katesa
22-11-13, 00:32
My first memory of the seaside is of walking along the sea front at Chapel St Leonards, Skegness, carrying a crabbing net and a bucket. My cousin and I were looking forward to finding a spot on the beach, eating our packed lunch and then looking for crabs in the little rock pools left by the morning tide.
"Graham, does my breathing sound bad?"
"Are you sure? It feels bad!"
"How do YOU know I'm fine? I don't feel it!"
"I'm telling you I'm out of breath. There's something wrong!"
We didn't get to go crabbing that afternoon. My cousin, siblings and me all went back to the little static caravan we were renting for the week with my Grandparents while my Dad, the person who unwisely answered the questions above, took my Mum to hospital. Again.
I say "again" as if it is no big deal. And you know, it's not really - my Mum has never once been diagnosed with a serious health problem - but back then, it was a big deal. A very big deal.
As a child, my Mum was the highest power in the world to me. So when my Mum was certain that there was something wrong with her, it didn't matter that she had been certain a thousand times before. It just proved how wrong every one else had been. She was a nurse herself (and I was so proud of how beautiful and professional she looked in her dark blue uniform dress and crisp white hat) and frequently mentioned how often doctors and medical staff got things wrong. That she KNEW there was something wrong with her.
So every time she sat in tears and told my Dad that her arm and chest was hurting, every time she found a mole that she swore wasn't there before, I was sure that I was going to lose my Mum, that it was only a matter of time.
She was scared so much of the time - it affected holidays, Christmases, birthdays etc on a regular basis. Even when she wasn't at the doctors or in A & E, she was often distracted, her mind on the fears so real to her. She spent countless family days out in a world of her own.
She admits that she spent most of my first Nativity play (I was, I kid you not, the donkey) in the bathroom because she was trying to work out whether she was wheezing and couldn't hear with all us kids singing in the hall. Well, at least she came I guess - a lot of the parents in our area were too drunk or high to attend.
My siblings and I spent a lot of our childhoods afraid of what was going to happen to our Mother. She was so sure there was something wrong, how could we not believe her?
Don't get me wrong, she tried to hide the worst of it from us. But it was obvious regardless. And when she started projecting her fears on to us, taking us to the doctors 4 times a week over a cold......well, we started to fear for ourselves too.
My Mum was and is a wonderful parent in many ways. She was always kind, generous and could be a lot of fun. She baked us special cakes and helped us with our homework. She was also, unfortunately, a self obsessed hypochondriac.
Later on, I started to resent my Mother. Why had she never tried to battle her problems? (she still hasn't, though she represses them more now). Why did she never explained to us that she was suffering from a mental problem and chances were she wasn't going to drop dead? (Our Dad told us that but we didn't believe him!)
I now understand. And I became a self obsessed hypochondriac (among other anxiety issues) myself later.
I'm on the long road to recovery and I will probably relapse time and time again. But I want to be able to look my husband and my beautiful 8 month old son in the eye and know that I am doing all I can to prevent them living with the fear I lived with.
I don't want my son to learn to mistrust everything but his own misguided logic. I don't want my husband to spend a lifetime doing the reassurance dance with me. I don't want either of them to hear me say that I'm certain I am going to die of X Y or Z and worse, actually believe me. I want my attention to be fully on them, not on my own inner terrors. I don't want to give my son a book to "go and read quietly" when he's older because I'm too consumed with my health to play with him. God, I don't want my Mothers regrets.
I just wanted to share that - I think my psychotherapy is really unearthing a lot of things.
All the best to you all x
"Graham, does my breathing sound bad?"
"Are you sure? It feels bad!"
"How do YOU know I'm fine? I don't feel it!"
"I'm telling you I'm out of breath. There's something wrong!"
We didn't get to go crabbing that afternoon. My cousin, siblings and me all went back to the little static caravan we were renting for the week with my Grandparents while my Dad, the person who unwisely answered the questions above, took my Mum to hospital. Again.
I say "again" as if it is no big deal. And you know, it's not really - my Mum has never once been diagnosed with a serious health problem - but back then, it was a big deal. A very big deal.
As a child, my Mum was the highest power in the world to me. So when my Mum was certain that there was something wrong with her, it didn't matter that she had been certain a thousand times before. It just proved how wrong every one else had been. She was a nurse herself (and I was so proud of how beautiful and professional she looked in her dark blue uniform dress and crisp white hat) and frequently mentioned how often doctors and medical staff got things wrong. That she KNEW there was something wrong with her.
So every time she sat in tears and told my Dad that her arm and chest was hurting, every time she found a mole that she swore wasn't there before, I was sure that I was going to lose my Mum, that it was only a matter of time.
She was scared so much of the time - it affected holidays, Christmases, birthdays etc on a regular basis. Even when she wasn't at the doctors or in A & E, she was often distracted, her mind on the fears so real to her. She spent countless family days out in a world of her own.
She admits that she spent most of my first Nativity play (I was, I kid you not, the donkey) in the bathroom because she was trying to work out whether she was wheezing and couldn't hear with all us kids singing in the hall. Well, at least she came I guess - a lot of the parents in our area were too drunk or high to attend.
My siblings and I spent a lot of our childhoods afraid of what was going to happen to our Mother. She was so sure there was something wrong, how could we not believe her?
Don't get me wrong, she tried to hide the worst of it from us. But it was obvious regardless. And when she started projecting her fears on to us, taking us to the doctors 4 times a week over a cold......well, we started to fear for ourselves too.
My Mum was and is a wonderful parent in many ways. She was always kind, generous and could be a lot of fun. She baked us special cakes and helped us with our homework. She was also, unfortunately, a self obsessed hypochondriac.
Later on, I started to resent my Mother. Why had she never tried to battle her problems? (she still hasn't, though she represses them more now). Why did she never explained to us that she was suffering from a mental problem and chances were she wasn't going to drop dead? (Our Dad told us that but we didn't believe him!)
I now understand. And I became a self obsessed hypochondriac (among other anxiety issues) myself later.
I'm on the long road to recovery and I will probably relapse time and time again. But I want to be able to look my husband and my beautiful 8 month old son in the eye and know that I am doing all I can to prevent them living with the fear I lived with.
I don't want my son to learn to mistrust everything but his own misguided logic. I don't want my husband to spend a lifetime doing the reassurance dance with me. I don't want either of them to hear me say that I'm certain I am going to die of X Y or Z and worse, actually believe me. I want my attention to be fully on them, not on my own inner terrors. I don't want to give my son a book to "go and read quietly" when he's older because I'm too consumed with my health to play with him. God, I don't want my Mothers regrets.
I just wanted to share that - I think my psychotherapy is really unearthing a lot of things.
All the best to you all x