MOTHERS & DAUGHTERS
Exploring the special bond that only grows stronger
It’s a relationship that is sometimes challenging, often wonderful, but always at the forefront of our lives. As we approach Mothering Sunday, Good Housekeeping speaks to three mothers and daughters with remarkable stories...
‘She taught me to look inside myself’
Just as her career was taking off, Good Housekeeping writer Ella Dove suffered a freak accident that led to her losing her right leg. Ella’s bond with her mother, Sara, had always been strong, but as she struggled on her road to recovery, it became unshakable
Ella says...
Ten months ago, I lost my leg. And little by little, that loss is being rebuilt by love. My entire family has been wonderfully supportive, but it has been the love of my mum – who sat with me every single day in hospital, who read the newspaper aloud to calm me when my brain was fogged with pain, who held my hand on the way to the operating theatre – that has been truly overwhelming. Mum is the reason I held
my head high when I first used a wheelchair in public, when all I wanted to do was disappear. And it was Mum who was there when I took my first steps with my prosthetic leg, and helped me when I wobbled, both mentally and physically. It’s been a very long journey to where I am today, and her support has meant the world.
I was jogging along a canal path one Sunday last May with my sister, Althea, when I tripped and fell. White-hot pain burned through my right leg and I could feel nausea rising in my throat. As Althea called an ambulance, my first thought as I lay on the ground fighting the blackness that threatened to engulf me was that I needed my mum.
Even as the surgeon told me that my foot was cold and that amputation was a likely option, I refused to believe it. How could someone lose a leg simply by tripping over? That night I had 12 hours of surgery. It was the first of many operations. When I fell, a bone had severed the artery to my foot and the surgeons couldn’t get the blood circulating. Five days after my accident, they had no choice but to amputate. It was only as I shakily signed the paperwork to give permission for the operation that I finally accepted it was going to happen.
I can remember taking a final look at my right foot, the skin white and toenails painted red. It’s an image that will stay with me for ever. A nurse squeezed my hand and I drifted to sleep, knowing with an acute sadness that this really was the only way.
For the first few days in hospital, I was in too much pain to feel any emotion. But Mum’s face through the gloom remains clear. Her presence by my side was more powerful than any medication. We raged together, sobbed together, and in those late, quiet moments – as nurses tiptoed and machines beeped around us – we brought our heads close and reflected together, wordlessly united in our thoughts.
With the help of Mum, I gradually found reasons to smile. There was the intensive care patient who sang one line of the same song over and over again until we both thought we’d go mad. The cleaner who brought me chocolate biscuits. Looking for these small quirks of humanity brought us both through the darkest of times. I wouldn’t have found them without her.
Through months of intensive physiotherapy and six weeks in an amputee rehabilitation clinic, Mum has been with me. She’s been my chauffeur, my secretary, my launderette, my counsellor and everything in between. She kept me grounded when I feared for my future, reassuring me that my life wasn’t over and I could still be whatever I wanted to be. As it turns out, she was right. I have learnt that mums very often are.
When you’re a new amputee, it can often feel as if everything has changed. And yet, nothing is as heartbreakingly different as I’d imagined from my hospital bed. I’m back living with my sister and friend in my flat, I’m back at the office, and I still take part in the things I enjoyed before the accident.
While I won’t be scaling mountains any time soon, Mum has taught me to look inside myself when life seems tough. With her by my side, I know how to grasp hold of that inner, inherited strength and keep my focus on the bright future that lies ahead.
‘She was determined to regain her normal life’ Sara says...
A mother’s instinct is a powerful force that can carry you through the most challenging of times – even when those times threaten to drag you down. I didn’t believe the surgeon who told us Ella might lose her leg. When it actually happened, I was devastated. It almost felt as though it was happening to someone else – it was too horrific to be imagined.
The very worst thing to experience is seeing your child going through that level of torment, powerless to do anything about it. I could hold Ella’s hand and stroke her brow, but I couldn’t take away the pain or the shock of what had happened. I visited her every day. I kept a diary of every operation, every poignant, terrifying or funny moment, knowing that one day she’d want to look back. I lived every moment of her journey, wishing I could turn back time.
Over the past few months, friends have told me that I’m brave, that I’m an inspiration to endure this horrendous situation. Yet the strength I’ve summoned throughout is down to Ella. Her strength is my strength. She has soldiered onwards, determined to regain her normal life – something she’s now well on the way to achieving.
Each time I saw her laughing with the nurses, beating pain with determination and making terrible puns about putting one foot in front of the other, it reminded me that, although a part of her was missing, she is still Ella. Her life will be different, but it is far from over. And now, when I see her walk with her prosthetic leg, head high and a huge smile on her face, I’m overwhelmed with love and pride. Her courage is remarkable. I’m not the brave one here.