travelling with my friend Jenn after camp up and down the East coast.

On my return, dad collected me at Glasgow airport and drove me home.  Indeed, mum was fine and she was back at work as usual. 

Second year of university was difficult – the subjects were harder and I needed to study more.  In addition to the stresses of university life, mum was also deteriorating.  Due to the chemotherapy regimen that mum had been on, which was part of a clinical trial, she was being monitored more frequently than she would have been otherwise.  She had her usual blood test at the hospital and it showed up something abnormal.  Mum was taken for scans, but Alison and I never were told the result.  I knew she had been taken for a scan, and I asked dad a few times – have you got the scan results yet? – but it was always a no in response.  I think looking back, mum and dad were trying to protect us from the prognosis.  Alison was in her final year of secondary school, and I was in second year of university and we both had exams looming.  I respect their decision to keep the results from us, but I think I may have preferred to have had all the knowledge that they did at that time.

Mum was taken into hospital in March 2001 (I’m not 100% sure of this date, but it was roughly this time) – the cancer had spread yet again.  On the outside, mum still appeared to be same old mum, but on the inside, this horrible disease was ruining her.  

I had arranged to visit Israel in May after my exams, and this had been paid for and booked in advance.  I think mum and dad were apprehensive about my trip because of the politics in Israel at the time, but I was to be staying with a university friend and her family, so off I went.  I was upset to be leaving mum, especially seeing as she was still in hospital, but it was only at this point, when I was leaving, that I realised the extent of her condition when dad warned me that I may need to come home early.

Dad was right – six days into my 10 day trip I received a phone call to say I should arrange flights to come home early.  Mum had been told she had two weeks to live.  I was upset, and began to panic that I wouldn’t get home in time.  My friend’s father took me to a local travel agent, and I couldn’t swap my flights – I had to pay for an additional ticket home.  But the flight wasn’t until the next day.  I went back to the house and packed my things.  I think I went into auto-pilot: I just wanted to get home."

My mum when she was a girl

My mum feeding me as a baby