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The 96 Hours that Changed My Life

A Very Personal Insight Into My Experience with Grief

By Chloe McClementsPublished 7 years ago 13 min read
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The Day Before

I nearly didn't go. I had a headache and really just wanted to lie down in a dark room.

We bumped into Auntie Alison on the way in as she was just leaving. She had driven up from somewhere further down south, Manchester or Nottingham I think. She asked me and Danielle if now was a good time to be going on holiday, as we both had things booked for the upcoming week. We brushed it off as no big deal, from what we knew Mum was recovering and would be home soon.

Stefanie had been in earlier today and told us that Mum would be changing wards later. Moving to the ITU (Intensive Therapy Unit) so they could monitor Mum’s breathing while still connected to her Sleep Apnea Machine. We have nothing to worry about. It’s just a precaution.

We sat around Mum’s bed laughing and joking about all manner of things. A conversation about conspiracy theories and people we were convinced had been abducted by aliens was a hot topic for the majority of the visit. Things were different to the other times I've been there this week, Mum seems different. It's almost as if she knew. I still think she did.

She managed to eat all of her dinner today. Mince and dumplings. The first thing she's eaten in days. It's a good sign, a potential light at the end of the tunnel. Isn't it?

Before we got ready to transfer all the machines and bags to Mum’s new ward, she asked me if I was excited for my first holiday with my boyfriend. Of course, I was really excited! She held my hand, pulled me in close and said "now whatever happens, I want you to go on your holiday with Matthew and have a really good time." I felt the lump in my throat I had been trying to avoid for hours suddenly surface. Seemingly now only capable of nodding.

The nurse who came to transfer Mum looked surprised and confused when we handed her Mum’s Sleep Apnea machine. But isn't that the reason Mum is being transferred? Is there something we’re missing here? Are we just in denial?!

Now we’re in the dark, bland waiting room with the other families waiting to see their loved ones, watching Britain's Got Talent and silently crying to ourselves. Why are we crying? This is all just a precaution. Everything is going to be fine. It’s just a bad chest infection.

8:30pm

Mum is ready now but it's all too overwhelming. She's watching The Chelsea Flower Show, her favourite at this time of year. I can't look at her without crying and, not wanting to make her upset, I hold her hand and quickly say "Goodnight" to which she squeezes my hand and says "see you later darling" as I turn away and burst into tears.

Mum demands we take away all her bags, insisting she won't be needing them. All her clothes, books, crossword puzzles. Everything. All she needs is her purse and her phone. Then I'm handed a telephone number for the ward with an extension to Mum’s bed. Why are we being given this? Can't I just ring her mobile? What’s going on here? Are we in denial?!

The drive home is quiet. I'm keeping my tears to myself in the back of the car. Once we are home I spend the night scrolling through Mum’s Facebook and looking at pictures of us. Funny texts we've sent each other. I write out a text saying 'I love you' but decide not to send it as its late and don't want to risk waking her up. Why didn't I send that text?

27th May 2016 6:51am

Hearing Danielle scream and I'm suddenly out of bed looking for socks.

6:54am

We are out the door and driving as fast as we can down the Great North Road. My heart is beating faster than it ever has done. I'm in tears, waiting and wondering what we are going to hear when we get to the hospital. Stay positive. Stay focused. It’s going to be okay.

7:09am

We are here. The door of the lift opens into the dark and empty reception area of the ITU. A short man in a shirt and tie comes out from nowhere to ask what’s wrong but I'm in too much of a fluster to speak properly. All I manage is a muddled mess of fear and confusion.

What feels like hours drags by and my heart is on the edge of exploding into a thousand pieces but still I am trying to stay strong and stay focused. Everything is going to be fine. This will not be the worst day of my life and in a few moments I will be sitting by my Mum’s side, holding her hand and telling her how much I love her. Little did I know that about an hour later I would be in the exact same position but feeling beyond worse than I could ever imagine.

The doors to the unit open and a tall man with very little hair, thick, black framed glasses and mint green scrubs appears, washing his hands with hand sanitiser. No doubt washing away the last of my mum’s touch.

He gestures for us to follow him into a small room I hadn't noticed the night before and suddenly I know. This is THE room. People don't come into this room to receive good news. It hits. I can no longer feel positive or focus on anything other than the pit in my stomach.

Around 7:15am

It's happened. My heart has exploded and is currently adding colour to these plain, beige, claustrophobic walls. All of a sudden my life is completely different. I can't control the noises coming out of my mouth. The pain is too overwhelming. I'm shaking uncontrollably and starting to hyperventilate.

The door opens and it’s my Dad. He's flustered and confused, looking around at all of our faces. He takes a seat to my left on the other sofa, next to my brother. I notice that me and my brother are holding hands and realise that this is the first time we've been in contact like this for a very long time. One of my sisters is sitting to my right holding onto me while the nurse repeats what he has already told us moments earlier. He tells us that he was with Mum all last night. He was the last person to speak to her. The last person to hold her hand.

Somewhere Between 8 and 10am

This is already the longest day of my life. I’m walking into the blue unit holding Danielle's hand becoming more aware of where I am but having no awareness of the people around me. Walking down to bed 6, where I had been only 13 hours earlier.

I’ve never seen a dead body before.

Seeing the curtain drawn I start to shake again. The nurse tries to convince me that Mum looks peaceful and not to be afraid. As I walk in and see the shell of what once was, I let out a whine as my heart manages to break a second time. It is surreal to be sitting next to my Mum as she is slowly getting colder. Noticing the frost taking over her lips it becomes too much. I need to leave. I can't do this anymore.

Roughly Half an Hour Later

After composing myself I want to go back in. We all go in together. She still feels like Mum, still a slight warmth to her skin. She doesn't look peaceful though. Her mouth is open, she is bruised and swollen from all the failed attempts at blood tests and she's going yellow. I can still picture it clear as day now when I close my eyes. I don't want to let go. I don't want to leave her here.

1pm

We are all outside the house ready to go in together. Although I had been here that morning and I have spent the majority of my life calling this my home, my childhood, it feels different. A new kind of emptiness is setting in.

We’re not hungry but we know we need to eat. No one feels like cooking, which leads to the saddest Indian takeaway I've ever had to force feed myself.

I don't want to be unable to say that I spoke to Mum yesterday.

Saturday 28th May 12:34pm

Now that we've locked ourselves away for 24 hours we don't want to leave again. But we’re on our way back to the hospital to "visit" Mum in the "chapel of rest." She would hate that.

1pm

It's cold. Its dark and it's like a factory. It's underground, looks completely different to the rest of the hospital and is (of all places) not far from the kitchens. I’m standing in the room outside of where my Mum is lying. I can't sit down because the blinds don't touch the window frame and I can see her through the glass. I start to cry again. My dad goes in first with my brother. They are in there for ages when suddenly Dad emerges, leaving Matthew to say his goodbyes alone. I try to imagine how he's feeling and what he might be saying while I gather my thoughts.

A Few Moments Later

It’s my turn. Stefanie and Danielle went in together, now I'm on my way in with my Dad. I just sit there and cry. I don't know where to look or what to say. My Dad leaves and although it’s my Mum lying next to me, I feel like a stranger. So alone.

Still not really wanting to look directly at Mum’s face, I focus on her feet. The outline of her body under the long purple velvet blanket they had used to pull up to her neck. My eyes play tricks on me, sees Mum’s chest rise and fall, half expecting her to turn over and wake up.

I said everything I needed to. That "I love her, that I would make her proud. That I would dedicate my life to making a life for myself and any family I might have in the future" because I know that all she ever wanted was for all of us to be happy and be passionate about what we do and enjoy our lives as much as we can.

Later On that Night

After more visitors, cards, flowers, and numerous cups of tea, we decided to do Mum’s favourite, a "picky" tea. Family and friends came round bringing food and drink under their arms and the night starts to melt away before us. It's strange to sit in the dining room. An almost summer's day. Patio door flung wide open, radio on, and everyone helping out to make dinner.

10:45pm

Matthew (I should point out that both my brother and my boyfriend share the same name) has left his friends in Morpeth for his birthday night out and is in a taxi on his way to my house. I'm nervous to see him, what do I say? Do I cry? Do I have the same conversation that I've had with every new person I've seen since yesterday morning?

I wait in the hallway.

11pm

He’s here, he's drunk, and he's crying. He holds me and cries into my shoulder. He's nervous too and can't find his words. We sit in the living room and cry into each other until my Dad comes in and gives him a hug, telling him "it’s all going to be okay."

3am

We are all still awake, trying to exhaust ourselves to the point of dropping. Everyone seems to be going through waves of grief at the same pace. First we’re all crying. Then we compose and go into disbelief, in total shock that we are in this position. Then someone cracks a joke or shares a memory about Mum and we all have a good giggle. But surely enough the silence takes over again as one by one our laughing comes to an end. Like we start to feel bad for having a good time. Someone starts to cry again and sets everyone else off. The cycle starts again.

Eventually Matthew and me slope off to bed, physically and emotionally drained. He holds me close as we quietly cry ourselves to sleep.

Sunday 29th May - Early Morning

For a second, I forget. Then like a tidal wave it all comes flooding back and I start to cry. Matthew puts me in the shower and washes my hair while I stand and cry into the water, feeling like a broken, empty shell.

How is this happening?

6:30pm

Matthew and me go for a walk to the lake I used to go to with Mum and the dog. It's late spring and the swans are teaching their young to feed in the water. It’s beautiful and peaceful. But I can't quite take it all in.

It is Matthew’s birthday in 2 days, the first birthday we've shared together. I want to try so hard to be happy for him and enjoy his day with him. I know it’s what Mum would have wanted.

That night we curl up on the sofa in a heap and watch TV until we almost fall asleep. It's the beginning of a long process and we're going to have to start planning the funeral soon. But not now. Not tonight.

_________________________________________________________________________

Grief is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but unfortunately it is inevitable for all of us at some point. It doesn't get easier, but you do learn to live with it, because… well you just have to. There's no "quick fix" or rule book whereby if you follow these steps you're guaranteed to feel better and get over the loved one you have lost.

Grief effects everyone in different ways. Sometimes you don't even realise you are grieving. But only you know in yourself when you can truly say 'I'm okay' again.

I lost my mum on 27th May 2016 when she went into cardiac arrest in her sleep around 7am in the ITU of my local hospital. She had been battling cancer for a year and a half but at the time we were unaware of any spreads or new growths. Nothing had shown itself on scans or numerous blood tests since she had been admitted, which is why we, along with all of the doctors and nurses, were so shocked by her untimely death, despite the fact she had been in hospital on and off for almost 2 weeks. We later found out that the cancer had spread to almost every inch of her body, including her heart, lungs, and liver and yet it had all failed to show up in tests.

Looking back now, I think we were in denial, we didn't want to believe that this was it. Of course we didn't. But I'm glad we didn't know about the spreads. Mum didn't want to fight anymore. She had accepted the situation. Maybe she did ask a question and got an answer she wasn't hoping for, maybe she had asked the doctors not to tell us. But what good does it do for us to punish ourselves with these questions? Mum went the way she wanted to. In her sleep, without pain, and loved by all of her family and friends. She knew her own body and she would never have had allowed it any other way.

Cancer affects 1 in every 2 of us and almost everyone has been affected or knows someone affected by this god awful disease. Life is short and death is our only certainty within it. Appreciate the time you have and spend it with people who are deserving of it. Help people who need it. Jump at new opportunities. Challenge yourself. Tell someone you love them. Don't wait until tomorrow. Cherish every new day you're blessed with and make our minuscule moment on this planet worth every second.

grief
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