My mum’s face was grey and clammy, her hair had never looked as stark white as it did in that moment. She breathed in and out, in and out in quick succession, her words were barely audible, it was nearly impossible for them to escape her mouth.
She sat at the edge of her recliner focused on just trying to breathe, her tabby cat looking up at her wide eyed and concerned, exactly like I also felt - helpless and afraid. All I could do now wait until the ambulance arrived and follow the instructions from the emergency services responder over the phone.
This was the beginning of my Friday a few weeks ago, witnessing my mother, not quite 70, looking as close to death as I had seen an actual conscious person look and it shook me to my core.
In that moment, for the first time, I realised that my mother wasn’t immortal, she would not in fact live forever and this harsh reality didn’t dawn on me, it hit me like a Mack Truck.
In that moment, for the first time, I realised that my mother wasn’t immortal, she would not in fact live forever and this harsh reality didn’t dawn on me, it hit be like a Mack Truck.
Luckily for her and for me, the paramedics arrived, took her straight to the emergency room and she was diagnosed, treated and could return home again within a week.
What happened to her though wasn’t minor - she had deep vein thrombosis, parts of a large clot in her thigh had travelled to both of her lungs causing pulmonary emboli which had subsequently cut off part of her breathing and inflamed her heart.
They told her that she was “lucky”, that it could have easily killed her. And while I wouldn’t call having that happen as “luck” per se, I understand what they meant by it and too shared this sentiment. Because for me, the thought of any other outcome would be far worse than unlucky, it would have been devastating.
Although the end result of this event was positive, it did make me realise something that I hadn’t really thought about before – my mother was in fact ageing, she was moving from one stage of life to another. With this being her third serious health scare within the past two years I realised that this will probably not be so uncommon from now on because as her years go on and her health worsens, she will change from the woman that I have always known as my mother– strong, independent, stubborn and resilient to someone much different and to be honest I am not sure if I am quite ready for that.
Although the end result of this event was positive, it did make me realise something that I hadn’t really thought about before – my mother was in fact ageing, she was moving from one stage of life to another.
The fragility of loved ones as they grow older isn’t new to me, even the fragility of younger friends and family who have really been ‘unlucky’ in the health stakes aren’t. I have seen more than a person’s fair share (if there is one) of health battles, people who I have cared for put up their greatest defence, fighting their most gritty battles and giving it their absolute all in attempt to stay the person they once were, who they truly are. But for whatever reason, perhaps denial or avoidance, I never thought my mum would be one of them.
Like most of us, our parents, or a parent, provides so much to their children. We rely on them from the moment we are conceived, throughout our own adulthood. They are an unfaltering source of trust, strength, information, advice and support that I at least just naively assumed would always be around.
I didn’t realise until a few weeks ago, on that Friday that it wouldn’t always be, that she wouldn’t always be.
Since mum has come back home and is still recovering from the endless tests, procedures and the condition itself which is still being treated, she has transitioned (hopefully only temporarily) from the woman who was actively getting things done, supporting me and my two primary aged girls throughout remote learning / working from home juggle, to now exhausted, bruised and being the one that is need of help and support.
It has revealed how quickly the tables can turn, displaying the inevitable frailty of human life that even our ever-dependable parents can, or more accurately, will be affected by and that one day it will change from them looking after us, to us looking after them.
Each morning I pull up her compression stockings, I feed her birds, her cats, cook her dinner and wash her clothes when she needs. I have made more trips to Chemist Warehouse for items I didn’t even know existed in the past few weeks than I ever have before in my life.
I have gone from being the one looked after (yes, even as a grown woman) to be the one to look after her. And no, this is not a burden, not even an inconvenience, but it is revealing. It has revealed how quickly the tables can turn, displaying the inevitable frailty of human life that even our ever-dependable parents can, or more accurately, will be affected by and that one day it will change from them looking after us, to us looking after them.
And to be honest it’s an epiphany that I really didn’t want to have.
Shona Hendley is a freelance writer.
