Me dear old mum is one of my best supporters. Of course, she is certainly not old. I believe ‘me dear old mum’ is a British expression, and I think it suits her. We’ve gone through a lot together. Any time I’ve been coming out of the darkness, me dear mom is the first one waiting in the light. And whenever she is struggling, I try to be there for her.
A long time ago, Mom became very sick. She felt unwell, tired and her stomach was bothering her. The diagnosis was anxiety. Or was it depression? She was given the traditional advice: Suck it up Buttercup. She began to look more skeletal by the day. Eventually, she was referred to a specialist, and the diagnosis was celiac disease. A caring plan was made. She has come a long way from pasta tasting like wallpaper paste to current gluten-free delicious products including homemade Tim bits.
Some years later, Mom started having more stomach problems. Same diagnosis. Anxiety. Depression. New advice. Suck it up Buttercup, and Get Yourself A Good Man. Eventually she was referred to a specialist, and during surgery they found an abdominal tumor the size of a football. The diagnosis was incurable Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Treatment did not include a good man. It was around 1986. They gave Mom 10 years to live. She was mad. “No doctor is going to tell me how long I have. I bet I can beat 10 years.” She went through rounds of chemotherapy. She made a vow to eat and live her life as healthily and peacefully as she could. No stress allowed.
She proved the doctors wrong. Around 2004, I had my dear Mom and some of her friends over for a tea party (everyone around age 65 to 80). One topic of conversation was how they couldn’t hear, because everything is so much noisier now than it used to be. Plus the young people now just talk too fast and slur their words. As an audiologist, it seemed like a good teachable moment. I delicately asked them, “Have you ever thought about, like, you know, how hearing gets worse as people age?” The room fell silent, and the vibe felt a bit chilly. Finally they answered me. “That’s what makes it so strange,” they all agreed, “because we’re not old!”
A few years later, I had an angry call from Mom. She told me the terrible tale. She was out and about with her 80ish year old friend, and they had car trouble. A Good Samaritan stopped, and let them use her cell phone to call for help. When they thanked her, the woman told them she just wanted to help because she thought they looked too old to have a cellphone. I guessed Mom was upset because of the car trouble. “That’s not what I’m mad about,” said Mom. I wracked my brain trying to figure out why she was upset. The pause became uncomfortably long. Mom had to indignantly step in. “She called us old!” I could only think of two answers. “Well, you are 70ish and get the senior discounts at stores” or “That is shocking!” I went with shock and awe. Mom went out and got a cellphone.
Mom recently had some medical appointments. When I asked how the last one went, she told me she couldn’t believe all the elderly people in the waiting room. I knew I had to tread carefully. What made them seem elderly? Mom felt it was bad hairstyles and terrible lipstick colours. Have I mentioned my Mom is very fashionable? As she puts it, “I don’t feel old. I feel the same inside as when I was younger.” I imagine most people feel that way. Almost surprised that the mirror shows something different than how we envision ourselves.
Recently Mom went through more painful treatments for her eye condition, and I have some type of neurological disorder stealing my quality of life. So we got to talking. We’ve both lived through difficult times. We both know pain and fatigue. What makes us survivors instead of sufferers? We decided it’s mainly due to maternal genes – stubbornness, wiry inner strength, don’t back down from challenges – along with liberal doses of dark chocolate. I won’t say which of us has eaten whole batches of chocolate fudge in the wee hours of the night. And after the aroma wakes the children, telling them, “I don’t smell anything. Go back to sleep.” (It was me dear old Mum!). And when she goes through a border crossing to another country, and they ask if she has anything to declare, we all know her declaration is, “I love chocolate!”
Thanks to my dear Mom for being there to take care of me, support me, raise me not to give in to health conditions, as well as instilling in me an appreciation for the finer things in life – like chocolate and gardens. Thanks to all the Moms of all types in the World no matter how old.
Take care, Jan
Happy Mother’s Day! Jan
No tags
