The Best Laid Plans
We arrived home and set about planning our next big adventure, moving to Spain.
We told our families and got our house valued by local estate agents. We wanted to leave before our eldest daughter had to sit her SAT exams, we knew they would put her under even more pressure and not be a positive experience for her. We had just under a year to get everything in place.
My Mum had started to become distant, less and less phone calls, normally we spoke at least every other day and saw each other at least once a week. I brushed it off as she was just getting used to the idea of us moving abroad.
Then Christmas came, a special time, we would always take the girls up to London to see the lights.
I met her in the normal place Waterloo station, but to my horror she had two black eyes. I had spoken to her the night before and she had not warned me. She was behaving very out of character. She had tripped and hit her face on the door step with such force that her glasses had given her the terrible bruises.
She promised me that everything was ok, but I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Things went from bad to worse, her friends were now worried too and my Dad was beside himself. Mum’s speech was strained, her mobility decreasing, the light in her eyes was present less and less.
Her doctor told her she had depression and offered her drugs which she refused. My Dad thought she had had a stroke. I knew it wasn’t depression, but had no clue what it was. After a normal family visit my Dad took me to one side. Mum had a doctors appointment the next morning, could I just turn up pretend not to know about the appointment and go with her.
I drove a little too fast to their house after dropping off the girls at school, knowing if I didn’t she would have left home before I got there. I made it just as she was reversing out of the drive. She was surprised to see me, explained she was going to the doctors, then asked if I wanted to go with her. Mum had always been a brilliant driver but not any more, the five minute drive was terrifying.
As we walked to the surgery I asked her if she thought she was depressed, she said she didn’t know. I went in with her, I didn’t give her a choice, I had my instructions to follow. The doctor asked her question implied she had a problem with alcohol or was depressed at which point I stepped in. Did one glass of wine a week mean a drink problem? No. Did depression normally affect speech and mobility? No, but it could. I explaining that I didn’t think that was the problem and that my dad thought she had had a stroke and wanted her to have a scan.
I was told the waiting list for scan was six months. What about if we went private ? Oh yes, that could be arranged at reception within the week!
The scan was carried out and the results given straight away. On their way to a close friends funeral, my Dad phoned me to break the news that was to change everything. Mum had an inoperable brain tumour. The doctor advised my Dad to go through the NHS now as the treatment would be the same, first a biopsy which would take place the following week.
I only had a few minutes to get my head round the shocking news. Our youngest daughter was in a ballet show at the local theatre. I had to just get on with things, I had volunteed to be one of the parents putting all the girls hair up in tight ballet buns, I could not let everyone down.
I did not need any time to know that one thing was clear, our Spanish dream would have to wait, no way could I leave my parents now.