Deserted Island.

It's like a nightmare!  I've been here before many times and probably will be many more, "...hopefully not..." whispers my optimistic side, in a comforting, yet barely audible voice, she's tired.  It's one of those days.  The really difficult ones, where no one calls, texts or emails.  It's as if time has stopped on this deserted island and whilst my mother and I sit in the dark, life carries on as usual for everyone else.  

My mother's in excruciating pain.  The pain medication just doesn't work like it used to anymore, so my ears are filled with her desperate moans, groans, cries and pleas to help her.  Relieve her from this torture called Cancer.  Stop it!  Hell, even PAUSE it just for a little while.  Do something, anything. What?  What can I do?  I have been confronted with that very question countless times and yet every time it reappears in the exact same fashion, I am as bewildered as if it were the very first time.

I've got to keep it together: pack a bag, make sure everything's in it, ALL her medication (that alone may need it's own bag), turn everything off in the apartment, pack the cellphones and chargers, money and identification, health insurance card, CANNOT forget that...all the while talking softly to her, comforting her, "...everything will be okay mom, I'm here.  We're going to the hospital, they can help us there..."  Only because I have repeated those words like a mantra am I able to say them so calmly. because my mind and my heart are racing as if in opposite directions of the highway, at full speed and headed to collide.  

Arms full, as if bearing gifts, I KNOW what that sound means and drop it all, making a dash at full speed for the bucket.  Just in time, poor mom's body is erupting like a volcano now, the term, puking one's guts does her no justice.  One hand on the bucket, one rubbing her back, still she is begging me for relief and in my native language, it just sounds worse, piercing my heart deeper than any spear, deeper than anything.  On and on it goes.  How can her tiny body release so much?  Eventually it stops.  Again, I dash off to scoop up everything I had dropped.  Like a triathlon I throw it all in the car, start it, rush back and help mom up and into the car.  I should have my eyes on the road, but for the most part they are fixated on the image in the rear view mirror of her lying on the back seat, "...is she breathing?"  I only feel slight relief when I see her chest move up and down ever so slightly.  My heart stops at the thought, what would I do if she wasn't?  Focus now, focus.

To the hospital...but THAT is a whole other blog on it's own.

This experience really happened to me today and has happened to me many times before this.
There are those who have been there for my mother and I, but they are few and far between.  It seems in those desperate moments when things go astray one is suddenly involuntarily exiled to a deserted island.  As if ignoring the problem makes it go away.  

It is difficult to be the caregiver to my mom with Cancer, but I would not trade it for the world.  I am humbled by the experience and continue to learn from it and her each time.  Often, I don't think I can do it anymore, but I do and as long as it is necessary, I will.  That doesn't change the fact that it is extremely difficult and lonely, I long to be out there in the world living my life, hanging out and having fun.  Priorities: LESSONS LEARNED.  I hope none of my peers have to go through this in their lives, but if any of you ever do, having been there I will gladly help you.  It is so much easier with support, I unfortunately just haven't had much.

"...maybe that will change..." the optimist whispers again.

I'm exhausted.

I dedicate this blog to my mother whom I love everyday of my life and for all of hers. 


"Friends are as companions on a journey, who ought to aid each other to persevere in the road to a happier life".
Pythagoras


Thanks for stopping by,






AfricasHeiress.