Broken door- Invaded life.

Apart from the obvious pain, the most devastating thing about my mother’s illness is its arrogance.

Her illness is everywhere. Waltzing into lives, the illness sets up camp and sits comfortably. Not only does it destroy you physically, but mentally and emotionally. Its arrogance stems far, and not only gets to the sufferer, but to those around.

It’s not like others. Some illnesses have sympathy. Albeit they are there, but there’s indication that the illness is urging the sufferer to fight back. Medicines and other forms of relief help to banish the illness, and you note that time in your life as an event, not as a killer, like my mother’s illness.

It plays horrific games with you. It challenges you to the surgical table, rounds of biopsies and the ultimate challenge of life. It deceives you. It plays along with you. You step up to the challenge and tests show in your favour. You attempt to move on, but obviously won’t forget. Slowly your life becomes less about the therapy and the hospital visits, and more about holidays and fun nights out. But when you’re sitting down, the illness comes knocking at your door. The illness has returned.

My mother’s illness sadistically sneers when comes with friends. It comes along with its friends Liver failure and internal shutdown and you just have no more. You can’t shut the door because the arrogance of the illness has it firmly open.

The illness and its allies take lives. They take the lives of the sufferer and those around. And even if you don’t physically die, the illness has killed apart of you.

“Physical ills are the taxes laid upon this wretched life; some are taxed higher, and some lower, but all pay something.” ~Lord Chesterfield