Any parent will know that your child can’t go through anything good or bad that you don’t feel you’re living with them. I may not have had my own children but I know this to be true both because I know how my mother feels and because I’m privileged to have step children and grandchildren who’ve given me the opportunity to know how that unconditional love feels.
The hardest thing I had to do once I found out that I had breast cancer two weeks ago was to tell my parents. At 78 and 84, they’ve both spent their fair share of time at hospital and doctor’s appointments in the past few years. Last year, dad had an ankle replacement. A few weeks ago, mum fell and broke her foot. So Lou and I had started caring for them, started making plans for what would happen if and when they were unable to take care of themselves. All the usual things that “middle-aged” (I hate that phrase!!!) children need to consider when they’re lucky enough to still have their parents around.
And then suddenly, it was me, not them. And not for the first time either. They’d already been through every parent’s nightmare when I was diagnosed with Hodgkins’ Disease at the tender age of 17. And again when I was 38 — a major operation and 44, two more ops. This time, I was fit, healthy, enjoying life and hoping upon hope that mum and dad would both make it to their 60th wedding anniversary on June 15th 2012. Suddenly, I was having to find a way to break the news to them. Guess, what, me again, I’ve got cancer.
I phoned my sister first. The most neurotic person you’d care to meet when it comes to me. Ever since she, as a 15-year old had to cope with my first illness, she’s tried to wrap me in cotton wool, phoning several times each day and worrying about nothing. But of course, when I phoned to drop the real bomb shell, she was calm and strong, and has been ever since. We agreed that I had to tell mum and dad sooner rather than later. Before I could pluck up the courage to phone them I phoned a couple of friends. I had to practice saying the words on someone who was not so emotionally involved.
And then I told them. I can’t even remember what mum said. I don’t think she broke down there and then. But over the next few days my sister took the brunt of the upset, while they tried to keep it together when talking to me. Nothing I can do can make it any better for them, except come through this and beat it. Which I will do! But it’s easier for me. I’m the one who can do something each day, who can get stuck in and fight the fight. They can only sit and wait, and, I’m sure, pray.
Once again, it’s all about me but it’s equally about my lovely parents too. If there’s a downside to them still being around for me, it’s only that I have to see them suffer this.
