Mum

Gall stones!

Who knew that gall stones could cause so much pain?

On Thursday 16th March, less than two weeks after her 67th birthday, gall stones took my Mum away. One got stuck in her pancreatic duct resulting in the inflammation of her pancreas knocking her whole body off balance: her lungs, her kidneys and finally her liver gave in. She'd been on life support systems for less than 48 hours, but there was nothing they could do.

It all happened so fast. On Sunday I'd spoken to Dad, it was "Day 100" for me, Mum was having a rest because she wasn't feeling so well. They had spent some time looking after Lizzie's kids and it had tired them out. On Monday morning Dad called; she'd been admitted to hospital with gall stones. They were talking about removing the gall bladder. A friend had had this done recently, and I thought of it as concerning, but treatable.

On Tuesday the situation had become severe, she needed a mask to breathe, but she'd need to be put on a ventilator so that they could run a scan on her pancreatic duct to check for blockage. I spoke to Mum for the last time only an hour after I was allowed to remove my mask in public. I told her that I loved her, and that she should stay positive. She told me that she loved me: that much I could hear from behind her mask. I am so glad for that.

Wednesday, around lunch time, Mum's doctor called me to tell me that her situation was dire and that we were waiting for a miracle. He was kind. Wednesday I cried a lot. Dad and Lizzie were with her, and Vicky had arrived from Singapore: they spent all day and night with her, it must have been so so hard for them. At least I could do other things to take it off my mind. But I wasn't there for her. To hold her hand and whisper in her ear and tell her that I loved her. To hold my Dad and my sisters at the most difficult time for our family. I hardly slept.

On Thursday morning Lizzie called to say the time had come. I could tell my Mum over the phone that I love her very much, that she was a wonderful mother, and I said "goodbye": we would look after Dad. Then they turned off the machines.

I had deluded myself that Amy (7) knew what was going on, she knew Grandma was sick and that Daddy had been crying a lot, but when I asked her if she knew what was going on, she shook her head. Then her eyes welled up with tears. In the end I was glad to be with this part of my family.

This photo makes me smile. Mum never really drank, but when she did you knew a candidate for the family story archive was on the cards. This was during Mum and Dad's last visit to Hungary and the last time I saw Mum in person. It was just after I had got out of hospital. Dad had ordered his usual beer, and Mum her usual orange juice. But, Dad had forgotten that there is zero tolerance to drink driving in Hungary: you can't even have a sip. So Mum took his beer and took great satisfaction in teasing Dad about it, giggling all the way.

Cheers! I love you Mum