another treament

Has it already been two weeks ? Two weeks since the last treatment already?

Mum went into the hospital early, and so my attempts to reach her in the evening were in vain. She was the second patient to arrive at the chemotherapy ward, and so the nurses attended to her quickly. For three hours or so, she dozed while the drugs flowed into her veins. Another treatment, another gruesome few days of tiredness, lethargy, loss of appetite and at times sleeplessness, especially on the first day. It's a painful and repetitive cycle that lasts two weeks... You become weak, slowly, slowly recover your health and your appetite, and before you know it, it is already time to return to that artificial leather arm-chair in the basement of the hospital for another dose of drugs that will make you weak, from which you have to slowly, slowly recover... The only good thing is that mum said she notices the drug she is using now does, at least for a day or two, reduce the soreness and pain in her back and arm.

That must mean the drugs are helping, right...?

That means the cancer cells are dying and the tumour will be reduced, right...?

That means that she will recover and be healthy again, healthy enough to travel and do all the things mum wants to do, right...?
   
Imagine, a month ago, I was there, standing by her side. A month ago, I saw her cringe and saw the discomfort on her face, in her eyes, in her tear drops... And now where am I? Refuging in the relative comfort of the familiar surroundings of my own life, far, far away... It feels like I'm hiding behind a selfish cloak, escaping the harsh, harsh realities of mum's illness with all the distance and time lag there is between us...

I hear it, the echo of the word "deresponsibilisation", a word a friend has said I'm guilty of  doing often when I want to shrug off responsibility for potentially unpleasant consequences (albiet, in other contexts, and not in this particular matter...)

Mum said she lost appetite almost immediately, and when she went for lunch, she ate only half a portion of fried rice. Partly because it was too bland, but partly also because she just could not eat anything anymore. She said she took the rest of the meal home. "For dinner later".

My heart cringed hearing that... one meal, a  bit of rice with probably some measly bits of vegetables (and I imagine shrimp, because that's her favourite type of fried rice...), spread over two meals. If I were there, I would rush to the market and buy fresh ingredients and try to fix something that I know will be nutritious and that she can eat. Just the fact that I made the food is enough to 'force' her to eat more than if she were by herself...

Another treatment, another critical few days during which mum will be at her weakest...

May she be well...