rhythmaning (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rhythmaning) wrote2008-09-25 11:15 am
rhythmaning) wrote2008-09-25 11:15 am
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A bit more about my mother
In case anyone reads my journal who isn't on my friends' list, my mother died at the weekend. It was very sudden and unexpected. She had spent a week in Edinburgh with me during the festival - we were pretty active, and though she wasn't feeling 100%, she seemed pretty well (we put it down to age: she was 73). I then saw her a week later in London, at a large family gathering.
I spoke to her last Tuesday evening, and she didn't sound well. On Thursday, a neighbour phoned me to tell me she had called an ambulance on Wednesday night suffering from abdominable pain, and she was in the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford.
I spoke to a doctor on Friday afternoon - I had tried to speak to the hospital on Thursday, but the number wasn't picked. He said that my mother had inoperable pancreatic cancer and only had days to live, so I arranged to come down to Oxford the next day.
She died on Saturday at noon, as I was half way between Leeds and Derby. My brother, who had been in India, had managed to get a flight back and was at the hospital as she died. (I don't regret not being there; I had spoken to her from the train down; I don't think I needed to watch her die.)
I did see her body. It looked like she should wake up. She appeared very slight; and it wasn't really her.
She actually had multiple cancers - pancreatic cancer had spread to the liver and elsewhere, too. She actually died from sepsis arising from perforated colon - the cancer basically burst into the colon.
I am very glad it was quick, although not glad it was so quick. She was always a lively person, and it would have been very odd seeing her as an invalided.
She had always said wanted her remains left to medical science, but because of the spread of cancer and the nature of her death, unfortunately medical science didn't want her body. This was a bit of a problem, since we now had to think what we want done with her body. She had never wanted to be buried, but she had told my brother - to his surprise - that she wanted to be placed in a specific cemetary in Oxford. In fact, that is closed to new (old) bodies, so we have arranged for her to be cremated: we can then scatter some ashes where she wanted, some where my father is buried (which is where we had expected to place her ashes) and some where her parents are buried.
It is all a very strange experience: the doctors were pretty useless, the bereavement liasion officer at the hospital was excellent, the registrar was excellent, the undertaker was pretty useless.
My mother wasn't at all religious - fervently unreligious at times - so we are having a "humanist ceremony": some words, some music. And then a party!
We are planning a memorial service on her birthday next year - this was almost demanded by the very wonderful, but quite formidable, friends we met on Sunday; and since they are arranging most of it, that is fine, too. Lots more words and music. And booze. It will be in keeping.
We have spent much of the last few days on the telephone. There are many people we haven't been able to reach, particularly former colleagues. One of the many traits I inherited from my mother is a fierce independence; and I am not very good art accepting sympathy, however well-meaning it is intended. I have been surrounded by people for days, and I was glad to get time on my own yesterday.
I spoke to her last Tuesday evening, and she didn't sound well. On Thursday, a neighbour phoned me to tell me she had called an ambulance on Wednesday night suffering from abdominable pain, and she was in the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford.
I spoke to a doctor on Friday afternoon - I had tried to speak to the hospital on Thursday, but the number wasn't picked. He said that my mother had inoperable pancreatic cancer and only had days to live, so I arranged to come down to Oxford the next day.
She died on Saturday at noon, as I was half way between Leeds and Derby. My brother, who had been in India, had managed to get a flight back and was at the hospital as she died. (I don't regret not being there; I had spoken to her from the train down; I don't think I needed to watch her die.)
I did see her body. It looked like she should wake up. She appeared very slight; and it wasn't really her.
She actually had multiple cancers - pancreatic cancer had spread to the liver and elsewhere, too. She actually died from sepsis arising from perforated colon - the cancer basically burst into the colon.
I am very glad it was quick, although not glad it was so quick. She was always a lively person, and it would have been very odd seeing her as an invalided.
She had always said wanted her remains left to medical science, but because of the spread of cancer and the nature of her death, unfortunately medical science didn't want her body. This was a bit of a problem, since we now had to think what we want done with her body. She had never wanted to be buried, but she had told my brother - to his surprise - that she wanted to be placed in a specific cemetary in Oxford. In fact, that is closed to new (old) bodies, so we have arranged for her to be cremated: we can then scatter some ashes where she wanted, some where my father is buried (which is where we had expected to place her ashes) and some where her parents are buried.
It is all a very strange experience: the doctors were pretty useless, the bereavement liasion officer at the hospital was excellent, the registrar was excellent, the undertaker was pretty useless.
My mother wasn't at all religious - fervently unreligious at times - so we are having a "humanist ceremony": some words, some music. And then a party!
We are planning a memorial service on her birthday next year - this was almost demanded by the very wonderful, but quite formidable, friends we met on Sunday; and since they are arranging most of it, that is fine, too. Lots more words and music. And booze. It will be in keeping.
We have spent much of the last few days on the telephone. There are many people we haven't been able to reach, particularly former colleagues. One of the many traits I inherited from my mother is a fierce independence; and I am not very good art accepting sympathy, however well-meaning it is intended. I have been surrounded by people for days, and I was glad to get time on my own yesterday.