Appointments

"How do you know?" she asked.

Of course I know. I remember it, every detail when she tells me about her condition. I know and remember when she has to go into the hospital again for check up. I write it down in my agenda, and a reminded just before the day comes.

There's an appointment with the neurosurgeon today, and another with her main physician. She will get her results and a diagnosis. And then soon enough, a decision will be made. More painful, grueling treatments? More hospital visits? More waiting and waiting until no more? A life-threatening major surgery? Or just let things be... let the cancer grow and grow and spread until one day, until one moment her body or mind, whichever first, cannot take it anymore...? A decision will be made, and once more my life will most likely be influenced by it.

Mum told me not to worry or think too much. "Just focus on your work..."

 Was it me or did she sound down? Did I hear hesitation and perhaps fear in her voice? I wished I could see her face when she spoke to me. I wish I could see the expression on her face. Her appointment is number 93 today, which means most likely she'll be waiting till the afternoon... waiting, waiting... waiting, waiting... sitting and being surrounded by other patients, by cancer survivors, by nurses and doctors rushing to and fro....

"Are you going to be alright?" I asked.  What kind of question is that...? What weak attempt at showing care or compassion is that? What could I do if she were not alright? So very, very little...

I'll call again, I said.I'll call again in the morning (my time) to see how today went.

In the mean time, while I try to sleep, my thoughts and my warmest wishes are with mum far, far away...