aan mij
9.50
We were woken up by the intercom hanging over the bed at around a quarter to eight. "Time for a CT scan, someone will be over to pick you up."
Within minutes, an assistant came and we rolled the bed to the emergency ward. I waited outside as mum, strapped in, entered the massive machine.
Within half an hour, one of the surgeons came and said the results of the scan were ready. He took me to the nurse station, and we sat down by a computer screen. He showed me a picture of "before", and clearly visible was dark mass that had completely surrounded a section of the spine. The picture "after" shows an empty space where section C7 of the spine was. The surgery removed that part completely, as the tumour had eaten the bone away and was encroaching on her nerves, hence her constant pain and sores. With the rotten spinal column taken out, on the screen I could see white objects connected to the sections immediately above and below section C7.
"They're titanium nails and supports. I can't say a hundred percent they will hold, but I can say with 95% certainty that the support will hold up her spine."
The problem with Section C7 has been removed, but the surgeons discovered a small lump in section C8. It also has to be dealt with soon, otherwise it will grow and cause sores and pains like before.
The surgeons who operated on mum will discuss with mum's main physicians what further steps to take. The surgery, though it was successful, only managed to remove part of mum's tumour. There are other places in her body which require treatment, and those have to be done after mum recovers from the surgery. The cancer is spreading, and that is a fact. At this point you can no longer fully take all the cancerous cella away. You can just try to prevent it spreading too quickly.
One such possible treatment is a new type of radiotherapy known as "cyber knife". It uses a vert concentrated dose of radiation to target a particular area, and causes less extensive cellular damage compared to the traditional radiotherapy treatment like the one mum underwent back in May/June. But that treatment is only available at Wangfang Hospital, which is on the south of the city, at least 40 minutes away by metro.
I was numb for a while after listening to what the doctor had to say. Of course, I'm happy mum's surgery went well, and that she has remarkably made a speedy recovery. Even the nurse was surprised. She had two operations, at the front and back of her neck, and yet within two days she could sit up straight, within three days she could stand and use a wheelchair, and within five days mum could slowly, slowly walk and use the washroom independently. That's amazing progress, and the doctor said she'd be discharged and transferred to the rehabilitation centre later today-- four days earlier than anticipated...
Mum had such a smile on her face, but I knew something she does not know. I dare not tell her, just not yet. Mum needs to enjoy the triumph and elation after having faced such a life threatening operation. I cannot dampen her mood by dropping news that she will need to undergo more treatment. Even for me, just hearing about more treatment is sickening. Imagine what it would feel like for her...?
Keep on smiling, mum... The smile will carry you and half heal you. At least for now...
11.30
I am often amazed by the efficiency in this country. Within an hour or so after the doctor came and said mum was stable enough to leave ward 173, the neurology ward, the nurse came by and said they've found a bed at the rehabilitation centre down the road. "Pack your things, the ambulance will be waiting!"
Together with my auntie and my cousin, we opened the shelves and drawers assigned to bed 29, mum's bed. Over the span of a week of so, we managed to accumulate so much stuff. I'm guilty of bringing or buying much if it, mostly products to give more more comfort and give her a boost of nutrition. Three pillows, various towels, four cans of protein supplements (protein helps wounds heal, as much of the body is made up of protein...), bottles of lotions and potions and personal hygiene products (including edible, organic mouthwash and toothpaste!), bottles of tea and refreshments (for "fans" (visitors) who pop by, sometimes unannounced...). And then there are pictures and a painting, and my mascot space monkey, with his collection of notes of encouragement, which needed to be packed.
In the end, we had a suitcase full of stuff, a backpack, and a three- storeyed trolley to haul to the new ward. Luckily, especially could go inside the ambulance, which had a lifting platform wheelchair users.
The new ward is indeed much newer, located in the eastern part of the hopital complex. I had been there before, for it is the same place where mum has her appointments with the renowned neurosurgeon. In fact, her room us located two, three steps from the Office of the Head of Neurology,his office.
Ward 26 is quieter, brighter and modernly furnished. There are even pots of beautiful purple "Butterfly" orchids to decorate the hallway. The layout of the room is more or less the same: a bed and mattress that can be adjusted at three different places, a table on wheels, a cabinet and a bedside table. It's two to a room, and the lady in the next bed seems nice and quiet. The tv is a flatscreen, and is connected to camel, thus with a choice of around a hundred channels. Even the washroom inside the room is bigger, with supports next to the sink and toilet, and a special chair to allow patients with limited mobility to better shower themselves.
Mum was delighted at the change, and het bed is right next to a big window with a view of the on-site tennis court. Her smile reveals the confidence and strength with which she is facing this entire ordeal, and that is beautiful to see...
22.24
It's relatively quieter and cleaner here at the rehabilitation centre. Mum is already asleep, and I'm ready to retire too after another long day.
Though we have relocated to a nicer, more modern ward, my thoughts go out to the middle aged lady next who shared mum's room in the neurology ward.
She is more a less in a vegetative state after what I heard was a brain surgery to remove a tumour. She has been in this hospital for over a month now, after being moved from one hospital to another. Her husband is the one who takes care of her much of the time, and in the evenings and weekends the children would visit. Over the weekend, the daughter takes over, and it was with her that I admired the fireworks at midnight new years day.
I asked my cousin, who is a trained nurse. There is really not much that can be done, except to make sure her condition does not get worse, and make sure she is comfortable and living with dignity, meaning being fed and cleaned up regularly. When we were packing to transfer to the rehab centre, the husband came by and said bitterly that it must be because we "have the ability to"-- a comment implying that we either have connections or bribes someone to quickly transfer mum away. But truth is, mum is being transferred because her condition is stable enough to start the next step after surgery, which is learning to walk and so daily activities. Whereas the lady simply cannot get any better, and cannot possibly be transferred to another ward, unless a miracle happens.
I smile at her whenever I see her, but she simply looks blankly into emptiness. She mumbles sometimes, but her words are confused and do not always make sense. She often asks where she is, for she does not seem to understand she is in the hospital. The nurses come every morning to wake her up. They do everything to keep her awake, including pinch her, call her name loudly again and again, because otherwise she's awake at night and makes a lot of noise. But most of the time she just sleeps and sleeps, even when they put her in a wheelchair and roll her out she manages to dose off...
The poor lady is incontinent and cannot control her bodily functions so must wear adult diapers. Whenever the diapers are changed, the stench is nauseating and fills the entire room. The husband often gets frustrated at her, shouts at her, scolds her, sometimes even slaps her, which is unbearable, especially as they are just a few metres away and separated by a thin curtain. "You dirty swine," he once called her, "You only eat and shit!" That was cruel to hear, but I don't think the lady could understand, could hurt.
I can imagine his frustration, I can see the source of his anger. Imagine having to spend almost twenty four hours a day next to someone who cannot do anything at all, who is completely reliant on you, whom you must feed and wipe, who is only half awake mug of the time... I apologised to my mum in advance and told her if ever I am that rude to her, if ever I get angry at her and slap her, she should slap me back... Hard! Because nobody deserves and nobody should have to tolerate such treatment...
I feel so much pity and compassion for the lady. She must have been a capable and kind lady before, she looked like one on the picture of her medical file, which is displayed on the screen whenever the nurses rolls in the mobile nurse's station to check up on her. She has at least two children, who are working in something business related.
A once able and hardworking lady, I would imagine, now confined to the walls of the hospital and dependent on others to take care of her most basic and human needs. Where is the dignity is living like this? What is the meaning of being kept alive day after day after day when you are really just a weak, semi-conscious mind confined to a much disabled body? Does she realise what she has become? Does she feel hurt and remorse and is she full of regret and bitterness at what life and fate has given her?
I bid her farewell, and I bid the husband farewell. I can only imagine how difficult it is for him to watch and have to experience his wife deteriorate like this into a half-conscious big baby who needs diaper changing and being fed. I can only imagine, perhaps deep down, the lady must be crying and feeling so trapped in her body, if she can feel and still have a semblance of consciousness.
Though I am here in the relative comfort of the neurology centre, I cannot forget that lady's face, I cannot forgot the harsh words of te husband, I cannot forget the stench and the wails at night...
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