Mama G’s Post Box (2)

It occurred to me that you may not want to talk about your maybe very private issues in such a public arena so upon request I will give you my private email.  Please no time wasters or pranks.  I am not foolish enough to think I can help or make a difference but sometimes it helps to talk and someone to listen.  I can be there and lend you my ears and give you my take if you want it, otherwise I will just listen.

Why Mama G, have you got nothing better to do?  Are you bored?  No.  My time is precious like yours and everybody else’s.  Why?  Simple because when I was at my lowest and most alone other kind souls who never knew me and we will never meet again reached out to a person in pain and gave her hope.  The milk of human kindness compassion empathy is underrated whilst the myth of romantic love, the fairy tale happy ending, cinderella swept off her feet by the prince should be tried for crimes against humanity in the courts in the Hague.

My ex once told me I was ‘abnormal’ because I was too kind to strangers.  Well if being kind smacks of deviant behaviour then I’d be crazy any day and he can keep his cold brutal normality. 

Why was I nicer to strangers than friends?  Because ‘friends’ deserted me while strangers threw me a lifeline, kept me from ending it all and hold onto the last shreds of my sanity.  Restored my faith in humanity when the one I trusted would be the last man standing went AWOL because he couldn’t cope.  What a convenient time for him to have a breakdown. 

Can’t you see the man is suffering? Said ‘friends’ uttered these words in my house while I was in the middle of my hell undergoing chemotherapy, afraid to even open the door to the post lady who doubles as the neighbour opposite as I didn’t think the bald look suited me.  Needed time to adjust.  Bald wasn’t on the catwalk, not the trend that year.  Just give me the orange robes and I can be an extra as a Buddhist monk.  In fact a neighbour’s son who had been away thought I was just that when I finally plucked up the courage to do a walkabout.  I had stuck to my guns and not succumbed to the lure of a wig sporting long black hair, a poor imitation passionately espoused by the wig man at the Marsden, NHS no less and cheap by Selfridges standards.  Why Mama G?  Because wearing the wig would be an admission of the horrific scary reality and I’d rather be deluded.  Instead I sported a Harley Davidson cotton squared scarf in the form of a bandana.  Had to google how to do it.  Sadly it has got lost in my numerous moves otherwise it would be a poignant reminder of how far I have come; a symbol of courage, inner strength and the indelible human spirit.

I have no magic formula, secret powers, extra doses of courage or strength.  I am just a woman who for unfathomable reasons has had a lot of shit hit the fan in the space of a few years, all stuff registering on the richter scale on the stress chart.  Bad enough if they come one by one but a killer when they call on your simultaneously.  Recurrence. Biggie.  Separation/divorce Big Big Biggie.  Top of stress chart scoring 100 points is loss of spouse, to me this is no different I had still lost him though he is still very much alive and kicking, which kinda makes it worse, for me.  Sorry this is not belittling your grief, for those who have lost loved ones, it is just how I feel in my own situation.

I am just a woman who had to deal with the bad hand that Lady Lucky dealt her.  I had no choice; it was either lie down and die or fight.  Being a mother I chose the latter.  This wonderful Sister at the Chemo Suite at the Marsden, in response to my floods of tears and refusal to undergo the treatment, yet again, I was a pain in the arse, their patience was saintly, said No choice is also a choice. 

Sense of humour helps.  Seeing the absurd; the ability to laugh at yourself.  Being a coward, scared of dying, the unknown, the fear of going to hell because you hadn’t lived a perfect life and no longer believe in the salvation offered by Jesus because where the hell was he when all the shit hit the fan.  Freewill and sin.  That is what my Christian friends will say.  For me a benevolent God first of all wouldn’t have sent me all these trials and tribulations all at once.  I feel like a modern female version of Job.  Clearly I have failed miserably.  And when they say God will not send you any tests that you can’t handle, it is a downright lie, cos he did.  It was all too much, I wanted to die, especially when I found myself going through gruesome treatment on my own despite having a husband, family and good friends.  I once had a friend who has since passed away from breast cancer who was in exactly this position.  Her name is Sharman.  I thought that would never happen to me.  I am so lucky and blessed.  I was wrong.  Ten years down the line that was exactly me except there was no G. this time to reach out to me and take me home for a few days of tlc.

Thank you if you have managed to stay with me this far.  I have just had a brilliant idea.  I will blog on a different issue from personal experience and if you would be kind enough to comment then we can open up a dialogue.  I would like that very much.Thank you in advance.

Over and out Mama G.


About cho wan yau

Teacher by day poet/writer by night. Words have been my first love and will be my last. As a child I locked myself into the toilet devouring books which transported me to distant lands. Poetry shared penned from 2009-2010 in a titanic struggle to stay sane at Heartbreak Hotel. Please check it out on Any comments or feedback welcome. Why not share your story with me, because we all have one, don't we?

Posted on September 28, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Okay, then. Some of this sounds familiar! Illness, divorce, losing everything, moving, etc., etc. This is when women can, and do, shine. You are not alone in this part of your journey; I send you blessings and hope from across the globe.

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