Mam

Mam : Part 1

I started this blog nearly a year ago to keep an account of life living with a teenager and perhaps in years to come when she's developed the ability to laugh at herself, show it to her.

I have touched upon the fantastic woman who was responsible for bringing us into this world, I have never felt strong enough to fill you in fully, I think I should probably give you some background on this woman. I know everyone thinks their mammy is the best, but she was the best Mammy ever. And I'm allowed to say that. She was not only Mam to us, she was Mam to so many of our mates.

Married at 17 to a guy she knew for a grand total of 3 weeks. She was escaping from an arranged marriage and I can't say she made a mistake, because to say that would mean we wouldn't be around. So I'm not going to get into that argument with myself. She married 8 days after her 17th birthday and about 11 months later I was born. Then my sister another 13 months after that.

Mam spent the best part of 21 years living with this alcoholic and general arsehole. I will refer to him from here on in as SD, Sperm Donor, because that's what he was. He was never a father, there were other men in our lives who we could give that phrase to. He was never phyiscally abusive, probably because the first time he raised his hand to mam, she broke his nose. I think he knew then he wasn't going to get away with any crap. It turns out that in later years, we were to find out that he 'pimped' his daughters out, for want of a better word. We were too young to realise what was going on. I have no recollection of specific incidents except the odd pub and ould fella getting a kiss for a packet of crisps. The sister K has specific memories of his mates and what they got up to.

I could be a complete drama queen now and go on about perhaps the abuse I may or may not have suffered at the hands of these pervs was one of the reasons I 'turned' lesbian. Who knows and who cares. I am a happy camper now, so lets leave the pyshobabble for Therpay Hour shall we?!

For all those years, she looked after us, made sure we had a happy childhood, despite him falling in the door every second evening, leaving her short for the week so she had to cut back on shopping. Once he had money for his drink, everything else came second. I still to this day don't know how she managed. But then again mothers are quite resourseful. She always sheltered us from the bad stuff, so I can only imagine what she went through. She adopted her sister's baby in 1980 when her sister was being kicked out of the family home for getting pregant outside of wedlock. She took her sister in whilst she was pregnant. It turns out the sister and SD were having an affair, that is when
he stopped shagging Mam's best friend. Then in 1989, the kid came along. I was 16 and this was the best thing that could have happened as far as I was concerned. She was adorable. Once the kid got to school going age, Mam made the descision that she was going to leave him. She'd had enough, we were all reared and she wanted the kid to have a different childhood to the one we had.

With K, the younger sister in college, I was at home fulltime. I wasn't really bothered about going on anywhere at that stage. Mam got a part-time job and I looked after the kid. She had just started national school and was beyond cute in her little uniform and school bag.

I think it was around this time that Mam developed arthrisis in her hands. She was always going a lot of manual work. If she wasn't hand washing loads of cloths, she was out cutting wood up for the fire or turning turf. Once we got old enough to realise that we could help, we did. I'll always remember one cold evening , we were out cutting the wood, SD stuck his head out of the door asking if she was making the dinner. Once inside, she was putting cream on her hands, and he asked when she was finished doing that would she put the kettle, he wanted a cup of tea. I would have battered him with the cup, but I decided that maybe murder wasn't the greatest of options. That and Orange wasn't a good colour for me.

Mam : The Divorce and the Move

Eventually Mam got enough money together to buy a mobile home and the grandparents had said we could put on their land. Bit by bit she was packing stuff. Of course it was only a matter of time before he noticed that stuff was starting to dwindle. He was such an arrogant arse that he didn't believe it. He'd taunt her when he'd come in after a few drinks, about not moving away and leaving the house. She'd never leave the house, she loved it too much.

When we finally made the move, he was furious. We went for a long holiday and just didn't come back. He'd call up the whole time, first trying to be nice then drunk as a skunk threatening to burn the place the mobile home to the ground and then we'd have to come home. Eventually Mam got the guards involved, or so he believed and threatened him to streer clear of us. He did for a while. When he was about, visiting the kid he was always trying to convince me to talk Mam into going back. Apparently, Mam was incabable of making a descision herself. Or so the story goes. He took her from the farm, ignorant farm girl that she was and he educated her in the ways of the world. Yes, you can just see it can't you.

He learned very quickly how I felt about the situation. Then again he always know how I felt about him. He knew from the time we were all watching a program called Family from Roddy Doyle. The scene where the daughter hits the husband over the head with a frying pan, I cheered. What? It
was a fantastic scene. He glared at me. None too impressed. So with the words Cold day in hell before we move back in with you, he changed his tune. He said that I was responsible and that once I stared college, Mam would see sense and stop being corrupted by me. All those magazines I left around with titles like "10 ways to kill your husband" must have pissed him off no end. I didn't mind what he thought. In fact in a moment of madess and seeking this closure that so many people talk about , I wrote him a letter telling him exactly what I thought of him. I ended the letter by saying I would definetly attend his funeral, just to ensure the b*****d was dead. Then I would throw a huge party. He gathered from this there was no repairing the father-daughter relationship. I never knew there was one.

There is so much I can say about him, but the more I think about it, the more I think I couldn't be bothered. He had such a strong hold on our lives for so long and now we're free, so I don't fancy dwelling on him. This is about Mam.

Mam : Life in Ballincliffey

Its hard to explain what life was like in the mobile home. Aside from it being small and there were 4 of us living there, 6 come christmas, it was the best of craic. Apart from at winter time when the pipes would freeze up and we would have no running water. We had cold water and for hot water and showers, the grannies house was next door. We were always up and down to it. It made no difference to Mam, it was her own place. At first it was bizzare. Being able to leave money lying around without fear of it being gone. Going out for a walk and the place being in the exact same state as when you left it. Christmas was such fun, without him roaring at us to get him a soft drink first thing in the morning because he had a hangover. The kid loved christmas mornings, she was up all hours, and then she'd come in and bounce on Mam's bed and then mine. The 6 years we spent there were the best. I remember one New Years eve I invited friends from college down, and a total of 11 people slept in the mobile home that night.

The following day, there was mashed potatoes all around. Whenever we were out, Mam always went on about how she cooked for so many people. Everyone was always well impressed. There are so many things that I could talk about but I'd fill a book, so I'll just summarise by saying, it was great. Its easy to look back with romantic eyes and stuff but that place was more of a home then the family home in Legan. And this was all down to Mam. Mam danging around outside the mobile with Uncle Barney, taking walks down to the lake and throwing the brother in. He wasn't happy about that. Cycling up to the post office and phone box. Crashing the bike with the kid on the front into a pile of nettles. She wasn't happy about that. There was screams. Mam was too busy laughing.
Coming home from college when my uncle would forget to pick me up and I'd walk the 3 and a half miles home in the frost cursing my forgetful uncle.

And coming into the warthm of the mobile where Packie would be standind scratching his head when he was supposed to be picking me up. I was unimpressed. He was always like that. In the final year of college, myself and my mate went to Wales and it was so hard being away from Mam. I'd never spent more then a week away from home, and this was 3 months. It was the first time I'd seen Mam cry when she was saying goodbye to me at the bus stop. I explained it was only Wales and it was only for 3 months but still she was a bit upset.

Mam : Holidays

I swore that once I started working, I was going to save for a house and Mam was going to move out of the mobile home. Yes, I am one of those daughters from a true life movie. Of course, Mam's middle name being martyr, there was no way she was going for it. Yes, I could just see it alright. There I am living the life in Dublin whilst Mam freezes her ass off in a mobile home in the country. This woman worked her ass off to make sure we wanted for nothing whilst we were younger and protected us from that abusive scumbag, affectionately known as Papa. The least we could do was re-pay her for some it. The first holiday was great, we'd only ever had holidays up to my grannies, so to get away somewhere was amazing. Mam loved it, the freedom of being away from her family. She loved living up beside them but sometimes it got a bit much for her and so the break was great
for everyone. We headed to Kilkee in Clare and the kid loved it. We were near a proper beach with sand and no rocks. Sand castles were built.

At this stage, Mam and the kid had already been introduced to Mammy2 and they all got on famously. The holiday was great. Many more holidays followed after that and lots more sandcastles. Throw in the kid turning 13 and it was fun times.

Mam : Hospital

June - Mam was taken into hospital on the kid's 14th birthday, June 26th 2003. Stubborn as always, she had insisted she was fine, but when the aunty brought her up to the hospital, they kept her. They wanted to run tests. We had been away for a week in France with friends. When we got home, there were 2 messages on the answering machine. One was in relation to a good friend's dad passing on and the other was that Mam was in hospital. We headed directly to Mullingar once we had attended the funeral and cremation of the mates dad. Mam was pretty peeved at being in hospital, always wanting to be doing something. They recommended they keep her for a while as they wanted to do loads more tests etc.

August - Travel down for the results Checkups - diagnosed with cancer. Given a few years. More checkups. Biopsy and other tests. Lots of them

September - Change of doctors. Doctor says no cancer. Nurse says there's no cancer. And then says it is cancer. And then not.

In for operation, tumour successfully removed. Through the operation grand. Let home for 2 days.
Crippled with pains. Called 999. Ambulance arrives. Leaves with blue light flashing. Brought back up to hospital. Bowel came apart. More tests. Taken into ICU. Treatement shoddy. Spoke with doctor who assured us she was fine, just needed a second opinion. Her wound was still open on her tummy and she was moved to the main ward.

This part of our lives is like one of those montagues in films, you know the ones with the cheesy music, except at the end of it, obviously Mam would have left the hosptial and not in a coffin.
There are various important moments along the 9 months of a rollercoaster we all spent whilst Mam spent all the time in a hospital room all to herself with an open wound on her chest. That sounds dramatic doesn't it. I'll explain.

Mam : October

Transfer from Mullingar to James. James Hospital no idea she was so bad.
I don't remember exact dates. I remember moments. Like thinking everything was great when she was transferred because at least she was going to get proper treatement now that they had a bed for her. Receiving a phone call from the hospital when I came back from being out with the workmates, sobering up in under 5 minutes and having to make adult descions. Like ring Holland and tell the sister to come home. Ring the brother and let him know what's going on. Organise to let the rest of the family know. Head to the hospital and sit in that sterile ICU waiting room with loads of
other people, little did I know I was about to get to know all of them quite well. The nurse was very patient and explained what was happening and that they had to run a load of tests and how sick Mam was and did we know that etc. I remember Mammy2 taking the kid to stay at her boyf's at the time and breaking speed limits to get back to the hospital.

The nurse explained that when they wheeled Mam out, there would be loads of wires and tubes connected to her and not to be scared, this was standard. I prepared myself for it, but when they came dramatically out the doors with this huge bed and mam so tiny in it, I got upset. There were nurses and doctors all around her and she looked really small. They headed off down the corridor to wherever they do the tests. The sister texted, she had booked the earliest flight she could and would be in that morning. I was sniffling away and two ladies beside me, most other people had left the waiting room at that stage, handed me a tissue. There was no point in asking if everything was alright.

We were in the intensive care waiting room, it would have been a bit pointless. Mammy2 arrived back and 2 hours later, Mam was brought back up to ICU. The nurse said she was doing okay, but she was still listed as critical. Critical but stable. We were to very to tire of this phrase very quickly. As mam was out for the count, we headed home. Picked the sister up from the airport the following morning and headed straight to the hospital as she wanted to see Mam. From there, Mam improved a lot, so much so the doctors were amazed. She pulled through that and was transferred to her own room in ICU. Because her tummy wound was still open, they were afraid she might pick up bacteria from other patients. As she loved christmas so much, we bought loads of decorations and made the place look very festive. One nurse, a guy from Ukrania was so impressed he took a pic of the room. Mam thought we were mad. She hated being in hospital and was aiming to get out as soon as possible.

Every time the Prof, her surgeon came around, she was asking him when could she have her operation and get out. He tried explaining to her that he had to wait until things settled down inside before he could go in again. In the meantime, mam thrwarted herself by asking what we had for dinner whilst she enjoyed the drip connected next to her. She was brought for a little walk every day by one of the nurses , who were all lovely. We thought she was getting stronger. We brought in the westmeath flag and decorated her room for her when she moved in. We'd listen to the matches on the radio, sometimes we'd be leaving her and she'd be laughing away and telling us she was tired. I think she was sick of listening to us talk. She could have been more subtle about it.

There'd be times when it would be hard to go into the room. There was a bag of fluid on her wound to keep it from getting infections and stuff and sometimes it would burst and the smell would be terrible. But of course you couldn't say that, so you'd wait for the nurse to arrive and she'd change it. Mam got to know everyone on the ward. She often got into slagging matches with one of the janitors Dennis, I think his name was . He was a dub and slagged her about Westmeath all the
time.

Mam :The Prof

Herself and the Prof had a love hate relationship. I think he dreaded coming into her room because every week it was the same question. When can I go home, when are you doing my operation?
And so on. Eventually I think he took to wearing a disguise. I'm pretty sure I saw him dressed as a nurse one day when he shot past Mam's room. Another day he had a groucho marx face mask on him. We got so attached to him. We always kept an eye out for him. He was the man that would make mam better. He tried explaining about the bowels. Basically when they were like wet toilet paper and he could do nothing with them until they strengtened. We'd have meetings with him away from Mam, where he tried to stress how sick she was. It didn't seem to sink us with us though. He told us she was sicker then any of his long-term cancer patients. Yet we continued to pray and hope. I suppose its the body's way of getting on with things. Get up in the morning and go to see her and coming home and doing it all again the following day. Otherwise, we'd just stop altogether.

She'd have her up moments and her down moments. Christmas was the lowest she was. She loved christmas and hated being in the hospital. Once the day itself passed, she was grand. Mothers day, we got her loads of creams and stuff from the body shop. She was massaged then with all that cream. A long time in hospital your skin starts to dry out a lot. Every day she'd ask how the kid was. The kid visited rarely. She hated the hospital. She hated the smell and I suppose it was hard to her to see Mam like this. Tiny, frail in a bed. Hooked up to a few machines and unable to swallow her own spit. She'd lost a lot of weight as well. Her response was "Sure you'd never gain anything with that feckin drip"

The drip was food being fed directly into her body. It was never going to be as nice as a dinner.
The sperm donor in the meantime was causing all sorts of hassle. Whenever Mam was in ICU, he'd ring demanding to know how she was. However the nurses had been informed and so would not give any info unless it was myself or the sister K who rang. He got quite annoyed at one stage. When we arrived in to visit, the little nurse informed us that he had rang. She had told him the story and he said he was a big man. At this stage, myself and the sister fell about the place laughing. I explained to the nurse he was an alchoholic leprechaun and not to be scared of him. Also there was no way he'd make it up to Dublin to visit because there were too many pubs between Dublin and Longford.
However, we were quite annoyed. We had enough to be dealing with without this dimwit throwing his weight around. The sister had a brainwave. She was going to ring an old mobile number she had for him and pretend to be the head of ICU and demand he stop threatening her staff. She rang, left a message and we never heard from him after that. Niether did the staff. Stupid muppet didn't even recognise his own daughter's voice.

Mam :Operations

We were told she'd need another 2 operations at least. The days and weeks passed. We never realised how quickly time flew. I mean, from Novemenber until May, James Hospital was our second home. As I'm sure if was for other families as well. We got to know some faces. At one stage, we were in ICU, visiting Mam. She had pulled through another one of those, "say your goodbyes" and was doing okay. Still hooked up to a ventilator and all that. We were chatting about some of the other patients. One guy we saw in the ICU had lost his arm. Classic Mam, she responded:
"God, and you think you've got it bad" Talking about herself. I mean, the woman was after coming back from the dead twice and had no lower intestine. And she was talking about people had it worse. I suppose it was her spirit that kept her going all that time. She was aiming to get those operations and get out. We were aiming for that too. We had plans to get her a surpise, bring her away on holiday. Loads of plans. She just wanted to get home to her house.

The extended family eventually stopped causing hassle and starting working with us when they realised that all we cared about was Mam. At the start, there was issues in relation to who could ring and we basically told them that ringing every hour, when Mam was in ICU, was not fair on the nurses. If we all rang , the nurses wouldn't get to do their job. So we rang and then kept the rest of the family informed.

Whilst all of this went on, the days Mam wasn't bad, we went to work and the kid went to school. For a time you could pretend everything was okay. Until you came home, got dinner, packed the 2 bottles of ice and drove to the hospital. In Feburary Mam got shingles. Somehow or other we had been in contact with some kid with chickenpox and passed it on to her. She was very sick with it for a while. She got a lot of sores and was in even more pain. It was absolutely soul destroying seeing her tear at herself. One day we came in and her face was all blotched up. She was half asleep.
We spent a while cleaning her sores down and putting cream on. She was a bit happier with herself after that, even though we had barely finished wiping her face down when she started at her face again. I threatened her with no ice. Not that she believed we would deprive her. We could always pretend.

On paddies day we embarssed her by arriving up in full irish regalia. K and the kid had green feather boas tied around their hair, I dyed my hair green for the occasion and Mammy2 wore an irish t-shirt. Mam was scarlet as all the nurses were having a look at us. She got over it then and was yapping away to us about what we were going to get up to. Another operation, another day of sitting in the waiting room. The prof explained that these operations were always going to be risky because of how sick and frail she was. But she was determined. She knew there was no way she was going to get out of there without the prof trying to repair the bowels.

She was very frightened going into this one. It was as if she knew what was coming down the line. She started crying as the nurses started fixing up the bed for moving it into the theatre. She kept apologising to us for putting us through this. Typical Mam, selfless to the end. That day passed so slowly. We went from the coffee shop, to the waiting room and back. 6-8 hours later, we were called into a room off the ward that Mam was staying on. It didn't look good. The prof came in, still in his full scrubs from the operating theatre. He told us there was nothing more he could do. She was loosing so much blood they couldn't risk moving her from the theatre. They were going to try out a new drug, that helped with clotting blood but he advised us to prepare ourselves for the worst.
We rang the extended family. Within hours they were all en route to the hospital. They had managed to get Mam from theatre to ICU.

That night , the nurses dropped out blankets to the waiting room, in case of any of us wanted to sleep. We couldn't , but the some of the family rested. It was eeriely quiet, we were the only ones in the waiting room. The only other noise was the nurses whenever they left ICU to go to the blood place. They were working on Mam. It was weird. That morning around 6.30, one of the little nurses from Mam's ward dropped over to the waiting room to see if there was any news. She said she was praying for Mam last night. They all got on so well with her.

Around 7, one of the ICU nurses came out to talk to us. Basically, things had improved and they'd manage to get her somewhat stable. We went home for a couple of hours, slept for a bit,showered and came back up. Amazingly she got through this as well. Although she was't the same. She was beginning to think she wasn't going to get out. It was so hard to watch, because it was always her spirit that kept her going. Her will to live whilst her body was giving up. If her spirit gave up, there was no coming back.

One evening when I dropped in to see her, she told me she thought she was never getting out. Its hard to respond to that. Things improved though. The prof allowed her to drink fluids. It was a huge step for her and for us. She was allowed swallow. I remember the evening really well. I couldn't face the hospital. It was only the second time I missed visiting her. I was out with the best mate C. And Mammy2 rang me to tell me. I was nearly crying. We were convinced this was a huge step forward. The following evening we brought her 7-up. She was chuffed. She drank loads of it though and her body was not used to liquids so she got a wee bit sick. But she said it was worth it. Her mood was still up and down.

Mam :Final Week

It was a Tuesday night. Myself and Mammy2 went to see her, she was completly out of it. It looked like she was drugged. Granted she was on some medication for the shingles, but she was just not there. We were talking to her and she was barely responding. I got upset, she wasn't Mam. I asked to see one of the nurses and he said that she was grand, just tired. I wasn't so sure but these people had taken good care of her so I trusted them. That night, at around 2 the mobile phone rang. It only ever rang at that time if it was the hospital. I answered it and it was one of the nurses asking us to get to the hospital as quick as we could. K and the kid were into our room in a shot. We all got dressed as quickly as possibly. The phone rang again, the nurse was checking were we on our way. I knew it was bad. Two phone calls in quick succession didn't mean anything good. We got to the hospital and were met in the corridor by one of the nurses who brought us past Mam's room. There were a load of nurses and doctors around the bed and there was a screen around her. We were brought into another waiting room and the nurse was all chat to us, saying that Mam had taken a turn and that they were going to move her back down to ICU to make her more comfortable. They offered us tea or coffee.

The next few days were a blur. She never really came out of the coma. She opened her eyes a few times but from the look on her face, she didn't expect to be still in the hospital. She kept pulling at the ventilator and gesturing to us. It was heartbreaking to see. I couldn't stop crying. Every time I went in to see her. And I had to get it together else she'd be upset seeing us upset. On Friday evening, we met with one of the nurses and the prof. They started talking about palative treatment. The sun was shining. The weather was fabulous. Myself and the sister K walked home, deciding who we had to ring and tell.

Mam :Saturday May 15th 2004

We arrived up early. The extended family starting arriving. Aunts and uncles. Mam's best friend travelled up. People starting talking about funerals etc. We asked them to shut up. Mam was not gone yet. Could they at least show a bit of respect. People took turns going into to visit it.
At this stage, Mam had been moved into her own room. There was a large window and the sun shone in on her. The nurse was very patient with all the people who took it in turns to see her. She answered all their questions and showed Mam such respect. When we weren't in the room, we could look in the window of the door. The nurse would adjust everything, brush Mam's hair, put lip balm on her as her lips dried out and fix the blinds so the sun wasn't too warm on her.

The waiting atmosphere and sniping got too much for us. We moved into ICU and sat outside Mam's room. The 4 of us. The nurse explained that the blood pressue was dropping bit by bit and that technically she could go at any time. I knew Mam. She would wait until everyone had seen her.
I couldn't go into the room most of the time. The sister K went in a few times and I stood at the bottom of the bed. The drugs had swelled Mam up a lot. She just didn't look like Mam. The kid wanted to go in but was scared. I found out that if you stood on the other side of the bed, Mam looked nearly okay. So we stood on that side and the kid held her hand for a few minutes. The machines were annoying and the ventilator. The nurse eventually put on a radio on low volume. The country station. A couple of the songs I remember from that day. The Eagles Taking it easy. Ironic.

The nurse finished her shift and had a few words with us before she left. The nurse that took over was a black man. We couldn't believe it, Mam would have been chuffed. She always had a thing for them. We commented on all the machines doing the breathing at one stage and how we wished it was all over. For mam, more so then anything else. All this in and out, looking at her, she had no dignity left. As it turns out, once I signed a piece of paper to give the doctors the okay, they could turn off the machines and stop all the drugs being pumped into her body. She was going herself but knowing Mam's spirit she'd make it last for ages. I signed the last piece of paper on Mam's behalf. The lovely nurse explained that once they started the process, it would be quite quick. Within 5-10 minutes she would be gone.

I went out to the waiting room, told the family what were we were doing. They all had a few more minutes and then the priest arrived. He was another black man. Mam would have been in her
element. Even if he was a man of God. We all waited in the room. The kid started crying. I made a few jokes to her about forgetting to get the receipe for mash off Mam , anything to make her feel at ease. The preist started praying. Then a beeping noise came from the machine nearest us. The nurse quietly annouced that Mam was gone. I left and told the others to as well. I'd heard the way a body reacts once its passed on.

We gathered together outside. There were hugs, tears. Disbelief that this is how it ended. The nurse came out and chatted with us. We thanked him for taking care of mam. He responded by saying he was grateful to have met her once before and what a lady she was.

I spoke to the rest of the family and said we would be in touch regarding arrangements but that two things were definite. The coffin was going to be closed, ie no wake.

And Mam wanted to be cremated. End of story.

Her funeral was huge. She would have been impressed. She always rated funerals on attendence. She was also the talk of the place because she was to be cremated. I'm sure she was up there having the last laugh.

It was a tough year. I guess though in one respect we were lucky. We never knew she wasn't going to make it. Not like those people who's loved ones have a terminel illness. Death of a loved one affects everyone differently. I can only speak for myself when I say the loss is overwhelming and impossible to put in words. It feels like you've got the permanent scar, this sore, and sometimes the pain goes away and then sometimes its there constantly like an itch that you have to scratch.
I'm not good with words.

The world lost Mam but heaven gained her. She was too good for this world. She was my world.