So let’s start by being very honest. As a parent have you ever moaned about the school play or begrudged the school run? Have you wished you were child free just for a few hours? Have you chatted on your mobile at the school gate, or used technology while your child is trying to talk to you. I’ve done all of those things, until the day I was told I had leukaemia and wasn’t allowed home for 6 weeks. By the time I got out on 22nd December I’d missed all the school Christmas productions, including the last nativity play that either of my daughters would appear in. I’d missed many conversations with them on the way to school, I wasn’t home to cook their tea. I’d gone from being the stay at home Mum who went to all their school events, to being a poorly Mum who went to nothing. When something is taken away you suddenly realise how much you miss it, and you realise what is important in life. Yes we all get told it, read about it in cute films on social media etc but how many of us truly take note?
The thought of telling your children that a parent has cancer is horrific. Yes there’s excellent leaflets that give you guidance on talking to children and many story books that explain it at a child’s level, but the reality of actually having to do it is terrifying. My husband brought the girls in to hospital the day after I was admitted. We weren’t totally sure what was happening ourselves so we didn’t know what to tell them. Our eldest said “This is the Royal Marsden, we’ve raised money for them at school. Isn’t it the Royal Marsden Cancer Hospital? Why are you in a cancer hospital Mum?” And so we told them. Only 2 years earlier my father, their Grandpa, had died of cancer so they were understandably scared and worried. We did our best to reassure them. I am sure there were many more conversations at home that I was protected from and that my husband handled adeptly.
Our friends, who became known as The Cheering Squad, were astonishingly kind. Between them they organised school runs, lifts to clubs and parties, and provided lots of playdates. Most amazingly they organised it all, we didn’t even have to ask them to help, and they continued to do so for over a year. Either my Mum or my Mother-In-Law, who lives in Australia, came to stay so they were at home when the girls were dropped off so my husband could still go to work.
The school was very supportive, keeping me informed of achievements, responding to any concerns, offering lots of cuddles and special treats to the children, and as one teacher said ‘looking after them as if they were their own’. From a day to day point of view I never worried about them. I knew they were cared for, loved, and having fun. There was much reassuring normality in their lives, but oh how I missed them.
It quickly became apparent that bringing the girls to visit after school was just too much. They were tired from the normal day to day, let alone the emotion of seeing their Mum in hospital, even with the staff doing transfusions and other treatment around their visiting time so they didn’t have to see anything too graphic. We decided to leave visits for the weekend. But it was important to stay in touch with them in between. We could talk on the phone every day but some how that didn’t seem enough. A friend made a few recommendations that we followed. We bought notebooks so each day I’d write a message to them about what they were doing the next day. My husband took the notebooks home so the children could read them at breakfast. Sometimes they wrote notes back too.
It was also recommended that I read stories to them so on visits they brought in books. It was quite funny to be sat in the hospital canteen, wearing a mask to protect me from germs, reading ‘George’s Marvellous Medicine’, it certainly raised a smile from a few other customers.
The hospital staff made a huge fuss of the girls. I will never forget the Ward Hostess picking up our youngest who was upset to be saying goodbye. She carried her all the way to the hospital entrance, by which time laughter had replaced tears. Whenever I have a hospital appointment the second question after ‘How are you?’ is ‘How are the girls?’.The importance of family was and still is always recognised, when possible, treatment has been moved so I can take part in family events like birthdays.
I mentioned in a previous blog that when I first went home I couldn’t find my place in it. I physically couldn’t do much, and my brain was like mush. It was Christmas, but watching a family film on TV was just overwhelming. The TV seemed too big and so loud. I talked to the hospital psychologist about it who helped me think of ways to slowly reconnect with the children, even if it was just setting aside 10 minutes a day for a chat. Small steps, but ones that have stood the test of time.
One of the things the psychologist recommended was to set myself a target. I didn’t widely share it but as my treatment progressed I set my heart on making it to the school drama production. The day before the show my blood results were so low that I needed 2 bags of blood but I made it, my first evening out in 6 months. My immune system was suppressed so I wore a mask, which raised a few eyebrows amongst the children, and we sat in seats specially reserved at the back away from the audience. Seeing my eldest on stage, looking directly at me beaming from ear to ear was the most special feeling. I won’t forget it. Three days after, I was admitted to hospital with an infection, I got home 5 weeks later. Nothing I caught at school, but a reminder not to take life and the simple things for granted.
We had family counselling at the Royal Marsden, not because we were worried about the children, but we wanted to give them the chance to talk to someone just to be sure. Their main concern was not knowing what was going to happen and when, for example we had to say goodbye for 10 consecutive mornings while I waited for a hospital bed to become available. Would I be in hospital or waiting for them when they got home? The nature of leukaemia meant we rarely knew what was happening either but we now make a point of telling the children more explicitly what we do know and what the possible scenarios are, it seems to have allayed their fears. Our youngest also now has a worry box to encourage her to talk about her concerns, and school helped her with a worry tree to process her fears.
Whilst I wouldn’t wish the experience on any child I think the children have taken away many positives. They have grown in independence, and are flexible about school run arrangements etc. They appreciate it when I make it to events, they are understanding when I don’t. Family trips out are even more of a treat, they actively thank us for them. Our eldest particularly is now more able to put life in perspective, so arguments amongst Yr7 girls seem to wash over her more, and it seems having an occasionally annoying, embarrassing Mum is better than no Mum at all.
Ultimately being the mother of two gorgeous children kept me going. I wasn't ready to leave them, I want to see them grow up. I see life so differently now. I give the girls so much more of my time, I laugh and chat with them more. I look forward to the school show. The school run has become quality time. I hold them tighter and for longer, they are left in no doubt they are loved.
If you have children go and give them a hug now, tell them you love them. Spend every moment you can with them. Enjoy the school show, treasure your time with them. You never know what the future holds for any of you, so make the most of it now before the moment passes.
