Mum showed me her tongue. I shuddered at the sight, and put my hand on her shoulder, full of pity, full of hurt from seeing a dear one suffer.
Six chemo sessions later, and her tongue looks burned. Instead of the normal red texture, her tongue had partly become blackish-gray. It looked like something left in the oven for too long, like something that was singed. The depth of her throat is more or less the same, she said. And so when she eats, the food seems to cut and hurt her insides like putting salt on an open wound.
"This is life, so full of suffering", she said, "That's why I don't want to do chemo. But if I don't, then [cancer] may spread. I sometimes cannot take it any longer..."
I patted her on the shoulder.
08 May 2010
Tiredness
Been home a week already, where did the time go?
I don't really sleep well these days. I sleep enough, around seven hours or so every night, and not at too late a time. But my sleep is disturbed, almost constantly by dreams or nightmares, which means I'm not really resting. Plus, because I'm worried about mum's wellbeing, I wake up almost automatically every few hours to check up on her.
This lack of good sleep is manifesting itself in other ways, as I found out when I looked at myself in the mirror after a shower today. There's a bulge, a sort of inflammation under my lower left eye. Like a lump of clot that wasn't there before. I went to a pharmacist, and he diagnosed it almost immediately as lack of sleep. He told me not to sleep too late (which I don't...), and to sleep more (which I do, especially when I try to take a little nap in the afternoon...)
But little does he know when I 'sleep', my mind is racing from place to place, filled with images, sounds and people. Filled with worries, fears and anxieties.
I don't really sleep well these days. I sleep enough, around seven hours or so every night, and not at too late a time. But my sleep is disturbed, almost constantly by dreams or nightmares, which means I'm not really resting. Plus, because I'm worried about mum's wellbeing, I wake up almost automatically every few hours to check up on her.
This lack of good sleep is manifesting itself in other ways, as I found out when I looked at myself in the mirror after a shower today. There's a bulge, a sort of inflammation under my lower left eye. Like a lump of clot that wasn't there before. I went to a pharmacist, and he diagnosed it almost immediately as lack of sleep. He told me not to sleep too late (which I don't...), and to sleep more (which I do, especially when I try to take a little nap in the afternoon...)
But little does he know when I 'sleep', my mind is racing from place to place, filled with images, sounds and people. Filled with worries, fears and anxieties.
Somethign about dad
Mum told me something about dad I never knew before. At least, more things in detail.
When dad first began working at the bank, he was selected to go abroad for training for a few months. It was the US, in NYC on the East Coast. This was probably the early eighties, and I don't think I was even around at the time. Though, I've seen pictures with yellowing edges that captured moments back then. One is of dad lying on the floor, next to a transparent glass table. On the surface of the table were bills. Dollar bills, spread randomly. I forget what denomination they were, but there was definitely a lot of money just lying around on the table. And dad had a proud smile on his face as he posed for the camera. I never figured out how he got all that money, or whatever happened to all that.
Until today... Mum said when he went to the US, he was so thrifty that he did not spend much. Everyday he would save his daily allowance, and spend the bare minimum. Probably because he converted everything into Taiwan dollars, and found everything too expensive to buy (I remember once he told me whenever he buys something, he stands there calculating the price, comparing the products and thinking about it before really buying it...)
So at the end of the few months of his training, he came back home with a lot of cash. Over US$5000, which I imagine was an enormous sum. Mum said dad looked scruffy when she and my brother went to pick him up at the airport. Scruffy, with uncut hair and dirty-looking clothes. He looked so bad that even my brother, a baby then I imagine, did not want my dad to hold him.
But dad did it all because he wanted to save money, to save every single penny he could so that we, his family could benefit and be better off.
When I heard that, I was again touched and reminded of dad's silent kindness and care. Care that seem more eminent now that he has passed away...
When dad first began working at the bank, he was selected to go abroad for training for a few months. It was the US, in NYC on the East Coast. This was probably the early eighties, and I don't think I was even around at the time. Though, I've seen pictures with yellowing edges that captured moments back then. One is of dad lying on the floor, next to a transparent glass table. On the surface of the table were bills. Dollar bills, spread randomly. I forget what denomination they were, but there was definitely a lot of money just lying around on the table. And dad had a proud smile on his face as he posed for the camera. I never figured out how he got all that money, or whatever happened to all that.
Until today... Mum said when he went to the US, he was so thrifty that he did not spend much. Everyday he would save his daily allowance, and spend the bare minimum. Probably because he converted everything into Taiwan dollars, and found everything too expensive to buy (I remember once he told me whenever he buys something, he stands there calculating the price, comparing the products and thinking about it before really buying it...)
So at the end of the few months of his training, he came back home with a lot of cash. Over US$5000, which I imagine was an enormous sum. Mum said dad looked scruffy when she and my brother went to pick him up at the airport. Scruffy, with uncut hair and dirty-looking clothes. He looked so bad that even my brother, a baby then I imagine, did not want my dad to hold him.
But dad did it all because he wanted to save money, to save every single penny he could so that we, his family could benefit and be better off.
When I heard that, I was again touched and reminded of dad's silent kindness and care. Care that seem more eminent now that he has passed away...
07 May 2010
Friday night
Friday night, and home. A friend said I should be out, enjoying myself, enjoying my life, my youth.
Yet I'm home, with mum, who's watching TV and feeling frail.
I don't lament the fact that I'm here, because I choose to be here rather than out there partying till wee hours of morning. But sometimes I do wonder, what am I doing living for someone else, constantly worrying about someone else's wellbeing and happiness... what about my own?
Seeing mum so weak, and occasionally drifting to depression, filled with gloomy thoughts and hopelesssness, I feel so frustrated and distraught...
Yet I'm home, with mum, who's watching TV and feeling frail.
I don't lament the fact that I'm here, because I choose to be here rather than out there partying till wee hours of morning. But sometimes I do wonder, what am I doing living for someone else, constantly worrying about someone else's wellbeing and happiness... what about my own?
Seeing mum so weak, and occasionally drifting to depression, filled with gloomy thoughts and hopelesssness, I feel so frustrated and distraught...
Before dad
Just before we left the temple where dad is now located, I sneaked away and went to visit the ancestral plaque. This piece of wood, with inscriptions of our family name is symbolically where my ancestors are supposed to reside in. I knelt before it, and asked for their blessings...
Not for myself, but for my brother, for my mother. Especially for my mother. I asked dad, and all the ancestors, to watch over mum, to take care of her, to protect her from ill and from harm.
I did not ask for her to have a long life; just one that is happy and healthy. I do not need riches or miracles; just that she has less suffering and pain in however many years, or days that she may have... there is little more I ask, and there is little more I need.
I closed my eyes as I prayed for the blessings of my ancestors. I hope they have heard my prayers.
Not for myself, but for my brother, for my mother. Especially for my mother. I asked dad, and all the ancestors, to watch over mum, to take care of her, to protect her from ill and from harm.
I did not ask for her to have a long life; just one that is happy and healthy. I do not need riches or miracles; just that she has less suffering and pain in however many years, or days that she may have... there is little more I ask, and there is little more I need.
I closed my eyes as I prayed for the blessings of my ancestors. I hope they have heard my prayers.
Unwell
"I'm sorry I cannot eat," she said, "Please don't blame me".
I sat alone at the table, and looked at the box of sushi I had just rushed outside to buy. I thought she would be hungry. Instead, she looked frail, and earlier was complaining that she felt like throwing up. Who can blame her? We had just driven 3 hours in the pouring rain to go see dad in the mountains, and the journey made me feel unwell too. Imagine what it must feel like for mum, who just completed her latest chemo treatment.
Yesterday she seemed alright, and I thought with each passing day she would feel better. But it seems to get worse before it gets better. She said the inside of her throat is again torn because of the chemo, so it hurts when she swallows.
Moments like this make me feel sick and unable to eat ... how can I when mum is feeling sick?
06 May 2010
Mum's birthday
I told a little lie this morning. A white lie on mum's birthday.
I said I wanted to go out for breakfast, something which I practically never do, for why go out to eat when there are things at home and when I can eat with mum? Anyways, she was glad I was going out, but little did she know that I did not go out to eat. I went out looking for my brother who was eating at a breakfast place down the road, and together we walked to the market.
I had told him my plan to get fresh flowers last night, and he revealed to me that he and his new 'friend' had ordered a nice cake from a famous bakery. So together we basked in our cunning little secrets to surprise mum and walked in the morning heat. We got to the florist, and were lost as what to buy for her. There were so many different kinds of flowers, so many colours to choose from. The lovely lady at the store gave us some hints, and we picked some pink roses, coronations, and pinkish white lilies, which she made into a big bouquet decorated with colourful wrapping paper and a big red ribbon. "She'll be very happy," the florist said, "She's a lucky mum".
We got home, and found mum resting in bed. She came out and saw the flowers and was thoroughly surprised (though, she did find it strange that I would go out for breakfast...). "I've never been treated like this!" she said, as I gave her a hug and wished her a happy birthday.
And silently, I wished her good health, and lots of happiness for as long as she lives...
04 May 2010
Time Hero Chen Shu-Chu
(images from Formosa TV)Named by Time Magagzine as one of 2010's Heroes, Oscar-crowned Taiwanese director Ang Lee had this to say about Chen, :
What's so wonderful about Chen's achievement is not its extraordinariness but that it is so simple and matter of fact in its generosity. "Money serves its purpose only when it is used for those who need it," she told a newspaper.Indeed, Chen came from such a poor upbringing that she could not even finish elementary school, and began working at the market since the age of 7 to support her family. Having lost her parents at 13, she worked to raise her two siblings. Earlier, Forbes named her one of the "Heroes of Philantrophy" for her charitable donations which in the last five decades mount to a significant sum of NT$10million (approx. US$330,000). All of her donations come from the vegetables that she sells and all the savings she accumulated living a thrifty and frugal life. Hearing news that she won recognition for her philanthropic work, reporters found her busy hauling vegetables at the market. "What award? I don't know any award. [Giving donations] is not a contest!"
Yesterday, she boarded the plane and made her way to New York where she will receive the Time award. She had on her a handbag that cost NT$190 (US$6), most likely from the traditional market where she hawks her goods every day. On her feet were sports shoes, and her clothes were no more elaborate or fancy than the outfits that she has been spotted wearing at the market. All that was missing was her trademark red apron, though she did say if she had her way she would most like to wear the apron to the award ceremony.
Being the first time Chen has ever been abroad, the Foreign Affairs Ministry expedited her passport application and the (de-facto) US embassy granted Chen her visa within one hour. Due to chronic cellulitis in her legs from standing too long all the time, she limps, and Eva Air has kindly upgraded her to Business Class to make sure this newly-discovered celebrity makes her journey to the other side of the world in comfort.
"I promise if I get the chance I will say something for Taiwan", she told reporters. It takes someone like her, an ordinary nobody from the countryside living in obscurity with no family, to bring together and touch the heart of a nation that for too long is shunned as a pariah in the world.
Chen has fostered two dozen children from an orphanage, and donated millions to build a library at the elementary school she never graduated from. She works 16 hours a day from 3 in the morning everyday, resting only one day a year, and eats a diet of just rice with soy sauce and vegetables. On occasion she would treat herself to a bento box, but even that she can spread the meal over a whole day. Little by little, penny by penny, she saves her income just in order to give. "Giving makes me feel so happy. I can sleep very well that night".
Her simpleness of life, her selfless philosophy of living is an example to us all.
Vomitting at night
I suddenly woke up because of the noise. Mum was rushing toward the bathroom, deep groaning in her throat, her mouth full of stomach acid and vomit. Though the door was closed, I could hear her throw up, again and again over the toilet bowl, and subsequently try to clean up the mess.
It is happening again. The toxic toxins are having their pleasure at weakening mum’s body and making her sick. If eventually she becomes better, then the temporary torment is worth it… but what if it makes her weaker and weaker, worse and worse? I felt myself tire and begin to feel anxious at the sound of mum vomiting. Tap water rushed down as she tried to rinse her mouth clean and to clean up the mess.
The whole night she did not really sleep, and my own sleep was also disturbed because I wake up a couple of times semi-consciously out of fear that something is up. At one point, her bed was empty and I quickly got up to find her. Turns out she relocated to the living room, and I found her sleeping, snoring a little, lying spreadeagled on the sofa. I wanted to wake up and ask her to go back to bed, but knowing how much trouble she had sleeping, I decided to let her be. The first day of chemo always seems to make her sleepless.
Two more days to go…
02 May 2010
Night before
Despite all the euphoria and happy moments of the last few days, the reality hits again tomorrow when mum has to go to the hospital again for chemo. She just went to bed, and she seemed somewhat upset and was feeling hopeless.
Even before going to bed, at close to eleven, she was sweeping the floor to get rid of all the fallen strands of hair. She said more and more is falling, especially when she washes her hair. And tomorrow more will fall, she said.
I told her that tomorrow will be the last time she has to do the chemo treatment, now that the cancer level is more or less under control. She wasn't convinced, and recalled that the doctor mentioned someone who had to do chemo twenty something times and is still doing chemo... Somehow she seems to think that she will be like that too...
Once again, I cannot understand what it feels like to go to sleep tonight, and to have to wake up tomorrow and have to go into the hospital first thing in the morning. I simply cannot understand it, because it is not happening to me, and I could never project those emotions and frustrations onto me because I am not going through the same as mum (or any other cancer patient, for that matter...). And I cannot understand the injury to self-pride and self-love when you constantly see strands of hair on your clothes and between your fingers whenever you scratch your head...
I try to imagine what that must feel like, but I cannot describe it because I cannot feel it completely. I may be able to empathise, to try to imagine what it must feel like to be afraid of washing your hair for fear or more hair loss... but never will I feel as wounded and hurt as mum whenever she sees her hair on the floor...
And that hurts me, even though she does not know it.
When I look at her from a certain angle, I can see clearly that the top has obviously thinned, leaving the scalp visibly almost bare (though, some hairlets are already growing back...). I took a picture with her the other day, and on this picture it was quite obvious. I'd like to think it's because I know that she has a bald spot there, and so I see it more clearly than anyone else would.
Whenever mum is near a mirror, she tries to comb her hair so that the almost bare bits are covered up. Sometimes it's not obvious, but at other times I could tell, and perhaps others could do to.
And I keep on reassuring her that it's really not too bad, that hair will always grow back, that the next chemo may very well be the last...
all the while, deep inside, I hurt because I am afraid that I am lying. Lying to myself may not be too significant, but the possibility that I may be lying to my mum hurts...
Even before going to bed, at close to eleven, she was sweeping the floor to get rid of all the fallen strands of hair. She said more and more is falling, especially when she washes her hair. And tomorrow more will fall, she said.
I told her that tomorrow will be the last time she has to do the chemo treatment, now that the cancer level is more or less under control. She wasn't convinced, and recalled that the doctor mentioned someone who had to do chemo twenty something times and is still doing chemo... Somehow she seems to think that she will be like that too...
Once again, I cannot understand what it feels like to go to sleep tonight, and to have to wake up tomorrow and have to go into the hospital first thing in the morning. I simply cannot understand it, because it is not happening to me, and I could never project those emotions and frustrations onto me because I am not going through the same as mum (or any other cancer patient, for that matter...). And I cannot understand the injury to self-pride and self-love when you constantly see strands of hair on your clothes and between your fingers whenever you scratch your head...
I try to imagine what that must feel like, but I cannot describe it because I cannot feel it completely. I may be able to empathise, to try to imagine what it must feel like to be afraid of washing your hair for fear or more hair loss... but never will I feel as wounded and hurt as mum whenever she sees her hair on the floor...
And that hurts me, even though she does not know it.
When I look at her from a certain angle, I can see clearly that the top has obviously thinned, leaving the scalp visibly almost bare (though, some hairlets are already growing back...). I took a picture with her the other day, and on this picture it was quite obvious. I'd like to think it's because I know that she has a bald spot there, and so I see it more clearly than anyone else would.
Whenever mum is near a mirror, she tries to comb her hair so that the almost bare bits are covered up. Sometimes it's not obvious, but at other times I could tell, and perhaps others could do to.
And I keep on reassuring her that it's really not too bad, that hair will always grow back, that the next chemo may very well be the last...
all the while, deep inside, I hurt because I am afraid that I am lying. Lying to myself may not be too significant, but the possibility that I may be lying to my mum hurts...
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