Here’s to strong women. May we raise them. May we know them. May we be them.
To heal a mind is not an exact science, each one may require something different. To heal mine, I talked, and then kept on talking. To your dad, to grandma, to grandpa, aunty Sophie and many other friends and family all who helped to fix it slowly. I’m still getting there, I don’t know whether those anxieties will ever go away but my life is now definitely bigger than they are.
I was deflated, my body ached, I had tubes going in and a catheter at my side. At some point over the next couple of days your dad asked if I wanted a photo. I didn’t. Having a photo made it all the more real and I didn’t want to be there, all I wanted was my normal cancer free life back. If I didn’t make it through this I didn’t want any photos he took to be amongst the last photos of me that loved ones would see and if I did, I didn’t ever want reminding of how I felt lying there in that bed. I wanted to get out, I wanted to go home.
To love and be loved by you is a privilege I am eternally grateful for and each and every time you wrap your arms around me and tell me so, you give me the only confirmation I will ever need that I am Mum.
Here’s a little baby, one, two, three. Stands in her cot, what does she see. She sees her sister fighting sleep, desperate to stay awake. Her mum is tired but happy, smiling at the family she thought she’d never make.
Of course I knew Frank Buffay was a fictional character so comparing his situation to ours wasn’t entirely realistic and I probably shouldn’t have being using a friends storyline as a basis for our own family planning, on the other hand, if Elton and Caprice could make it work, surely it was an entirely viable option for us?
One day you will tell your story of how you’ve overcome what you’re going through now, and it will become someone else’s survival guide.