Rochelle Bugg - Handle with Care: My life as a young carer, the loss of my parents and how I learned to live again

First published in the UK by John Blake Publishing

An imprint of Bonnier Books UK

8081 Wimpole Street, London, W1G 9RE

Owned by Bonnier Books

Sveavgen 56, Stockholm, Sweden

www.facebook.com/johnblakebooks

twitter.com/jblakebooks

First published in paperback in 2021

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-78946-035-3

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-78946-036-0

Audiobook ISBN: 978-1-78946-399-6

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data:

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Design by www.envydesign.co.uk

Text copyright Rochelle Bugg 2021

The right of Rochelle Bugg to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Although this book is based on a true story, some names, dates and places have been changed to protect the identity and privacy of those who form part of the narrative.

Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright-holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.

John Blake Publishing is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK

www.bonnierbooks.co.uk

This is for anyone who has cared, is caring, or will one day care for someone they love through a chronic or terminal illness.

And for Mum and Dad.

Look what your little girl did.

Contents

P eeling off my rubber gloves, I popped the Mr Muscle back under the sink and gave a satisfied nod as I looked around the place Id called home for the past four years. It had been a productive albeit tiring Saturday morning.

The night before, after a hectic first week at my new job in London, Id rushed straight from work to Kings Cross station. M&S gin-in-a-tin in hand, I caught the train back up to Leeds, where Id lived since finishing uni there, then woke up early to clear out my old flat.

After scrubbing and polishing everything to Mrs Hinch levels of perfection, I locked up for the last time, handed my keys back to the estate agent and headed to my boyfriend Kunles house, letting myself in with the spare key while he was still at work.

Now for an afternoon nap, I thought to myself.

To be honest, I needed it. Not only was I exhausted from my first week in a new job and cleaning out my old flat, but I still had to sit down with Kunle tonight and finish talking about where things stood between us, now that Id moved down south. Id just signed the lease on a new place with my middle sister, Hannah, who was twenty and in her second year of uni in London, but Kunles career plans didnt look like they were going to bring him down to the big smoke with me, so it was time to make some decisions.

Flopping onto the bed, I grabbed my phone to set an alarm, but as I did, it started ringing in my hands, its shrill tone almost causing me to toss it in the air. I looked at the screen.

Olivia.

It was my other sister who, at sixteen years old, was the youngest of us three.

I rolled my eyes. What did she want this time? She lived at home with Mum in Ipswich and was forever calling for help with her homework as if I was her own personal Google.

Hi Liv, I said flatly. Whats up?

Ummmm, Ro... she started, in a tone that caused me to sit bolt upright. Something was wrong.

Yeah? What is it? I asked, slightly panicked.

Mum told me not to call you but Im worried... she replied. She went to the doctor and they sent her to the hospital. They did some tests and said shes had a... wait, I cant remember the long name, let me check the leaflet they gave her. OK, it says its called a TIA, a Transient Ischaemic Attack, also known as a mini-stroke. Im upstairs in my room so she doesnt know Ive called you

Is she OK? I asked so quickly that I hardly gave her a chance to finish her sentence.

She said shes fine, but I went downstairs before and I think shes been crying, Olivia went on.

I rambled for a few minutes trying to reassure her that everything would be OK, but I barely managed to convince myself. Then I hung up and completely ignoring Olivias pleas not to called Mum straightaway.

Mother! Whats all this about you being an attention seeker today? I asked in a pretend posh voice that I hoped would lighten the mood. Whats going on? Fancy going to perv on some hot doctors or something, did you? I mocked, deciding that bad jokes were the best way to play it if I was going to get the full story out of her.

Ro, baby. Im fine. Its not even anything, she said. do NOT worry about silly old me.

Yeah but what did they say exactly, Mum? do you need me to come home? I asked, reeling off question after question.

Nooo, no, no, she insisted. Go out for a nice meal tonight and have a glass of wine. Actually, have one for me as well. Theyve given me some tablets and told me to lay of the old vino for a bit.

Then she paused.

I just... I dont get... I dont get how it h-happened. I mean, a-a stroke... she stuttered.

As the words tumbled out of her mouth and down the line to me, her voice cracked. despite her being hundreds of miles away, I instinctively knew that her brow was furrowed and her lips were pressing down hard together in a feeble attempt to hold back the tears that were pricking at her eyes. In typical Mum style, she didnt want to cause a fuss, but I could tell that she needed me there with her.

Especially without Dad around.

My mum, Shirley, and my dad, James, were true sweethearts. The ultimate team. They did everything together from running several businesses, to bringing us three girls up in a home filled with love and laughter.

Mum had always dreamt of a fairy-tale wedding on an exotic beach but having three kids, building up a number of businesses and managing tight finances meant it got pushed to the back-burner year after year. Eventually, her and Dad were in a position where they had the time and money to start planning. I still remember the pile of brochures on the kitchen table and the folded corner on the page of a resort in Mexico which Mum had picked as her favourite.

But it wasnt to be.

Soon after they started planning, when I was fourteen, and my dad just forty-seven, he fell ill, losing a lot of weight very suddenly and suffering from excruciating abdominal pain. Dad quickly became too poorly to travel to the bathroom, let alone the other side of the world.

He went back and forth to the doctors countless times before they eventually found what was wrong. At one point they said he had irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), then thought it might be gallstones. But when they finally gave him his prognosis, it was far worse.

Cancer of the pancreas.