Final Thoughts

I remember back at the beginning of April I went for a run. It was early days and I was just starting to build up on the distance I could run before my chest felt as if it was about to explode over the pavement. Whilst at the time I was impressed that I was improving, I also had concerns about whether I’d ever have the level of fitness to make it to the required 4K.

I wasn’t too worried at the time though as I knew it was a good six months away. In fact October seemed so far away that it may as well have been another country. Not a distant country like Australia. It was more sort of Northern France. So now, here I am, stood on the passenger deck of the ferry, with Calais in sight, hardly believing that it’s come around so soon.

Am I ready? I guess so. On a good day I can run 4K. Not necessarily with ease but then, as the present Mrs Hayward once told me, if it was easy everyone would be doing it. What it has done is to give me great admiration for those who run marathons, or even half marathons. I have friends who can do this, some even combine it with swimming and cycling although not necessarily at the same time, and this is impressive when I consider that on a bad day I struggle to run at all. Curse my weak shins.

Sunday will be very surreal though, not least as there will be other people around me who are also running, and some others just staring at me.  I believe the latter group are called spectators. When I’m out and about in Bourne I tend to speed up when I see an actual person so I have no idea how I’ll react at running in the presence of so many people. Perhaps I’ll get around the course in record time but I’m not holding out much hope. 

My main ambition is to finish without prematurely expiring during the race. According to a friend who will be working at the event on behalf of the St John Ambulance, three runners died during last year’s event. This makes the whole thing seem much more dangerous. Perhaps there are minefields or crocodiles en route that I was hitherto unaware of. I’ll let you know afterwards, if I still have my arms.

Either way, there’s no going back now, and no matter how surreal it will seem at 10am on Sunday morning, with a number on my chest and a chip around my ankle to record my time, I know at least that any pain or embarrassment is for a good cause.

The last time I did anything for charity I had my legs waxed, again this was another idea that seemed good at the time after a few beers in the pub. That, if I remember rightly, was for Comic Relief. This time, when I decided to enter the race, I decided to do it for The Stroke Association.

It’s hard to pick a charity to support as each cause can touch a person in one way or another. Normally I would have picked one of the many good cancer charities as that hateful disease has affected so many of my close family and friends. However I had The Stroke Association suggested to me by Mrs Hayward and I’m glad that she did.

My nan had a stroke many years ago. Prior to that she was so fit and active that she put us all very much to shame. She lived for another six years after her stroke but she was never able to walk again and spent the last few years of her life in a rest home, and I know that she was intensely frustrated at her lack of mobility.

Last summer my mum suffered a stroke. For me it was the first time I realised that she was unwell. I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn to say that my mum could have a tendency to be a little bit of a hypochondriac. I used to joke with her that she had a season ticket with the doctor’s surgery as, even when I was little, she seemed to have an appointment most weeks about something or other. 

So when she used to tell me about her various medical complaints I, like a lot of people who knew her,  probably took it with a pinch of salt as that was just who she was. In the past nothing serious had ever come of these things.

After the stroke she became frail and visibly started to look much older. Before and after the main stroke that saw her hospitalised for a few weeks in June she suffered a number of ‘blackouts’ or ‘mini-strokes’ as the doctor called them. 

On reflection it came as no surprise when she had another heart related episode a few months later. However this time her heart stopped for a number of minutes and despite the ambulance crew resuscitating her and a few days spent in intensive care it was clear to the doctors that she was never going to regain consciousness. She was taken to a ward to, as the medical staff tried to delicately put it, let nature take its course.

I have no idea whether she had any idea what was going on. Her brain was virtually dead. However she obviously had a tougher constitution than even she would have imagined as without the aid of equipment to keep her alive she survived for another six days. They were the longest six days of my life.

For a week, I, my wife, and my Dad made the daily trip to sit in shifts with my mum as she lay dying. There was no hope that she would recover, we were just waiting for her to die and to be with her when she did. It’s hard to describe how difficult it is to spend so much time watching someone you care about, and who cared about you so deeply, slowly and visibly deteriorate. You want to do something but there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

Each day became more and more difficult to make the trip to the hospital, to sit there and listen to her breathing become more erratic and raspy, whilst normal life in the ward continued around us. There were distractions of course, when I left the ward the real world would creep back in and other family members provided some practical support during that time for which I will be eternally grateful.

I will confess to the fact that I’m scared of death. I worry about it on a daily basis. What I really didn’t want to see was anyone, not least someone so close to me, just die in front of me. Rather selfishly I had hoped that when it happened it would be during the night. However, as fate would have it I was there with my wife when my mum died. 

All deaths are different I would imagine. Some are peaceful and some are not. Having had no previous experience of death I don’t know where to put my mum’s but it appeared, when it came, to be sudden and difficult. I won’t go into details but I will never forget the sights and sounds and smells associated with that moment.

My father said afterwards that he wished he had been there when she died. I tell him that I’m glad that he wasn’t, but I don’t think that he will ever really understand why I say this. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I was there for her but in many ways I wish I hadn’t been as, in amongst all the good memories I have of the mum I remember as I was growing up, I will also carry with me the memory of that terrible week and those last desperate moments for the rest of my days, and I suspect that she wouldn’t have wanted that.

So, when I’m running on Sunday morning, when I feel like my legs are aching, and I’m starting to wheeze a little and just want to stop and have a little sit down, I’ll remember that week back in September last year and recall that if you’d given me the option then I would have given anything to be anywhere else, doing anything else, including running 4 kilometres in some ill-fitting shorts in front of a load of cheering strangers.

So, to all my friends and family in the real world and online this is my last plea for sponsorship, I promise, at least until the next time. If you can spare a few pennies or a few pounds for the good work that The Stroke Association do, then please visit my Just Giving page at http://www.justgiving.com/Terry-Hayward3

 

Anything you can give is much appreciated and you can always donate after Sunday if you’d prefer. The website stays open for donations for up to three months after the event.

Thank you.