I feel like the Grinch screeching 'I'm feeling' and being completely gutted about the whole situation or wiping my watery eyes, 'I'm leaking'.
The Adele song, 'I won't let you close enough to hurt me' may well have been written about me...
But, it's my mum, it's different... So there!
Me and my mum have had a strange relationship in the past. We never got on when I was growing up and I mean really didn't get on, not like the usual teenage / parent relationship. I told a councillor years ago that I thought my mum had never loved me until I was poorly and she nearly lost me. I couldn't believe what that councillor had just 'made' me say! Who thinks that of their own mother?
It wasn't unjustified. I told my mum about the conversation and repeated what I had said. Her response wasn't what you would expect. She didn't say don't be silly. She didn't say your my daughter I've always loved you. She said.... 'I can't help it, it's not my fault'. So there you are. I earned my mothers love by nearly dying. Clever me! She's honest, I will give her that. Not many people would sit next to a hospital bed and when asked by their daughter 'am I going to die'? Look them straight back in the eye and say 'I don't know'. Now, I don't like being lied too, in fact I despise it, but if there's ever a time and a place to lie, that would be it.
Anyway, she loves me now. She thinks I'm great. She thinks I'm cute and sweet and funny and smart and beautiful and strong and she is proud! She laughs at the way that men (silly ones) become obsessed with me and the way I handle it. She laughs at the fact that I can't stand still, that I sing and dance all the time. She likes my honesty. She carries a photograph of her 26 year old daughter to show people like new mums to do of their babies. She tells everyone about #GetYourBellyOut even though she has absolutely no comprehension of how the Internet works. She just generally likes me. And I like her.
She's come to the realisation that no matter who walks in to and out of her life, I will be the one constant. I will be the one that loves her forever, even if I do have to tell her off for being a twat regularly.
We're ok me and her. We never used to touch. We had weird personal space issues. Don't get me wrong there's still certainly no love fest but we can have a slow dance and we kiss when we separate.
She looks for things that she thinks I will like doing because she wants to spend time with me. She will think of silly things to make at Xmas because she knows it makes me happy. She will happily collect conkers with me, pointing out the ones that are unopened for me to break open! She's a good mum. She took her time but she got there. I was a shit daughter. I took my time but I got there too. Swings and roundabouts. We both fucked up at some time or another.
The very worst thing about this illness without a shadow of a doubt is seeing what it does to my mum. I don't think there is anything in the world worse than watching your child suffer. I see her trying to tell my story and I see her eyes fill with tears. I see her telling people how hard I've had it but I see the pain inside her.
Seeing other people hurting because of me is something that I can't deal with which is why I don't accept visitors in the hospital but I do accept my mum. Why? Why, when I know how much it hurts her do I let her see me like that? It's because she's my mum and I need her so I selfishly put her through it.
My mums not well. She has some of the early symptoms of UC. I have had UC for 7 years now, I was diagnosed at 19. My mums 46. I know she is worried. I'm hoping the doctors will get her looked at pretty quickly because of my history. Her first thoughts on the matter were that she didn't want a camera up her bum. *flings arms open* welcome to my world!
Let's all keep our fingers crossed for IBS diagnosis! I honestly don't know what I will do if she is diagnosed the same. I'll do everything I can. I'll answer everything I can. I'll support in every possible way I can but I won't be able to fix it.
Now I'm stumped.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know how to finish because I have no conclusion or end to this post.
Thank you for reading my random Psychoanalytic / venting / what should probably have been kept as a diary entry post...