With the soon to be closing of my blog, I realized that maybe my girls and husband would want the opportunity to have a voice and write a blog post. And so this post was written by my daughter, Layla.
To say that this journey was easy would be a lie.
I’ve come to the conclusion that just because you're a doctor doesn’t mean you know everything.
I’ve witnessed
Suffering.
Over.
And.
Over.
Not many people know what it’s like to see your mom in pain every day. There were days when she couldn’t get out of bed, or she’d be keeled over in pain. At the start, when my parents had to fly to Vancouver for special doctors, each time we’d be left with disappointment. Nobody knew. Nobody could help. And we all felt hopeless. Whenever she’d cry during appointments or visits, my little sister and I had a routine of getting tissue for her because that’s the only way we knew how to help. Many people don’t understand how it feels to see someone be so full of life and ability one day, and then the next it been stolen. She went from pain one day, to worse the next and all of us, including her, thought she was dying. She got so thin and frail, that everything she ate was being thrown up and my sister and I kept a count of how many times she puked a day. On my tenth birthday, she was taken to the Emergency room. Then on Mother's Day, our scavenger hunt was postponed because she was too sick, what was a day to celebrate and give love to your Mom became another day of pain. It was hard as an empathetic person because I knew I would never be able to say, “I know what you’re going through,” because I’ve never felt even a small fraction of what she’s felt. I couldn’t give her that comfort. I’d walk to our meeting place on the path after school and find her drenched in tears. More disappointment. More suffering. More tears. After my mom's endo surgery, the doctor told my mom “You’re just going to have to live with the pain,” I can still see my mom’s fallen face and hopeless tears as she was given this news. I’ll never forget those words, because she didn’t give up, in fact, my mom pushed harder.
ICBC made life really, really hard for us. There was so much stress and anxiety with every phone call and appointment. Lots of tears were shed because of the actions they did to us. Lots of times I wanted to write strongly worded emails to them. I wanted to voice how disappointed and mad I was because they didn’t care. And yet we fought. And fought.
What’s so amazing about this story is that my mom still managed to smile and laugh throughout the pain. She still homeschooled me and planned fun activities. She was still able to be my mom and be there.
One of the hardest parts was to see her struggle every day and be praying everyday for healing. I was really frustrated because I know that God can heal her in an instant, and yet he didn’t do it. After a while, I realized that healing comes differently for everybody. For my mom, it’s coming little by little. We understand that she probably won’t get better fully but ultimately we are fully healed in heaven.
Not everything was all hopeless and gray clouds though. We have good memories, like the car service we took to her physio “Driving with Miss Daisey” and the amazing woman who drove us and whom we got to call friend. The snacks my sister and I got to indulge in while waiting and playing games on our iPad. (We had lots of chocolate and granola bars) There was this one time when we got free massages from her massage therapist. When we’d go to Victoria for my mom's appointment we’d always go to the mall and bring a toonie for hedgehog chocolate from Purdys, and wanted to go to Sears because there was an escalator. It wasn’t all bad. We got to experience new restaurants and whenever we’d go to Vancouver, we’d go to this little restaurant called “Cafe du Soleil,” where the chef seats us at our usual spot and knows us.
I think what was especially difficult was for her to love photography but not be able to do it because of how painful it was afterwards. Food was such a joy and the absence of bread and wheat was sad. I know that at times she felt like a failure to us. But, the thing is, she never was. Not once have I thought of my mom as a failure.
A lot of the time especially when we were doing things, you couldn’t tell she was in pain. She hides it so well that barely anyone can tell unless you ask. It’s hard not to feel bad though when she does something special for us and then the next day she can barely move. It’s hard not to blame yourself for her pain even though it isn’t your fault. Because the reality is: pain is part of her life.
If you get anything out of this I want you to know that:
Even though people look fine on the outside doesn’t mean they are on the inside.
We can do hard things.
Healing comes in different ways.
Our family is stronger because of this.
If we could go back in time we would still do it over again, because we wouldn’t be here now.
Life is unfair, but it’s what you do with that unfairness that counts.
To keep pushing even when everything seems pointless.
I have such an amazing role model in my life. My mom has shown me how to be courageous, strong, brave and fearless. She’s endured so much and yet she’s still here living life to the fullest. I am so proud to be my mother's daughter.
My mom is a badass and I’m proud of her for it.
Beautiful and wise