Let me get this straight: I am not one of those ‘filial duty’ types. I do believe that every human being should live with respect, kindness and dignity. I do believe in being an agent and a catalyst for these; but not for the sake of guilt, conscience, pride, reputation or reward. I don’t believe that basic humanity demands any kind of transaction, whether worldly or spiritual. I just think: if you can do the good, do it. Without harming anyone, of course – yourself included. If you can give the help, give it. If you can be the difference, be it.
I love my mum very much. So very, very much. In our relationship, I can do the good. I can give the help. I can be the difference. So; I do – not because I believe in filial duty or in debt (after all, I was in no way instrumental in my own creation*). I just do.
These past months – no; years – have been hard. So very, very hard. Being a carer† is profoundly exhausting, in a way that cannot possibly be understood until it is experienced. (À propos, albeit indirectly: all you parents out there, I salute you. You may or may not have chosen this path; but you’re on it now. Keep going.) For such a long time, I have had neither the emotional nor the practical resources to write this blog.
However; thanks (if that’s the right word) to my hysterectomy etc‡ last week, I am currently kept awake every night, due to an eclectic combination of hormonal insomnia, bladder sensitivity, occasional nausea, painful intestinal gas, and severe diarrhoea. Fun. I am suddenly acutely aware of, and thankful for, my pelvic floor. This in turn has given me a brand new insight into why my mum has always sneezed so bloody loud. (As a matter of fact, every new insight into Mum deepens my connection to her – sneezes and all – and strengthens my resolve.) To any readers still in possession of a low-mileage uterus, I say this: invest in your pelvic floor. For the love of all that is sacred, especially your future physical wellbeing and other people’s eardrums, invest in it.
Once, many years ago, I knew a bride-to-be who was considering whether to have children. She said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to have any; but then, if she didn’t, who would look after her when she was old? I still don’t know whether to be outraged by the pure egotism of her question, or gobsmacked at the naivety of it. Perhaps she will be wiser, if and when she reaches old age. Perhaps, if she is lucky, someone will be able and/or willing to look after her.
As for myself, I made that particular life choice a long time ago. Last week’s slice ‘n’ dice just underlines it. Perhaps, if I am lucky, I will be able to look after myself for the rest of my life. On the other hand; perhaps, if I am lucky, someone will be able and/or willing to look after me. Then again; at any moment, that proverbial bus could magically appear and extinguish me. One thing is certain though: I will make the most of my time. And my pelvic floor.
* That nugget comes from Mum herself, by the way. She has often told me that her paternal grandfather used to say of his grandchildren, ‘They didn’t ask to be born.’ I wish I could have met him – he sounds like a cool guy.
† “A carer is anyone who cares, unpaid, for a friend or family member who due to illness, disability, a mental health problem or an addiction cannot cope without their support.” Source: https://carers.org/about-caring/about-caring
‡ The “etc” = Total laparoscopic hysterectomy, with bilateral salpingectomy and oophorectomy, plus removal (again) of endometriosis. Please don’t ask me to spell all of those words a second time.
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