29122011
01.30
As soon as I got out of the elevator on the seventeenth floor, my cousin was there to greet me, with a smile. "I knew it was you when I heard the doors open!"
I gave her a big hug, and wackily she led me to mum's room. My aunt, her sister, was pacing in front of it. "You've come a long way," she said. The taxi driver said the same thing when he asked whether I just came back from a holiday. When he learned I was here because mum was in the hospital, he said it was touching of me to do that. "It's my mother," I said, "I'm just doing what should be done..."
Mum was lying on the bed when I came in. She open her eyes and one of the first things she said was "I told you not to come!" However weak she was and was feeling, she mustered a smile. It was beautiful to see her smile.
I held onto her hand, the one that for over a year now has caused her so much grief and pain... She responded, and though her grasp was weak, at least I could immediately tell she still has control of her motor skills. I looked at the other arm and hand, and they too were moving, twitching. And her legs were folded upwards.
"The doctor said I can still lift up!" Was it just me, or was that a veiled joke? They laughed, and I stood there wondering what I have been missing...
I have indeed missed a lot, and it'll take time for me to be on top of things again. In the time it took me to cross the Pacific, the surgery was done, much earlier than expected, for just yesterday they said it would take around a week to get a slot in the surgery room. But health care is that efficient here, and apparently also very effective...
From sevenish in the morning till around five in the afternoon they operated on her. Ten hours... It was only at nine or so, some fourteen hours after she began the long, long ordeal if surgery, that they moved her to the intensive care ward to settle for the night. She is so brave, my dear mother, so very, very brave...
For now, the details are still vague, and I haven't asked much, but apparently the surgery was a success and the tumour has been cleared. What are the details of the current prognosis, I'm not sure, but at least there is no damage to the spine, and mum still has her motor and speech skills.
Mum said she feels alright, and that she does not feel any sores or pains. Is it because the tumour has been removed, or the effects of the anaesthesia which still has to wear off? I stroked her hands, her arms, which were a bit swollen and dry, but at least they responded to my touch. Around her bed are various tubes of blood and IV drips. To breathe, there is an air tube going into her nostrils. She is connected to a catheter, which I must check regularly and note the quantity of urine that comes out.
"I cannot move my head," mum said, for she had a neck brace which secured her spine and held up her head. I don't know how much discomfort she is in, for in preparation for the surgery, she has not eaten or drunk anything for over 24hours... So while I was being fed four meals and nestling comfortably in my business class seat on the journey here, mum has been fasting and under the surgeon's scalpel. Silently, and ever so heart-felt, I sent my eternal gratitude to the surgeons and assistants who gave mum renewed hope of life...
As of tomorrow (today, as it's past two in the morning now...) mum can begin to take in liquid food. Little steps to recovery, little steps to getting back to her normal self again. For now, all I can do when she feels thirsty is moisten her lips with a cotton bud. As she just had surgery, there is a lot of phlegm that collects in the throat she has to get rid of. And that she can do by herself without the need for an extractor.
I am relieved, happy to see mum seemingly well and talking. Her mind is still clear, and still her old self, for she repeatedly told her sister and my cousin to go home, and told me repeatedly to stop typing in the dark... It's so... mum, and I am happy for it.
Need to get some rest myself, for I feel the fatigue and time difference creeping in... I can barely keep my eyes open....
But at least I'm here now, I'm lying right here next to my mum...
29122011
02.48
Mum screamed out loud. "It hurts, it hurts!" My tears came almost instantly, hearing her But it must be done.
Every two hours or so the nurses come to flip the body of patients Mum seemed confused at first, lost at what they were going to do. She protested even, told them to be gentle because it hurts so much.
The two nurses lifted the duvet under her and turned mum on her side. Mum protested and tried to cover herself up, as if afraid that her underbody was naked, and that she felt ashamed. As soon as Her blanket was lifted, I could smell a nauseating scent. The undoubted scent of urine. Mum cried out loud in pain again as the nurses adjusted her neck brace.
I saw her face contort in pain, terrible pain. Her forehead is bandaged, and her hair is pushed upwards. She told me they had to shave much of the back of her head to operate. "It'll grow back," I told her and smiled.
It was a massive surgery mum underwent, one that lasted over ten hours. And it is a blessing that even after such a long ordeal, mum is still very much awake and conscious. As the nurse said when she came by on a routine visit, it's a good sign.
For a while, mum could not fall asleep. "The anaesthesia is wearing off, I can feel the extreme pain where they operated..." She fiddled with her neck brace, which was compressing uncomfortably against her shoulder bone. I tried to help her find a comfortable posture, but was very afraid to move her head too much. A couple of times, she reached out to stroke my hair and my hair, the way my ex used to do. It felt bitter sweet, soothing and nostalgic. For moments, she would look at me and I would look at her. Silent moments, of a mother and child looking at one another in the eyes. How many people can do that and not feel awkward or intimidated?
Mum would attempt to muster a smile, as if comforted, warmed, that I am here right next to here. It is bizarre is it not... One moment I'm on the other side of the world, so far away from her, and now I'm here, so close to her, touching her, massaging her sore fingers and legs with my bare hands... That is love. That is unconditional love, and it can resist and triumph over anything, even over bodily pain and mental anguish, can it not?
It was at that moment I first realised what I had seen till now was mum being stationary. Whenever she moves, there is a lot of pain she has to bear. It will be a long, long road to recovery... How long I'm not sure.
For now, I'll just try to get through the night and see what happens next. Meanwhile I'll need to catch some sleep before day breaks...
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