Maria ByrneA Parent’s Perspective
Family life is usually a serious of ordinary events and mostly follows a fairly predictable pattern. We sometimes bemoan the fact that it’s not quite as exciting or uplifting as we’d like or that other people are leading the life that we imagine we’d like to emulate. But, every so often, like a bolt from the blue, everything is turned on its head and we find ourselves transported from the ordinary into, what can only be described as, a series of unfortunate events.
Unlike the Lemony Snicket children’s book series A Series of Unfortunate Events, a real life unexpected twist in a family’s circumstances doesn’t always end with the completion of the latest absurd episode or dramatic incident. Much as we’d like to close the book and forget that it ever happened, that’s just not an option.
My family found that we were in just such a situation a few short weeks ago.
I always loved the song What a Difference a Day Makes, but sometimes a day, a minute, a few seconds, can change your whole life. For me, this change came with the words sympathetically informing me that I had cancer.
I had discovered a breast lump a month earlier and had suspected the worst when a mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy all pointed to something that my consultant felt was suspicious.
The next week was probably the longest of my life – I laughed, I cried, I felt hopeful one minute and terrified the next. There are several stages a person goes through when dealing with grief and my certainty that I did indeed have cancer sent me spiralling through all of them in some crazy whirlwind of emotions. My husband remarked that in one period of 10 or 15 minutes I must have hit on every documented response to life-changing news.
Inner strength
Strangely, in the midst of sadness and turmoil, we all have the ability to find an inner strength. I always thought that if I was ever diagnosed with cancer that I’d fall apart.
I imagined myself taking to the bed for a few weeks hoping that burrowing under the comfort of the duvet would make everything go away. I guessed that my sense of self-preservation would be more important than anything else.
In reality, after the initial shock, my thoughts were focused on my husband and children. I found myself looking at them with a sense of sadness as I came face-to-face with the fact of my own mortality. It was a lonely feeling as if I’d passed through some invisible door and my family, relations and friends were on the other side, still there but not sharing my unique new journey. I felt sorry for my sons and daughters that their sense of not having a care in the world would be shattered.
I noticed their hugs were a little longer, their little gestures of kindness increased, but they too had to deal with sorrow, anger, denial and disbelief. It was my job to help them navigate through the stormy waters of changing emotions while trying to contain my own.
I’d advise any parent in a similar situation to involve everyone in the family in the process.
My nine-year-old daughter overheard me talking in hushed tones to my teenage daughters and demanded that she’d be told everything that was going on. Secrecy can create more fear than a frank discussion of the facts and an age appropriate explanation of what lies ahead.
Small children need to know that Mammy will still be Mammy no matter what treatments or challenges lie ahead. If there have to be changes in the usual routine, keep children informed so they retain a sense of normality and control.
Gratitude
As I face into surgery and further tests, I admit to feeling a level of apprehension and fear. There’s a long road ahead. However, I also feel a great sense of gratitude and a renewed appreciation of just how wonderful life is.
I love my life as a wife and mother; my husband and children have been my heroes in the past few weeks. The kindness of family and friends has been outstanding – one dear sister knew that dragging me out of the house for a walk in the country would be a real pick-me-up; another sister bought me and my husband a ticket to The Waterboys’ concert in Dublin while I really appreciated the bag of goodies one of my other sisters presented me with containing all the luxuries I’d need for the hospital.
My youngest sister was always at the end of the phone, and my father and brother offered the kind of calm reassurance I really needed to face this new strange reality.
I got kind, supportive messages, chocolates, cards, offers of lunch. My five-year-old innocently proclaimed that he’d like to get cancer because he’d get so many treats. However, in the midst of all the angst, it was faith in God and prayer that really brought moments of true calm and tranquillity. The offers of prayers for my recovery have been my strength and my support.
With my rosary beads in my hands and my family and friends by my side, I have great hope in my heart. Even on the darkest of days the beautiful warmth of the sun can still shine through and we can still find so much to be thankful for.