A few days at home

When things are difficult, it is best to remind yourself of what you have already gone through. In comparing what you have already experienced, you realise you can face whatever life has to throw at you. In knowing what hurdles you have already overcome, you know if you put on a brave face, breathe, the tears will stop. And you can force a smile and struggle on, for another moment, for another minute.

I noticed more and more strands of hair on mum's clothes and on the floor of the apartment. And this is only within a few days of arriving here. One of the first things I noticed when I walked through the door was how much hair had grown since I last saw her in July. Much of her hair is young, healthy looking and dark in colour. But the treatment she is currently undergoing, and the chemo pills that she has to take on a daily basis, will cause her hair to fall again. And that is already starting to happen.

Two more days, and mum will be doing her second invitro treatment. I will be here, next to her, to see her through what always is a painful and grueling process of being weakened and attempting at recovering her strength and energy.

I have had many opportunities to speak to her since my return. Many times I told her how much I wish she could go out and 'do something', anything, to make full use of her life, to make herself feel alive again. Whether it's going to classes and learning a new craft or arts or going to lectures and talks about traveling and healthy living, anything is better than her staying at home and languishing on the couch in front of the tv or the computer.

She says she'd like to, but her recurring sores and pains are preventing her from doing things she would like to. "It's not like before," she said, meaning her sores have gotten worse over the past few weeks. It comes and goes, and the medication keeps it in check, but not necessarily all the time. There are days when the medication have no effect, and she could feel such pain and sores that makes her want to cut off her arm...  "There will come a point when the meds lose their effect completely". What then?

"Morphine," she said quietly. The doctor said she will probably need to start taking morphine. Invitro or pills, she is  unsure. But the thought of it scares her. It scares me. I closed my eyes, blink away the tears and breathed deeply...

We have gone through so much... Mum has gone through so much... from the first ever chemotherapy just after dad passed away to the severe diagnosis of the tumour on the spine back in January, so much has happened. Every treatment, every few months I thought I was close to losing her. Every time I feared she might enter the hospital and, like dad, never return. But mum has bravely gone through it all. Most of the time alone all by herself, with her own courage and determination. And she is still standing, still fighting.

But this time around I notice a difference. I sense a certain degree of fear and hesitation... I notice a sense of resignation, and sense of guilt surrounding her own failing health and mortality. "You can't imagine what it feels like," she said to me many times. She said she sometimes hates herself for being like this, for being ill, for being unable to do what she would like to. Whatever happened to her health, she lamented a few times. Whatever happened to being able to just get up and go wherever she would like, without needing to worrying about how she will be feeling or whether the pain will come and steal away all the pleasure and fun she is having?

I try to comfort her, try to find reassurance and that semblance of wisdom and clarity of the mind I managed to recover during my retreat last week. Think positively, I tell her, think of this moment. Nothing else matters, not fear of the uncertain future, not regrets about your own health and the conditions you find yourself in. Whatever it is anyone is facing, it is never our choosing. We can accept it and face it, or live with dread and fear and remorse why we are in the situation we don't want to be.

If we are prisoners of the circumstances, why not make the most of the circumstance and at least try to "enjoy" where we find ourselves? "Laugh," I told mum, "Laugh everyday, laugh at everything..." She joked people will probably look at her funny and wonder whether she's insane. That may be so, but difficulties can make you insane and confused, or you can try to see the humour and lightness in it all. It is there if you want to see and feel it.

Of course, I could never ever feel the same pain, feel the same fear that mum feels about her own body and close brush with mortality, but I tell her again and again as I hold her hand, as I pat her on the shoulder "Be strong... be happy, and let things be."

I don't know how much those words help her, because sometimes those words sound so empty and so meaningless in a situation of such despair and hopelessness.

But keep on saying it, keep on telling it to mum, I tell myself, and she will be a bit stronger, a bit calmer.

Or at least I want to believe that...