Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📗

‘People get treated for cancer all the time. There’s a much higher survival rate these days.’ I got up and walked restlessly around the room.

Lucy and Grace watched me silently.

‘It’s reached my other organs, Jenna. It is what it is, and I have to face it. I don’t want you getting too upset.’

Mum tried to reassure me with a weak smile but it was as though my body had lost any substance and I had to grip the worktop to keep myself upright. My brain was struggling to comprehend what I was hearing. I couldn’t believe Mum was so ill. Only sixty. Far too young to have a terminal illness.

A car horn sounds in the distance and I’m jolted out of my memories and back to the present day. For a crazy moment I want to run upstairs and wrap my arms around Mum and beg her not to leave me. I sink onto a chair and rest my forehead on my arms, breathing deeply to calm myself. I need to be strong. I need to focus on Mum, not me.

A movement nearby makes my heart contract and I swivel around.

‘Grace! I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Sorry. Are you all right?’ Grace peers at me with a worried frown.

I straighten up and force a smile. ‘Of course.’

I stand and go over to the sink, plunging my hands into the soapy water to scrub a saucepan.

‘It must be really hard for you, Jenna, looking after your mum and the house.’

My eyes blur and, before I can control my emotions, a tear runs down my cheek and drips off my chin.

‘It’s so difficult. I’m trying to do everything and Lucy isn’t helping at all. She’s always got something more important to do. “I can’t come round this evening. I’ve got a late meeting,” or “Ellis and I have got an appointment with the solicitor to sign the house purchase contracts.” She doesn’t give a shit about Mum.’

‘You know that’s not true. Lucy finds the situation difficult too.’

I turn to face her. ‘So what’s the answer then? Do you think Social Services will provide home care?’

‘Maybe. Willen Hospice might help as well.’

It doesn’t bear thinking about. ‘Mum’s always been fiercely independent. She won’t like being looked after by strangers.’

‘They might send regular carers.’

‘There’s no guarantee, though. I’ve been looking at a website about Doulahs,’ I say.

‘What are Doulahs?’

‘Nisha was telling me that they usually help mothers with their pregnancy and birth but now there are End-of-Life Doulahs too.’

Grace waits patiently for me to explain.

‘They help those who are dying, and their families, to feel safe and supported. I’ve been researching it and there are short courses people can do to become Doulahs. There’s a link to help you find a trained one. I’m not sure if there’ll be any in this area though.’

Grace’s expression is full of compassion and an idea hits me. Why didn’t I think of this before?

‘I know you’re not trained, Grace, but would you be our unofficial Doulah? You could help with practical things like sorting out prescriptions, paying bills, organising a gardener and so on as well as tasks around the house. I can’t cope alone and you’d be perfect. Mum trusts you.’

‘Well, I’m not sure. I mean I’ve never even…’ Grace’s considers the idea for a moment then her face splits into a wide smile. ‘I’m touched and flattered you’re asking me. I’d love to be more involved in caring for your mum but I’d like to be sure I’d make a good job of it. Is there a course I could do?’

I pull my laptop towards me and open up the page about training to become a Doulah. ‘Here you go.’

She reads with interest then sits back. ‘It looks good,’ she says, ‘but I couldn’t afford it.’

‘I’m sure most of being a Doulah is common sense and we could look at online advice without doing a course. Please, Grace. It says on the website that seventy percent of people want to die in their own beds but only seventeen percent do. Mum’s told me she wants to be at home at the end, and if you and I work as a team we might make it possible. She’s always taken good care of me and I’m going to take care of her. If she wants to stay at home then I’ll do what I can, but I’d really welcome your help.’

‘I don’t know, Jenna. It isn’t that I don’t want to help. I do. But I’ve got my other jobs to consider and—’ She breaks off suddenly, perhaps because she can see my face falling. ‘Why don’t we talk to your mum and Lucy?’

‘I’m sure they’ll agree,’ I say. And they might have a suggestion for how we can ensure Grace isn’t left out of pocket. I’m about to say so when I see Grace’s expression has changed as though she’s remembering something. Or someone. ‘Are you thinking about your mum?’ I ask.

‘Yes. I looked after her for quite a while. As you already know she choked to death suddenly but she was ill leading up to that and she couldn’t do much for herself.’

The weight on my shoulders begins to ease. Grace’s experience as a carer will be invaluable, especially as Lucy is hardly helping out at all. I can’t even have a conversation with her without it deteriorating into a row. She never praises me for what I do – just criticises me for what I don’t do. I dread her coming around and usually try to make myself scarce but tonight I’ll make the effort to talk things through with her.

‘Can you come back this evening?’ I ask Grace. ‘Lucy and Ellis are visiting. I’ll ask the bar manager if I can go to work later so we can all talk about it.’

‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ Mum’s smile is wide with enthusiasm. ‘It will take some of the pressure off you girls and enable us to spend more quality