Dear Mummy, you are shell of your former self, hobbling around like an old women. Living out your life from a drug dispensing notebook. Your days revolve around when you can take your opioids to relive the pain from your lung surgery two weeks ago. You are frustrated and lock yourself away in your room, hating yourself for not being the mother and woman you want to be.
Passively observing life from your windowsill. Hearing the front door slam shut each morning allowing your to rise from your deathly pit and not be seen by anyone. If you had your way no-one would see you like this… but you let your guard down at the doctor’s surgery recently crumpling into a ball under the wealth of questions they asked you, like ‘how are you coping’ ‘how’s the pain’ you see, my mummy isn’t coping she’s falling to pieces behind closed doors. She failing to recover as quickly as last time.
Her body isn’t playing ball, it can’t keep up with her expectations that she should be going to BBQs, not declining invites and out exploring the sunshine with me. Instead she’s stuck in bed, propped up with pillows in the attempt to sleep off the whole nightmare. Having two collapsed lungs in 10 weeks and surgery has knocked the wind from her sails. She’s at a standstill watching life pass her by until she gets better and she hates it.
There’s nothing worse than not being able to share quality time with your daughter, hearing her come home from nursery babbling away about her day to someone else. Trying to be there but not being able to pick her up or cuddle her properly. Being in the house ‘resting’ and hearing life downstairs go on without you. You seem to make home life worse at the moment as you don’t have the strength to parent, letting me get away with murder, causing arguments leading to self-doubt which sees you retreat back to the safety of your room.
My mummy is having a down day, it could be the morphine talking but it seems to be the only thing getting her through this difficult period. All the things she has to look forward too next month is in jeopardy as she doesn’t know whether she will be up to it. She can’t plan anything as she’s still worried something else might go wrong. She hasn’t got the best luck you see. Anxiety at its finest has struck her and it’s a mindset she’s now struggling to get out of. Maybe it is the morphine taking.
My mummy is usually very good at pulling herself out of the swamp of sadness that pulls her under. But this time she hasn’t the strength both mentally and physically. Time is supposed to be a healer – she just needs it to hurry up so she can jump back onboard the carousel that is life. I’m sure her friends and colleagues aren’t going to hang around forever. Even the blog is suffering as she hasn’t even been in the mood to talk on social media *shock horror*
Hopefully in a couple of weeks she’ll be back to her normal self…whatever that is. The drugs are making her physically better but mentally they are making her a mess. The nurse told my mummy that taking Tramadol and Morphine can also make young people go a bit ‘coo coo’ she even did the actions to demonstrate. Normally my mummy would have smirked at this but all she did was stare aimlessly out of the window.
Have you every felt low from being ill for a long time? Please tell me it gets easier!
Love Bella x