Julie Helen: No one in the world is like my mum... I need her to be OK

SOMETIMES, I sit down to write, and all I can think is : ‘My mum has cancer and my Mum is okay’.

I’d like to write you a fluffy article about tea or toddlers, like the ones which have often flowed from me without much thought at all. That is not just where my head is though and maybe I should just sit with reality for a while.

My mum has cancer, and right now, my mum is okay. I feel a bit weird that, at 38, the fear and worry for her feels the same as the time she went to hospital to get her appendix out when I was probably only about ten.

The thing, is though, there is no one in the world like my mum, and I need her to be okay.

Back in May, when she got a second sarcoma diagnosis, it all felt very scary and unknown. Now she has finished four rounds of intense chemotherapy and had the surgery to remove the lump which could be seen by the naked eye under her arm.

My mother is a powerhouse. Before she experienced chemotherapy, I didn’t really understand why the word battle is often used when someone has cancer. Now I do. In the midst of chemotherapy, she had to battle to get up, battle to eat, battle to process what we were saying to her, and battle to cling to some semblance of the life she has always lived.

 She did it like she does everything, she sucked it up and got on with it.

We talked a lot. When she needed to go to bed, she went to bed. Eerily, that scared me at the beginning, far more than any medical paraphernalia, wigs or headscarves.

My mother runs her household. First up and last to bed and a ball of energy in between. It was hard to see that dwindle because I knew she wanted to be doing things but couldn’t. Other people can do all the things, but that is not the point. She kept going and the surgery to remove the cancer which had shrunk considerably, felt like an important line in the sand.

The enormity of a loved one having cancer hit me when mum was in hospital, and I realised that sitting around our kitchen table at home is my safe place. Everyone has their spot and we have tea, chats and banter that solve all the problems of the world. When someone is missing, it doesn’t feel as safe or as much like home. 

Home is a feeling rather than a place and my nearest and dearest make home the wonderful place it is.

Now, my mum is back where she belongs, with no cancer in her body. She has a bit of restricted movement in her arm but she almost relishes the challenge to work around that. My mother is a powerhouse. Her presence steadies my day to day life.

Mum’s resilience is something I have always seen and known about. She can do hard things. She can be as tough as nails. She can acknowledge the difficulties and highlight the positives. As I write this, she’s at the shop getting groceries. She took my brother Diarmuid with her so he can carry things but she’s in charge.

My dad is more at ease that she’s back too. I totally get that, he’s been keeping the show on the road which has been no joke. As time moves on, the memories of the rough road will fade. I want everyone to know my mum is a powerhouse. Our powerhouse.