On the 23rd of June I made the biggest leap of my life and decided to move to Mexico City, the plan was to live there for around 6 months, work online, meet new people and grab life by the balls.
I am currently studying French and Spanish at the Open University and the idea of speaking in Spanish on a daily basis proved too much to resist.
Before I left, my Mum had been in a great deal of difficulty with a back problem, she spent her days in agony and slept with distress. We soon discovered that she had Osteoporosis, not an uncommon problem in post menopausal women of my Mum’s age and though we were, of course, very upset to hear that news, having a diagnosis meant we could at least look after Mum in making the changes in her life to help with the problem.
A week into my Mexico trip, Mum hadn’t improved which was obviously very concerning for us all; she had now been essentially bed bound for 9 weeks and began to experience other difficulties. Incidentally the day that I waved my Mum goodbye was extremely sad, which it naturally would be anyway, but worse still because she was face down on the bed and upset that she could’t give me a great big send off.
With little signs of improvement my thoughts began to turn to “what if…” and “at what point would I go home and look after her?” The mixture of good and bad days did nothing for mine and my families’ emotional well being; you flit between hope and turmoil on a daily basis.
We were all completely fed up and bemused at the condition and wanted answers and at least some degree of improvement.
Eventually the pain was too much and my Mum was admitted to hospital on the 5th of July; we quickly found out that she had suffered kidney failure and although we were of course worried we were also confident that she was now in a place where they would give her all of the X-rays and tests that were needed to reach a solution.
By this point my thoughts were very much on returning home; I was due to meet a close friend in Mexico City on the 16th July and told him that at that point I was unsure as to what the next week or so would hold. The waiting killed me and I’d reached the decision on the Monday that I would give it until the end of the week; if she could be diagnosed and treated then perhaps I would hold off on the return home ( I also knew my Mum would be livid if I cancelled my trip for her.)
On Wednesday 8th July I called my Dad who was on his way back from the hospital, Mum had seen a blood specialist who had indicated that he thought , pending test results, that my Mum was suffering from bone marrow cancer…….. my worst fears came true and after hanging up the phone I collapsed on my bed and cried like a small child, I pulled myself together as best I could and there was only one thought in my mind…. “I HAVE GOT TO GET HOME.”