One thing we fervently pray against in life are setbacks of any kind. Many of us live with the false hope that difficult times and misfortune will not happen to us or our loved ones.
I was one of those people, happily going about my life and so confident in the fact that I had some form of divine exemption from the tragedies of this world, until life happened to me.
I fell sick in 2022. Doctors initially told me I was going to be fine in a few days. It took two years of God’s mercy, the best of healthcare and the immeasurable support of my husband and other angels in human form.
This was no flu where you knew you’d be fine soon. I was dealing with illnesses, any of which could kill me. I knew I was going to die, and it was only a matter of when, but I was a mother too. My kids were six (6) and four (4) then and still needed their mum.
Prior to my illness, I was a very busy mum but anyone who knew me well knew I was very hands on and quite the homemaker. But in the early days of my diagnosis, countless hospital visits and treatments which left me battered, bruised and extremely fatigued, I couldn’t do much. And with my mother gone and closest relatives thousands of miles away, my only physical support system was my husband and younger sister.
We tried to maintain some normalcy at home.
We tried to maintain some normalcy at home.
I was also extra careful not to let on that all wasn’t well with Mummy even in moments when I was in excruciating pain. My son did pick up on the fact that something wasn’t quite right with Mummy as he started to make a beeline for our bedroom as soon as he woke up and would knock on the door with “Mummy, are you okay?” every day for months. I remember how his innocent knocks on our bedroom door will induce another panic attack, but I will quietly ask him in and give him a cuddle. His sister will quickly follow, and I’ll hold on tightly and cuddle them. I realized they found that reassuring. I did too. Those moments were always bittersweet because I knew I didn’t have much time with them. And I’ll always burst into tears when my sister finally takes them away to bath and ready them for school.
I dreaded homework time the most. On top of everything else, I had also been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, stress, PTSD and insomnia. I couldn’t sleep at night or in the day because I kept getting panic attacks which made me develop sleep paranoia. It left me exhausted and with no energy to deal with two kids with very inquisitive minds, or their friends who loved to hang out at our house. What I did then was to look for child-friendly research channels that could do the teaching for them to follow so they were able to do assignments while I supervised.
The holidays were equally difficult. They were home throughout the day. You had to make time for them. There were many questions about why mummy couldn’t cook or bake for them anymore, and why mummy was lying down all the time. I told them doctors said mummy was tired and needed to rest for longer periods.
One more thing that took courage to do was attending programs at the kids’ school. I wanted to make memories with them by being present and involved in the things that mattered to them. It took a lot of effort just dressing up and showing up but my reward was the excitement they showed me whenever they were in the middle of their performances and looked into the crowd and saw mummy there.
I didn’t want the kids to feel burdened by my sickness, so we did our best to make beautiful memories together.
Those months of being sick and being forced to stay at home and away from everything else made me appreciate my children and my husband more. The whole experience has made me a better mother, a better person. I came to appreciate how quickly all of that could change.
Healing eventually came (story for another day) and I live each day now grateful for every moment with my family.
Other Articles
Postpartum depression and me
