|
|
Tough Love- A Memoir
I came into this world knowing the pain of sickness and the heartbreak it can cause and I am completely positive I will go out of this world remembering such pain. I remember things from when I was terribly young, which surprises *only* half the people who end up finding this out; hell, I even remember (but just a still image) the glass incubator they put me in as a infant because I was about 2 months premature. Although my memory has never served me well for remembering the things that “count” in life, such as textbook dates and vocabulary it does remember what *I* believe counts- the experiences one goes through
My most vivid memory is from when I was about 3 years old. My step-father and mum took me to the Brooklyn fair and may I note that fair’s in the 1990’s where mostly all themed, hands down and to the most cheesy extreme. At any rate, the fair was apple themed and so you can guess what happened to the traditional kiddie roller coaster, Farris wheel and so on. The only I ride I actually remember to the extent of being able to describe it in detail was an apple version of the “spinning teacup” ride. The platform spun several fake apple-pods (as I would call them) and then if you wanted to spin the apple itself you did so manually via a wheel placed in the centre of said apple-pod (ahh the 90’s where you actually had to work for your entertainment). My stepfather spun us around so fast that I could hardly stop laughing. I specifically remember how the tinted red lights reflected in the grey in his waist length mullet (which I’m happy to note he eventually cut off). He laughed along with me as we spun around. When we got out mum ended up having to carry me because I was tripping over myself. I assume that I remember this so well because this was the last time I saw mum healthy.
Ever since my birth my mother has not been *perfectly* healthy (not like she was perfectly healthy before me) and sometimes I blame myself for her current condition. I know it’s hardly my fault but I do know that the c-section she got almost 7 months into the pregnancy did not help. I found out recently that she was in intensive care for 2 weeks and I in the incubator for slightly longer. I also discovered (quite recently as well- its funny how you never really know things until given the right situation to do so) that my real father visited neither of us in this period. Apparently neither my mother nor I are wroth a quick sterilizing shower (no not a wet shower either- a dry one) when one of us defiantly could have died. But it was not terribly long before I found myself only visiting him occasionally (continuously less and less, currently I believe I only visit him once every 3 months) and replacing him with Kyle, my stepfather. As I was starting school, my mum was starting to get sick (and at the time I was not aware of why). I now know it was because of the first unnecessary surgery of 5 in which they removed her ovaries. May I add that later when my mum sued the doctor, he attempted to state that he mistook her ovaries for an infection, I mean give me a brake, right? Might I also add that the judge or jury (I’m not sure which) only saw fit to prevent him from practicing only in Ontario and only for a year; and to answer a unasked question I’m sure will come up, YES I do still bear a grudge against him. At any rate all I knew at the time was that one-day, mum was fine, the next stuck on the couch for what was to be the next 3 years.
Let me remind you that I was around 4 or 5 at the time; when a child looses their mother in the since that she is not dead but cannot hold a conversation with you, its heartbreaking. She was unable to hug me or kiss me good night, nor could she hold anything remotely resembling a conversation with me. The extent of our now verbal relationship was; “hi”, “bye”, “I love you” and a grunt for yes, all chocked out through a mask of pain on her end. In all since of the word, I was suddenly without a mother and I found myself lonely for it. Looking back, I wonder how I got through my childhood without her; I was a child who got teased relentlessly, crying at least once a day, with exactly one friend I could be sure of and was (amazingly) not as depressed as I should have been. I often find myself wondering why I never stood up for myself in school and to say the least, my childhood was a wreak.
When my mum sued the doctor the lawyer stated that I had sustained mental/ emotional damage when all of this happened and I have to wonder, am I really emotionally damaged? Am I emotionally damaged? And if so, what is damaged? A certain part of my brain or is it something deeper?
“Got a couple of nuts n’ bolts missin’, you seen ‘em?” that kind of damage? If I am damaged in some sort of my-warranty-just-expired-what-am-I-going-to-do kind of way then I have yet to see the “bad side effect” to said damage. I mean, I may not be able to stand people screaming at me nor my mum even getting slightly angry but other than that there is nothing wrong with me… right? If you analyze this closely enough I could be damaged, I went though my whole childhood like this was normal, like my mother couldn’t die at any moment.
If there is one thing I can tell you, dear reader, it is this; cherish any and all good luck you receive because the best of people are out there, the people who deserve good luck and barely get it. My mother is one, and should anyone give me a lecture on karma and how she must have done something to deserve it, I would defend her until I was blue in the face. Nothing she could have done deserves five unnecessary surgeries and all the surgeries it took to fix the unnecessary ones. How does our “all mighty” Canadian health care system LET this happen?! Yes there are laws against this kind of thing but what bloody good does it do you when the deed has been done? Not mention the nurses. Oh those nurses. We where lucky enough to only get one bad nurse, but that one was bad enough to make me hate them for the rest of my life. I don’t remember her name, face nor hair colour but I do know that her ankle was spindly, her skin pale and young. Oh and of coarse her gloved hands. I know this specifically because when ever the nurse came at lunch I was sent to my room with my sandwich while the nurse gutted my mother’s infected stomach and replaced the gauze like blanket inside. My mum in all my years has never cried out, save for once. The one time she cried out is the reason I got such an up close and personal look at that woman’s ankle. When my mother cried out (due to this nurse’s roughness) I burst out of my room to see what was wrong. If I had to, I would brave evil giant dragons for her and my feelings are still the same on this subject. Thankfully, I never saw my mother’s stomach agape like it was because the nurse grabbed me by the arm and attempted to drag me by said arm to my room. Kyle got up and told her not to touch me to which she retorted that she was an authority figure and thus, should not be disobeyed. I decided I’d had enough at this point and gave a literal meaning to the term ‘ankle biter’. To state the obvious she left and mum had to get a new nurse, but that doesn’t mean that situation hasn’t effected who I am today.
Sometimes I believe that bad luck stalks my mother with the eagerness of a child on their first day of school. I only believe this because she willingly got stomach stapling done to help her loose the weight she had gained but it never healed, which means she cant eat a lot of things that you, dear reader, take for granted. She also (several years after the stomach stapling) got a breast reduction and to say the least, the woman messed it up utterly. But all in all, things have picked up in the since that mum gets out occasionally (not without consequence, though) but I know that it is more than I could ever hope for. I’m not going to sugar coat things or lie to you , my reader, but she will due and she will most likely die in the not so distant future. I get upset over this ocassi0onally but I attempt to pretend (probably just as hard as she does) it’s not happening. My mum s a part of who I am and I know that it will be just as hard when she goes, like missing a piece of your heart. Until then, I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt her again.
- KJH. 2009.
|
|
Comments