I could write my life story from the beginning to now. I could do that but I don't think it would help me much. I wouldn't feel connected to it. It would be like it happened to someone else, so I am going to write about my past when things happening in my life trigger the memories.
My dad
Tonight there was a programme on about brain surgery. I find these things interesting. Anyway, suddenly they started talking about a man who had brain and lung cancer. It's the first time I have seen anything about anyone with what my dad died of. I studied the man and I was surprised he was looking so well and talking pretty normally. So, I inevitably thought back 25yrs to when my dad got ill.
Late one night I heard a loud knock on the front door. I was in bed but mum was still up. I was worried, because I thought my boyfriend, who had a car, might have been in an accident or something (How selfish?) and I stood out of sight on the landing, craning my neck and trying hard to hear what was being said. I could hear it was a man at the door and mum was sounding upset. I resisted the urge to burst into the living room. I waited and wondered. As soon as the door closed behind the man, I rushed downstairs, still concerned about my boyfriend. So, mum told me that my dad had collapsed whilst out on the town in Cardiff and his shipmate had told mum that he had seemed drunk, but not had that many. 'Yeah right! I thought. He was in Cardiff Royal infirmary. Mum was gathering her things to leave right away and I didn't want to go. To be honest, my dad had collapsed before, in Swansea that time and I remembered the waiting around whilst he had x-rays and he wasn't kept in. The x-ray showed he had scarring on his lungs, he was told if he didn't stop smoking he would end up in a wheelchair or dead! He'd had pneumonia, double pneumonia I think as a child and that was the cause of the scars, so dad said anyway! He almost died from the pneumonia. Remember that t.v ad, where the little girl runs up to her dad and begs him to stop smoking? Well, I did that! I would see that ad and say to him PLEASE stop smoking. He tried, I remember seeing him with a cigarette in his mouth and chewing the nicorette gum! Yes really!!! He gave up, giving up soon after that. So, here we were, I don' know how many years later? 5 or 10? Mum left for Cardiff Royal Infirmary and my boyfriend stayed with me. Yes, I am ashamed of myself. So, phone calls. Mum rang and told me he'd had a stroke. My mum's mum had gone to the hospital, she travelled from Gloucestershire. We were in North Wales, so far from Cardiff. So, a few days passed, lots of waiting and wondering what would happen next. When would he be home? Tests and more tests. Then, one day, my dad spoke to me on the phone. It was AWFUL! He could hardly speak and when he did, he kept saying the same thing 'Bancer, bung!' I said it out loud and my boyfriend was there, he cringed and I couldn't work out why. How strange that the denial can kick in so fast? Bancer bung? I repeated trying not to laugh (auto response maybe?) He was sighing impatiently, so mum took the phone back and I could hear that she didn't want him to say that and she said she would know more later on. We said our goodbyes my brain was spinning. My boyfriend tried to say CANCER and I rubbished it I told him 'No way! He's had a stroke OBVIOUSLY!' I mean he could hardly talk! I was 14yrs old, my dad couldn't have CANCER! The day they arrived home I was so relieved. I was so glad to see him and hug him. It was so horrible as well. He could hardly talk, had trouble walking, needed velcro sewing into his clothes and we were advised to put labels on things like cupboards so he could relearn everything. He had no concept of money. He couldn't fiddle with he radios, which was his first love! He couldn't be left alone in case he tried to make a hot drink or make some food. He was a danger. Of course one of the first things that they did was sit me down and tell me he had cancer. It was in his brain and his lung. I refused to believe it. NO, I mean I REFUSED. This was October/November. They told us he would go to a hospital for treatment. I was sure he would get better. He kept asking when he could go back to work. That made me so angry! Work?! SOD work!!!! I was so angry with him. We fought like cat and dog. I remember we even had physical fights and he pinned me against the back door, sobbing 'Why can't I get through to you?' Why I can tell you why NOW ( I couldn't then) Because I didn't want to bloody know! I didn't want to believe! I didn't want to hear CANCER!!! He was nasty 'Bastard!' he called me and I stayed out of the house. I could not handle it. I was out as much as I could be. We had one memorable conversation. That was after mum told me he only has 6 weeks to live. I begged her not to tell him but she did! He was a mess! It did open the door though. I asked him if he was scared and he was in tears 'YES' He was upset, he wasn't ready to go. He was sorry. He didn't believe in God anymore. And with that he threw the St Rebecca's cross he was given and all the medals and he seethed and raged. I recognised him, he was still in there my dad, when we talked honestly. I couldn't hate God though, it didn't feel right to me. To hear him say I didn't have to go to mass anymore was shattering. All the times I had not wanted to go and he made me. Here he was saying there is no God! I was defending Him, at least to myself. Mum was preparing for the money she would get from his life insurance. 'He told me he doesn't want you to have anything when he dies' she said 'He hates you!' I didn't give a hoot about money! I wanted my dad. I had always wanted my dad and I wanted him home forever, but not like this. Not this stranger. One night I got in from being out with my boyfriend and he was led on the sofa, struggling to breathe and looking pale. Mum rang the doctor and he wanted to send him to the local hospital (to die I suppose) but mum insisted he went to the main local hospital. Bangor Hospital. The Dr argued it was a chest infection and they could help him at the local hospital. Nope! Off to Bangor he went. We followed the ambulance. Mum was with dad and we followed in the car. I remember my eyes being glued to her pink sandals. It was January. I watched them all the way. Not saying a word. Not really believing it was real. Thinking it was a chest infection and this was WAY O.T.T. but at least he would be looked after. Once he was settled I went to see him. He was pale. I asked him if he was better and he said he was comfortable now, in his broken-worded way. I knew there was no more anger and we were friends again. He looked a bit worried, but I told him it was just a chest infection and he would be home soon. He agreed and told me to look after my mother. I left the room and never went back. During the long night he wanted me and I refused. REFUSED. We had a meeting in a side room. The doctor's mouth moved but, I didn't hear a word. I was looking out the window, focusing on the floor,wondering when we could go home. I wasn't there. We were there until the early hours. They said we could go, he was comfortable and stable, they would ring if anything changed. We went home, silently. I don't remember anything much, just going home and going to bed. Praying the phone would not ring. Of course it did. about 9.45am on 22 January 1988 I said to my boyfriend 'Well I guess this is IT' and he said 'YES' I couldn't believe it HE SAID YES!!! It can't be!!! We got there about 10.30am Mum disappeared off to see the nurse. I lagged behind. The nurse and mum appeared, the nurse was talking but I didn't get it, so mum said 'I'm sorry! He's gone!' I LAUGHED I said 'Gone WHERE?!' It was comical! Gone! But he only had a CHEST INFECTION! The nurse looked shocked at my reaction. Mum is blubbering and clinging to me and I feel like I could throw her across the room! GET OFF!!! 10.10am he died. I don't know what happens next. I just remember being in a room with leaflets and mum saying about post mortem and donating organs. Ew! No! I zoned out. Thinking NO, NO, NO!!! I wanted to go, I wanted to RUN! Then when we had the paperwork HOURS later, I found myself dragging along behind. I can't go I kept thinking I couldn't LEAVE HIM THERE! I didn't want to SEE his body NO! I just didn't want to LEAVE HIM THERE. All these stupid questions! I didn't see him. The last time I saw him I told him he would be fine and promised I would look after my mother. I wonder if she promised him to look after ME?
Bipolar in my life
Bipolar used to be called manic depression. When I was little, I didn't know it had a name, I didn't know it was an illness. I thought the way my mother acted was entirely down to two people, me and my dad.
My mother married three times in total. I am from the second marriage. An only child in that marriage. My dad worked away at sea. He was away for six months at a time working on oil tankers until I was about 5yrs old or so. After that he changed ships and went away for two weeks at a time and home for one. That was hard enough. To make it worse was my mother's erratic behaviour. Her moods would change rapidly. One minute it was all laughing and dancing around the living room, the next I was unmanageable and difficult for her and mostly a spoil sport, boring, a ball and chain. It was a crazy ride! When my dad was home, we would be sat down for lectures on doing housework. If I answered back, one day that was fine, maybe funny and cute, another day it earned me a good hiding! Confused! If I was in the bad books and sent upstairs when my dad was home, he would often come up to have a word (sent to whallop me) he would pat my head and tell me not to worry, 'Ah! You know what your mother's like! Just come down and apologise and it will be fine' I resented that. Why was it always my job to apologise?! It was full of contradictions. Dad leaving always felt like rejection and these moods of my mother's felt like a cycle of being drawn in and then rejected. I wasn't always safe. There was always fear in my life. Things could go along okay for a while then WHAM! Something would turn my life upside down. An argument with my older half sister or my nan could leave me feeling cut off from any normality. The most constant stable part of my life was nan. She was always there for me. She was kind and patient and she looked after me a lot. If my nan hadn't been there, I don't think I would have been living with my mum. I think I would have been taken into care.
Today
Today I am finding thoughts of my last conversation with my mother plaguing me. She was talking about moving. She was not happy with me and the fact that I don't visit her very often. I have my reasons. She is not mentally stable. She has not been the best mother to me. She is getting old, she reminds me often, but I feel empty of sympathy for her. It's not easy knowing that. When she told me she was moving, it brought up memories of how and when she has abandoned me in the past. All the times she rejected me, upped and left me. It's still painful. I have bits of me broken off in places. Parts of me are still that lost abandoned child. Those parts won't ever grow up. They will always be stuck there inside me, inside the time. Stuck. Stagnant pain. I can't get to them to dig them out. I am acknowledging them. Yes you pieces, you are there in me. I feel you. So, these words that she said, strike at my insides like strumming a chord. All the pieces are humming, vibrating, pain. She is oblivious. She sees my cold outer shell. She doesn't even know.
