A friend pointed out to me the other day that I haven’t blogged in a while, and yes, it’s been close to two years. There is no excuse really, other than life getting in the way and a lack of real inspiration. And just like that, almost two years zoom by, and even WordPress has given up on sending me “we see you haven’t posted in a while” reminders. I quit my job about 18 months ago, so in theory I have plenty of time to ramble on over here, but the funny thing is I seem to have less time now than ever before. Perhaps my ability to write down my random thoughts went down the drain with my career, or maybe life has not really been blog-worthy. Maybe I’ve forgotten the real reason for writing here in the first place: for Alex and Caris to have an insight into me when I am gone. I wanted them to have a glimpse into me, the adult, the person, the thinker and feeler; not just their good old mom who plods on in the background making food and picking up all the random shit they leave lying around the house. A friend of mine died very suddenly yesterday, and the news has sent me into a sad reflection of how short our time here is; how it can end abruptly with no warning. So, I need to come back here and record the thoughts and feelings that are overflowing from my being. I just need to get through today…
Barring the last week, Alex has been having a bit of a rough time since school started again this year. Being quite a reserved child, he sometimes struggles to fit in with the crowd. I can relate, because I was never really a mainstream kid. He has always been quite an intense child, we even saw him frowning in-utero during his 4D ultrasound! Even from tiny, he would suss things out before engaging with a new group of kids, or trying out a new activity. He doesn’t particularly care for crowds and much prefers one-on-one attention. I always assumed that it was because he only started school at three, and was naturally shy, but the more I observe him, the more I realise that he is a little different to the other kids. And specifically to the other boys. But not in a bad way. Alex is a sensitive child, and is clearly a thinker (a trait he has gained from me, and from his dad, so he has a double dose!) He is always polite and waits his turn, sometimes to his own detriment, as the other kids barge in front of him. He is a worrier and seems to carry the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders some days.
When I see the boys in his class playing fighting games and running around pretending to shoot each other, I can understand why Alex prefers the company of girls; he is just not into that stuff. So as a result, all of Alex’s school friends are girls. But by the same token, he loves typical boy things such as cars, planes, ball games etc, and his latest obsession: vikings and dragons. He has told me on many occasions that he does not like the fighting games that the boys play, because they are too rough. (But he is perfectly happy to rough-house with Gary or his older brothers, go figure!) He loves anything to do with animals, and I could fully see him being a vet, or an animal rights activist, in the future. While the other boys are watching Ben 10 and Spiderman, Alex prefers “A dolphin tale” and “How to train your dragon” (and mainly because the dragon is a pet!)
So the trouble began when we started school again this year, and his friend Bianca was not there. (She has some medical issues requiring surgery this year and her parents decided to home-school her.) The classes are always mixed up at the beginning of the year, and as a result there are new kids in his class, and only a few from last year. And more importantly, the girls are starting to only play with girls. Which leaves poor Alex in a bit of a quandary. We have many conversations on the way home that go something like this:
“Did you have a nice day boy”
“No. I had a terrible day”
“Somebody hurt my feelings”
“Carmen…” (or Vicky or Jessica etc…)
“What did they do my love?”
“Nobody wants to play with me … ” (tears at this point)
“Why don’t you play with the boys then, sweetheart?”
“I don’t like fighting games.” (now full-on sobbing)
And my heart breaks for him.
Alex has been teary quite a lot at school too. His teacher has mentioned this to me on a few occasions and asked me if there are any major issues in Alex’s life right now. She told me that she has asked him if anything is bothering him, and he sometimes gets very teary and (after a lot of coaxing) says things like his tummy is sore or he is missing his brother (Stuart has been away in New Orleans since November last year.) And whilst on some days he is perfectly happy and full of the joys of spring, the kid is clearly on an emotional roller coaster. Being in grade 0 this year also means that the pressure has increased big time, so it is important that he feels settled. By the same token, if I see that he is feeling down at home and ask him what is wrong, he gives me lines such as “I don’t like that movie we saw… ” or “I don’t want to swim because the water goes in my eyes…” or some other random statement, but I never get to the bottom of what is really going on. And the more I ask him what is really troubling him, the more upset he gets.
As parents we just want our kids to be happy, but no matter what I do to try to understand what’s eating him up inside, I just can’t seem to get through to him!
Which brings me to another issue: the sore tummy. I have also been at the receiving end of many complaints of “my tummy is sore”, usually preceded by something he does not want to do, which at the moment is just about everything. Not wanting to go swimming, not wanting to go to bed, not wanting to go to soccer, not wanting to eat dinner, not wanting to tidy up, being refused a new toy at the shops etc. So to be honest, I have doubted that there is anything physically wrong with his tummy, and that he has just been using it as an excuse to get attention. However, I am also not insensitive to the impact that Gary’s kidney issue last year has had on Alex, as he has asked me many times: “What will happen if I get a lump on my kidney? Will I die?” And “What happens if daddy gets a lump on his other kidney? Will he die?” etc. I always try to reassure him that he is fine, and daddy is fine, and no-one is going to die right now. So for good measure, I decided to take him to the paed just to be sure, and the doc confirmed that there is nothing to be concerned about. I also got the good doctor to check his kidneys too, which are obviously fine, but I felt terrible when the poor boy whispered to me as we got into the car: “I was very nervous when Dr Slowatek checked my kidneys mommy!”
Breaks my heart some more.
So as much as he seems a little happier at the moment, I still think that he is carrying around some issues, which I don’t know how to help him resolve. I would guess that the problem lies somewhere between Bianca being gone, Stuart being away, and Gary’s health-scare, but when I ask him about any of these things he just gets upset, and cannot verbalise his true feelings. Maybe its none of these things and I am jumping to conclusions.
I have considered taking him to a play therapist, but I have heard so many mixed reviews about these types of therapies. Some kids blossom during the process, and for some it’s a total waste of time (and money.) And my cynical mind thinks that we never had the luxury of therapists to sort out all our problems when we were kids, and we ultimately turned out just fine. But I also appreciate that kids these days are under a LOT more pressure than we ever were. I also don’t want Alex to become completely withdrawn as he clearly already struggles to express his feelings.
So later today I have a meeting with the school psychologist… wish me luck! (And here’s hoping we get to the bottom of this!)
I’m definitely not superstitious, but I’m starting to think that there is something to this “unlucky number thirteen” thing.
In a lot of respects 2013 was indeed a pretty unlucky year. There were many health challenges in my close family / friends. My dad was hospitalized in ICU for over a week with pneumonia and had to have a potentially dangerous hernia repaired and my mother in law broke both her arms at the same time. Two of my close friends were diagnosed with breast cancer and had to have double mastectomies. Another friend had a cancerous tumour in her brain removed. Two friends lost their fathers, and another their brother. And not to forget the mother of all health scares: Gary’s cancerous kidney that now lives in a lab somewhere. Not only were there medical issues, but relationships ended too: two close friends went through unpleasant divorces / breakups, and Craig broke up with his girlfriend of five years.
A nasty year all round.
I realise that this is starting to sound like the blog post of doom and gloom… Let’s just say that by the time December rolled around, we all NEEDED a holiday, to put it mildly!
So enough of that already!
2013 wasn’t all misery and sadness, and despite the hiccups along the way, it was also a pretty good year:
We went to Mauritius for a very brilliant ten days at Club med!
Alex lost his first tooth! (and his second!)
We built a house! (which is pretty damn amazing, and the whole process went surprisingly smoothly)
Stuart got his Civil Engineering degree! (Had to steal this photo from his FB page, as he is currently in New Orleans partying it up – been there since November and didn’t go to his actual graduation)
Craig finished his articles, and is now officially a qualified attorney!
So here’s to an amazing 2014. May it be prosperous, happy, and above all HEALTHY for everyone. (And here’s hoping I will find more time to blog this year!)
I started writing this post almost two weeks ago, amidst the craziest, most emotionally draining week of my life. I could not bring myself to hit publish, as if saying the words out loud made them real, and the real-ness of all this was something I was not quite ready for. The temptation to predict an outcome would have been too great. I just didn’t want to go there.
So now, with the clarity that only hindsight can bring, I have the courage to say this out loud. (Well, write it down anyway!)
Three weeks ago, my husband had cancer.
I say had, because right now the cancer is sitting in a jar in a lab somewhere. Along with his right kidney.
(Post originally written in the early hours of the morning on 17 November)
Is this a dream?
I have possibly just had the most bizarre ten days of my life. As I write this, Gary is lying in a hospital bed recovering from major surgery.
… On Wednesday the 6th of November I received a call from my husband who was on his way to an early morning meeting. He told me that he was in so much pain that he could hardly drive. As if someone had stabbed him in the back.
I was in the middle of the school run, so I told him to go to casualty at the hospital. (There had also been some blood in his urine that morning, so we suspected that he perhaps had kidney stones.)
When I got to the hospital, he was busy having an MRI scan, and then we waited (sort of) patiently for them to tell us he had kidney stones. The ER doctor came in and told us that he didn’t have kidney stones, but that the scan showed some sort of mass on his right kidney. (Which was bleeding…) It was one of those moments where time seemed to slow down and I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Apparently the severe pain was caused by the blood passing through the ureter, which also explained why his urine was the colour of Merlot.
He was admitted to the hospital, and before we knew it, he was in ICU hooked up to machines and monitors, and being pumped with pethidine to manage the pain and various other drugs to stop the bleeding, under the care of a (very brilliant) urologist. (Side note: the ICU is absolutely crazy. It’s filled with people who are incredibly ill, high on serious prescription medication, and who demonstrate some hectic, totally insane behaviour, like screaming, demanding attention, shouting for their spouses, undressing themselves and threatening the (very jaded) nurses. One guy apparently had to be restrained in his bed that night.)
A few more MRIs and a needle biopsy later, it was established that the tumour was about 8cm in diameter and cancerous. (Kidneys are about 12 x 6 cm.) My heart nearly stopped. I could feel the blood draining out of my face, making me feel light-headed. Every test that was done after that just seemed to give us more and more bad news.
The few days that followed that Wednesday morning are a complete blur. I cried myself to sleep every night, and spent my days in a haze of worry. I was so scared. I cannot even begin to imagine the thoughts that were going through Gary’s head while he was lying in that hospital bed. We did not dare have a conversation about what might happen. NOT knowing was absolute agony. He was so strong. So positive. I tried so hard to be strong, for myself, for Gary, for my children, for everyone. I knew that he was angry that this had happened, as he lives so healthily, he eats well, exercises, hardly drinks alcohol and doesn’t smoke. This was a complete slap in the face of healthy living. By Wednesday evening, he was feeling terrible. He was in a lot of pain, and constantly retching and vomiting from all the drugs. At that point we still didn’t know what the mass was, so the what-if scenarios in our heads were playing havoc with our emotions. I left the hospital feeling petrified. I did not dare allow myself to cry in front of the kids, the babies and the older boys included. The little ones knew daddy was away for a few days, and we left it at that. (Gary was actually supposed to be leaving for a golf trip the next day.)
On Thursday morning, I had an emotional breakdown outside the locked ICU door, begging them to let me see my husband. (There are no visitors allowed in the morning.) I did not mean to cry when they finally let me in, but I honestly could not stop the tears from falling out of my eyes. I felt so bad for letting Gary see me so upset, when he was the one stuck in a hospital bed, but I have honestly never been so scared in my life. My heart was completely broken. My mind was in over-drive, conjuring up all the worst-case scenarios, despite trying so hard to have only positive thoughts. I spent the rest of the week going backwards and forwards to the hospital, and trying to keep my sanity intact, and stop myself from crying every time I spoke to someone, or each time someone said that they were praying for us. My coping mechanism was to keep everything as normal as possible, despite offers from friends to help with the kids. So I just carried on as normal. Hard-core as someone pointed out. Little did they know that my emotional state was more fragile than a new-born baby bird.
But living in limbo is exhausting.
I feel guilty for feeling so broken when I am not even the one that this is happening to.
He was released from the hospital on the Saturday morning following the needle biopsy, and by Monday we knew that the mass was a cancerous tumour. The surgeon had literally spent hours analysing the various scans and test results to determine the best way to deal with the situation. It sounds crazy, but because of the bleeding, he could not see where or how the tumour was attached, and what had caused the bleed. The options were to remove the tumour and try to save some of the kidney function, which posed a risk of spreading the cancer, or remove the tumour and the kidney to be 100% sure that they removed all the cancerous tissue. And then we were thrown another curve-ball: the left kidney seemed to have impaired function, so he needed to be able to predict what was going to happen if the right kidney was removed.
The surgery was scheduled for Saturday the 16th of November. The surgery lasted almost six hours of (AKA the longest six hours of my life). The surgeon ended up removing the tumour, the right kidney, the adrenal gland and most of the ureter.
The kidney and it’s lump are gone from our lives forever.
And here I am, awake at 3AM, grateful that he is alive and that this awful experience is (mostly) behind us.
It is hard to describe the emotional roller coaster that we have all been through over the last three weeks since they found the tumour. I feel so jaded. My body has gone into survival mode following two weeks of little to no sleep, and I am now sleeping like I am in a coma. I feel exhausted all the time. I am still trying to digest the reality of all of this, and the impact that it has had (and will still have) on our lives. I am so grateful that we found out about the tumour, albeit in a very unpleasant way for Gary. The tumour was staged as T3A. Who knows what would have happened if it had continued to grow without us even knowing it was there. Oh. My. God.
Gary is doing well. He came home after only five days in hospital. The doctor was amazed at how quickly he has recovered, and he is getting stronger each day. He is in pain; a lot of pain, but each day he seems to move a little easier, and seems to feel a little better. He is a fighter of the highest degree. It’s a slow process, but in true Gary-fashion, he is embracing the healing process, being (sort-of) patient, and allowing himself time to heal. In fact he is already lecturing everyone on getting annual precautionary scans done of their organs. (A colleague was visiting Gary in hospital, and the doctor happened to be there and asked how he was. He replied “Clearly better than Gary!” to which the doctor replied “But how do you know?” A sombre thought, but a wake-up call for all of us to get ourselves checked.)
Incidents like this have a way of forcing you to take stock of your life, and question what is really important. They test your ability to survive, and how you react under pressure. They test the strength of your relationships. They test your belief in God. They make you consider your own mortality… I am grateful that our relationship is strong, and believe that we can get through anything together.
I found this quote posted by someone on Facebook a few days after this all happened, by Haruki Murakami, such perfect timing: “And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
I am definitely not the same person that walked into this, I am still feeling quite jaded and emotionally fragile. I am still afraid. But just like the physical scar on my husband’s body, with time this will heal, and our perfect lives will be normal again.
A few weeks ago, we watched a movie called This is 40. It’s probably the funniest movie I have seen in a long time. Probably because of its appropriateness in terms of my turning 40 a few days afterwards. Whilst the movie is probably not everyone’s cup of tea (there is quite a lot of swearing and sexual reference) I literally had tears in my eyes from laughter throughout the 90 odd minutes. I liked the fact that the two lead characters, both about to turn 40, really did not give a damn about anything! We also watched it at a time when we really needed some comic relief: Having both taken some strain over illnesses and accidents in the family (Gary’s mom broke both her arms, and my father had a wound that just would not heal) And after a few disappointments surrounding the plans for my birthday (sometimes I still feel like an insecure teenager, unsure of where I fit in), it was great to laugh out loud at nonsense for an hour and a half.
But this post is not actually about that movie. (Although if you find yourself hanging about with nothing to do, do give it a watch. You probably want to wait till the kids are in bed though!)
This post is about that dreaded milestone: FORTY.
Just for the record, I wasn’t happy turning 30, never mind a full TEN years older! Aging is a weird thing. It’s a slow process that kind of just creeps up on you, and one day you look in the mirror and think “How did I get so OLD.” And then your five-year old asks you “why do you have stripes on your forehead mommy?” (referring to my, um, wrinkles!) which really tips you over the edge. I seem to have found myself in a weird head space: middle-age is not exactly a label I want to be sporting on my forehead. Then again, maybe it would hide the stripes? And while I am probably in OK shape for 40, both mentally and physically, I can’t say I feel young either. My back injury is not helping the process, because I am always in pain. Although I try to ignore it most days, it is very draining on my energy levels.
But enough of the wallowing in self-pity.
All of my friends that are already forty, tell me that forty is FABULOUS. That it’s the new THIRTY, that it’s the naughty forties. One of my friends said in a birthday text message: “Still young at heart and mature enough to enjoy life to the full at last”. While the jury is out on whether or not my forties will be fun, fabulous or naughty (I will let you know once I turn 50!) here are the things that I am thankful for at this milestone:
- I have the best husband in the world. He made me feel like the most special girl in the world on my birthday, and in fact does so every day. I am so lucky and grateful to have him in my life. (Sorry ladies, he is taken!)
- I have two beautiful children who bring me a lot of joy and have shown me what love really means. They have taught me so much. And while I sometimes wish I had had kids a little younger, I would not change anything for the world.
- I have a wonderful extended family … my two step-sons mean the world to me. It has been a pleasure and an honour being part of their lives for so long.
- I have brilliant friends who are always there for me.
- I really am happy. Well most of the time anyway.
It is said that “you are only as old as you feel”, so I am going to try my damnedest to feel 21 forever!
To say that there was some excitement in our house for Christmas this year would be an understatement. Our Christmas tree was already up by mid-November, if that says anything (at which point I was being nagged on a daily basis to put it up, by my dear boy child). Alex only really got the whole Christmas thing the year before, so this Christmas just past he knew what to expect, and was literally bouncing off the walls with anticipation. Caris, being only 19 months at Christmas time didn’t really get it, but she was very, very impressed by the Christmas tree, and kept pointing, saying “lights” and squealing with delight!
A few days before Christmas, we took the kids to see the Garden of Lights (at Emperors Palace). Despite standing in the queue for almost an hour, it was well worth the wait, and we all enjoyed it thoroughly. Caris, bearing in mind her aforementioned love of Christmas lights, was in her element!
On Christmas eve, we put out milk and cookies for Santa, and put two very excited little monkeys to bed! We explained to Alex that he would know that Father Christmas had been, if their stockings were filled and waiting at the foot of their beds in the morning. (Needless to say, Alex came running into our bedroom just after six AM screaming “Farmer Christmas came! My stocking is full of toys, and Caris’s too! Come look!”)
And when we came downstairs, his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw all the presents under the tree!
Christmas day was spent opening presents, swimming, laughing, opening more presents, and celebrating over lunch with our extended family. (Ok, so I spent most of it cooking, cleaning up, serving lunch, making desert, cleaning up, cooking, did I mention cleaning up? But all for a good cause I guess!)
It certainly is the very best time of the year…
“WOW! a new bicycle!!! ”
The Great Hall at Wits is an eye-catching piece of architecture; the centre-piece in a world-class educational institute, and a reminder of an era when Johannesburg was once a young city. Within its walls students celebrate their coming of age and the achievement of their degrees. Hopes and dreams of careers as Doctors, Lawyers, Scientists, Engineers and the like, are imagined within these walls, as that significant piece of paper is handed over. The culmination of years of hard work is celebrated with families, friends and loved ones during the prestigious graduation ceremony.
A mother’s heart is filled with hope when gazing into the eyes of her new-born baby for the first time. Hope that they will be happy, hope that they will be loved, and hope that they will be successful in whatever they set out to achieve in life. When I first met Craig, he was fourteen years old: a typical teenage boy. He was outgoing and loud, occasionally self-centred and messy, and had a tendency to share way too much information. He was confident and funny, the type of guy that most people just liked. He was always surrounded by friends, and loved being the centre of attention. He was good at rugby and swimming, and he worked hard to remain at the top of his game. Academically, he did well, but it is fair to say that he probably could have worked a lot harder and achieved a lot more. (I think all parents say this of their children at some point!)
It has been a great privilege for me to watch this boy develop into a young adult, and to have been part of the journey to this high point in his life. And although I have not been there from the beginning of Craig’s life, my heart is still filled with the same hopes for him: love, happiness and success in all things, always.
On Tuesday morning, we arrived at the Wits Great Hall to share Craig’s graduation day with him, to mark the end of his studies and celebrate the beginning of his career as a Lawyer.
Our hearts swelled with pride, and our eyes welled with tears as his name was called (with distinction!) to come and receive his Bachelor of Law degree. To have graduated Cum Laude is a fantastic achievement.
This is not the first graduation of his that we have attended, as he attained his B-Com 18 months ago, but the Law degree was always the big-ticket item: the main degree he was setting out to achieve. So for all of us, getting the Law degree signified the end of his studies. When Craig expressed an interest in studying law, Gary suggested he do a B-Com Law Degree, so that he had general business knowledge as well. And although he hated every minute of it, he persevered and got his B-Com too. Craig worked harder than I have ever seen him work before on his Law subjects. He spent hundreds of hours locked away in the study during exam time, slogging away till the early hours of the morning, living on coffee and bio-plus. His chosen field of study has certainly been a natural fit for his gregarious personality, his love of history, and his penchant for watching the crime and investigation channel. His Cum Laude degree is well deserved, and testament to the incredible amount of effort that he put in to achieve this.
There is no doubt in my mind that Craig will achieve whatever he sets out to do in life from here onwards. I am so very, very proud of him, on Graduation Day and always!
Love you my boy! xx