I was struggling to complete my thesis, but the universe had other plans

This past summer was supposed to be my “push to the finish line” and “bring ‘er home” summer. I was originally supposed to submit my thesis on (this past) Friday, September 29 – but things got a little complicated, and I asked for (and was granted) an extension. Sometimes, I need to be hit over the head with a sign or two to really understand that just because I had planned something to go a certain way and I WANTED something to go a certain way, it might not necessarily work out like that. My summer went something like this:

May - Finish teaching gigs and gear up to get this PhD puppy DONE.

Last week of May, out of the blue, and within the space of a week,  the ol’ man (that would be my husband) discovers something is not feeling quite right, goes to the doctor, is rushed through a myriad of tests, is diagnosed with testicular cancer, has surgery to remove the cancer and returns to work 3 days later (even though the doctor had recommended 3 weeks off).

One week later, I get a call that my elderly father is very ill, has been admitted to a hospital, has a “do not resuscitate” order on his chart, and that I should get there pronto. I hastily book a flight and traverse the country to be with him. He improves but I spend a good part of 2 weeks in the hospital advocating for him.

During the first week I am there, I receive a call from my brother’s social worker (he is schizophrenic and has long been under the care of a mental health team while living independently in a specially designated building for those with mental health challenges). My brother, I am told, has early-onset dementia. He cannot live independently and will be moved into a group home.

My mother has advanced dementia and has lived in a full-time care facility for four years. My grandmother had it, as did her sister, my great aunt.

During the second week, I am “home” to care for my Dad and I get a call from another hospital saying my oldest (61-year-old) brother is there. I had had lunch with him earlier in the week; he seemed fine. I couldn’t imagine what could be wrong.

I arrived at the hospital and was escorted into the ICU to find out he had overdosed on heroin. He was (I thought) a recovering addict. He had been (I thought) clean for 12-15 years.

He stayed in the hospital 2 weeks with sepsis (a blood infection from the intravenous drug use). My Dad got stronger, I got him settled back home, arranged home care, sold his car… my other brother was placed in a group home. I visited my Mum one last time before I flew back to my other “home.” Mum has no idea who I am, but she seemed happy for the company. I didn’t tell her about Dad and my brothers. She can’t comprehend anything like that anyway– I’m glad I didn’t have to tell her all that.

Back home, with my ol’ man and the kids (he reminded me, or rather ribbed me about the fact that he had cancer as I was off looking after my father, mother and brothers…). We spent a lovely 4 days on a lake because that is all we could afford financially and time-wise. The day after we got home, I was grocery shopping and planning out the rest of my “summer.” Kids were occupied with camp and activities and I was clear to write the bejeebers out of my thesis. The grocery cart was full when I realized I needed frozen mango for my ultra-healthy brain boosting green smoothies– I left the cart with the ol’ man and turned to go back to the freezer section when BAM! I go flying… I feel (although it was so intense I swear I heard it too) a POP in my left leg, and the next thing I remember, I was lying, screaming in a pool of cold water from a leaky freezer. An ambulance was called. I was carted off, put on morphine and told that I had torn a hamstring.

That is when I realised that sometimes a little re-jigging is for the best. That is when I had to accept that the universe was essentially begging me to just STOP. Wait a gall-darn minute– Re-jig– you are NOT submitting on September 29, 2017.

March 29, 2018, it is then.

Home again, home again jiggity-jig…

Mamalegato is a mother to six, PhD student, and theatre artist. This story was published on October 1, 2017, on her blog, Mamalegato's Marathon (available here), and has been republished here with her permission.