Results

I woke up at various times during the night, at midnight, at three in the morning, and then six in the morning. I was woken up by dreams. Not terrible ones, but ones that seem to be telling, and that revolve around people in my life.

At six, I decided to get up and start the day, first with a period of meditation. I think I needed it, just before calling mum.

Her voice was 'normal' sounding as she recounted her day at the hospital. She waited over eight hours today to see the neurosurgeon, who was fully booked with appointments because he is going abroad for a conference soon. The latest whole body scan for tumour revealed that the situation is not as bad as we imagined (though, that does not mean it's good either...). The most critical place where the cancer is growing is indeed in section C-7 of the spinal column. The tumour  growing inside the column has taken over half of the space inside, and as a result pressing on the nerves, which causes the periodic numbness and pain in mum's left arm.

On the whole, the neurosurgeon recommends surgery, as it will (most likely) get rid of the tumour once and for all (if successful), and will prolong her life for at least some period of time. No surgery will mean eventual collapse of the spinal column, and definite paralysis-- a prospect that mum is very worried about. She will have to take another MRI scan soon to determine the risks of the surgery, and then it will be decision time. It will be a difficult decision, and I told her she should consider it and weigh the decision against everything... quality of life, length of life, and whether she really wants to go through the risks to live that much longer, even though "that much" is always going to be a mystery. Once again, in the face of death and life-changing illness, you are forced to confront life, and make the most of it...

Mum sounded reassured, and she did say that she was feeling somewhat lighter as she went home from the appointment. At least the good news is that the cancer has not spread all over the body and is at the moment localised. But the growth in the spinal column is a very sensitive area, and the risks, as well as time required for recovery, in the case of eventual surgery are great.

Mum sounded reassured, and to be honest that is the most important thing I care about at this point. Whatever she decides, whatever happens in the future, I will be there somehow to support her and show that I care.

Results?

I was so tired this evening that even as I was eating dinner, and watching an episode of the Simpsons online, my eyes were closing. I tried as much as I could to stay awake, but the longest I could drag it out before I dragged myself to bed was a little after quarter past eight at night...

Earlier, the noise of my roommate returning home, arranging her groceries and cooking did not really wake me, or keep me awake. But suddenly, close to midnight I woke up, and had difficulty falling asleep again.  I think something else within my body woke me up, like an automatic alarm set to wake up before some important event.

The long awaited results from mum's complete body scan will be revealed today. It was supposed to be Monday, but she postponed the appointment till today because she was doing chemo on that day. I called her just now, feeling a bit apprehensive as the ring tone sounded over the speakers of the computer. I was wondering to myself what to say, how to react to the news, even though I was not sure what kind of news it would be...

Somehow, there is a nascent fear that the results will reveal something very negative. I guess my primary worry is mum's response to the results, especially now that I am gone. If I were there, at least I could physically support her, console her, and make her feel at ease somehow, for it is very easy to descend into depression and wallow in the pains of inacceptance and disbelief, especially something as important as these results are revealed.

Mum was still waiting for her turn when I called. so she sounded 'normal'.

 But I wonder how she will feel after she walks out of that appointment room, and walks home alone... The best I could offer were two words "good luck" (加油), even though it sounded out of place. The results, whatever they will be, are the results. "Good luck" will not change them and make them any better. It all depends on how you respond to the results, and whether you will let the results influence the way you feel and think.

Back again

For the first time in over two months, I lay down on my own bed last night, and fell asleep as if it were a dream... There is something so comforting sleeping in your own bed. It may be the scent of the duvet that you are so used to, the softness of the pillow, or the company of the soft toys you are so used to hugging... There seems to be no greater joy than sleeping in the comfort of your own bed.

The first full day back in Montreal it has been. I feel tired still from the travelling, and the back of my head is aching for some reason. It has been aching for a number of days already since I returned, at times, the aching intensifies to the extent that I cannot concentrate properly. At other times, it seems to be completely non-existent. Even so, I really  am happy to be back,  and to be surrounded by the friends and personal belongings I am familiar with. And despite being away for so long, even my cat is warming up to me quickly, purring and lying her back as I play with her.

Last night, a few of my closest friends threw a small get-together on my behalf, and we sat around a table, eating, drinking and re-bonding over stories and  anecdotes from one another's lives which we missed while I was away. At work today, I reconnected with my colleagues, many of whom missed my presence, and were glad to see me back. I remember one vivid moment this afternoon when I broke out in laughter from joy... joy of being part of the carefree banter, merrymaking and  frivolous gossiping that goes on at the office.

 All these people I thought of at times while I was away, and now back again, I appreciate them even more seeing them all again. Through their letters, brief conversations on the phone and greeting cards, they offered their invaluable compassion and care for my wellbeing while I was away and going through difficult times. Now that I am back, they offer their support and kind words of understanding and encouragement for what I am going through. "It is never easy to be away from a parent who is unwell," one person said, "But try to make the most of your time." I feel truly blessed to have this kind of support.

Even if at get-togethers I am  mostly the person who stands at the side, and someone who quietly listens to and smiles at what other people are saying, it feels good to belong, and to know that I am thought of and welcomed with open arms.

En route to YUL

I caught a last glimpse of the plane that would fly in the opposite direction towards Taipei, whereas I was sitting in a plane about to take off and fly eastward toward Montreal. Sometimes situations and circumstances in life make you wonder whether things can  merely be dismissed as coincidences, or are coincidences trying to make you think and smile at symbolism of it all.

A few hours of sleep later, I woke up to the dark sky outside my little window dawning on the horizon. A faint sliver of orange at first, the day eventually triumphed over the darkness, revealing a vast cold, snow-covered land beneath that is enchantingly beautiful and boundless.

In the final dozens of minutes before landing in Montreal, I’m in a strange pensive mood. It has been a long, long trip home, and finally I am almost there, almost in my own home, almost back to the place I left in a hurry, and with apprehension and fear, some two months ago. Much of the fear and apprehensive has subsided now, at least at this moment. But the tiredness from the travels, as well as worries at the back of my mind about mum’s latest treatment, has sapped a lot of the initial enthousiasm of return out of me.

 Slowly, slowly, I must pick up my life, and gradually work on my life, or at least try to bring an end to all the things I began or make a start to the things I planned to do.

Clear skies ahead, and we’re due for a smooth, gradual descent.

Really letting go...

It's close to 4.30 in the morning in Vancouver. The last three nights I have arrived back here, still unaccustomed to the 'time travel' (jetlag) has tuned my body to automatically wake up around this time of the day (night?). It takes some twisting and turning before I can fall back to sleep again. It does not help that, despite the relative calm with which I left Taiwan, I find my mind drifting back to mum...

The feelings of longing grow more and more as the moment of receiving her test results approaches (which is in around 12 hours time...) I'm not sure what the doctor will tell her, and what the latest complete bone scan and tumour scan will reveal about the state of her condition, and frankly, how long she has left. But my main concern is that she will most likely be alone when she is receiving that news. And straight after receiving the news, she has a chemo therapy session planned, and this time with a new drug she has never used, which potentially may have unexpected or never before experienced side-effects.

So, at times in my  drifting state of consciousness, whether during the day or asleep at night, I encounter nagging thoughts of whether it was a wise decision to come back, even though I seemed to be so certain before. Being at times lost in thought, and not really enthusiastic about going out and doing things, has also caused so strain between my friend and I. I feel bad that he flew all the way to greet me, and with the intention of cheering me up, and making happy memories together, and perhaps I cannot fully appreciate what he is trying to do for me, for us. Though, really, at times it is difficult to really fully enjoy the moment when my mind drifts and wanders, and clouds over with dark thoughts about mum's wellbeing.

I remember mum saying to me one night, just before sleeping... she looked at me, and softly said:

“You’ve really done a lot for all of us.” I guess I know it deep inside, because people has said that to me, because the things I do for her move people to tears, and most important of all, she said it herself. But being too hard on myself, it takes time to really believe it.

Personally, being there for my parents is something of an ongoing personal 'mission' I strive to accomplish. And at times, unfortunately, feel I have not really done enough, especially in the case of my dad who passed away all too soon, and all too suddenly. Do I have a chance to make it all better in the case of my mum? That is a question that has been on my mind for the last couple of years, and with her ailing health, the question continues to cast a shadow over my life and life decisions.

Looking back, there is a reason why in the last two, three years I’ve flown back and forth between where I live (be that the Netherlands or Canada) and Taiwan. I want to make the most of my available time to be there for my mother, to give her a boost of confidence and human contact during those days she needs it most—especially days when she is undergoing chemo therapy, and when she is at her weakest, physically and mentally. Whether it’s making her bed every morning or warming her bed with the electric blanket at night before she retires, whether it’s sweeping the hairs off of the floor so she does not feel upset seeing her hair loss, every little bit helps, it feels like. Whether it’s making a meal for her, making sure that she gets enough nutrients and can quickly recover from her chemo treatment, or whether it’s accompanying her to the park to do exercises and to get a breath of fresh air—they’re all little things that make her feel cared for, make her feel loved. 

But there comes a point when I have to face reality, and let fate take its course. Call it a gamble, a leap of faith in the world and the way of things. There comes a point when I have to just trust myself, trust that I have done enough, and make peace with what I have done to be there for my mum, to support my mum emotionally and physically when she needs it most. I must learn to trust that I will continue to do so, whatever condition she is in, and wherever I may find myself. I must tell myself that sometimes, a phone call or a letter is enough, and the most I can do, even if it does not feel like it. 

And in the meantime, I must be ready to let go, must remind myself to let go, even when I am so far away, and not regret my decision to go and (re)start my own life abroad, away from her. Staying put and staying constantly at her side will do nobody any good, as I have been told by many outsiders, and even by mum herself. The more I stay around, the more she will feel like I’m waiting for her to ‘pass on’, so that I could finally begin my life. The longer I stay around, the more I will feel there are many opportunities or chances that I am missing, and the more I will feel resentment and regret, at myself, and at life itself. Nothing will make mum feel more at ease, more ready to leave this world in peace when that moment comes, than to see that I am making something of my life, making something out of the years of study and time and efforts that I have invested into my studies.

Nobody knows what the future will bring, or when people will come or go. What I do know is that I have been there for my mum, and I have fully given myself to make sure she feels love and cared for. 

“You’ve really done a lot for all of us…” Those words are a reminder to me that it is time to let go, time to go and do my own things. Whatever will happen will happen, even if things happen in ways or at moments when you least expect them to.

I hope gradually, and with mum’s words in mind, I will be able to find peace in leaving, find peace in my waking moments when I think of her, and find peace in my sleeping moments, when I dream of her. I hope gradually, I will find peace in leaving, and in knowing that I have really done the best I could under the circumstances. 

And, most importantly, mum knows and feels I have done the best I could, and treasures it deeply.

  

Tears

As I couldn’t sleep, I got out of bed, and started to meditate. The sky was just dawning, and there was the soft breathing of my friend sleeping in the background.

For various moments, there was nothing (much) in my mind but my own in-and-out breath. All of a sudden, out of nowhere flashed a memory of my mum and I, and then came a flood of memories of the past two months we spent together.

A stream of tears unexpectedly flowed, and dropped with a  muffled sound against the pillow I was sitting on.  I could not explain the emotions, or why I suddenly started crying, for the very first time since I got on the plane and left for Canada.

The trigger was not sad memories or worries, even though they lingered in the background. The main triggers were actually scenes and images of happy moments, of smiles, of beautiful moments mum and I shared together. such moving, touching moments together, that no one except us experienced, that no one else will ever be able to feel or appreciate the extent of.

Happiness can make you cry, I realise again.