Very severe

The day started off well. I heard mum walk around in the living room at four in the morning, and I immediately woke up, thinking perhaps something was wrong. She was just hungry, she said.

"Say something again!" I said. I may have misheard.

She spoke, and I could swear her voice sounded like its old self. No more, or at least much, much less of that raspy witch-like voice. Delighted, we both went back to bed again until close to nine or so.

We had a nice breakfast, walked around a bit, and then went out to lunch. I was somewhat glad that mum did not vomit, at least not a lot (so she still did, but a  mouthful, which seemed like an improvement). After lunch, I insisted that we go for a long walk, as the weather was clearing up (if only temporarily before it began to pour again...). We walked by the little creek, the same one we often walk along after coming out of the hospital with a heavy heart. This time of the year, as Winter sheds and dons on Spring, the banks are lined with beautiful blossoming trees. Reddish pink in colour, some already in full bloom, others yet to unleash their beauty that has been refuging from the cold of Winter. And when they are all in bloom, it delights the eyes and senses with such brightness, such life!

Mum, and steadily so, could not walk more than a hundred or so metres without feeling like her lower back is about to tear open. I massaged her and struck her shoulders to make her feel more comfortable, until we eventually found a bench to sit on. And mum started to reminisce... How just last year, she would walk these banks without a problem... And just a few  years ago, when she used to live in the old house, she would come jogging here at dawn... Those are days gone by, and forever gone...

Late afternoon, mum's youngest brother came for a surprise visit. "I had nothing to do," he always says, but in truth, he cares deeply for mum's wellbeing, and has been there often when mum needed help. He was the one who made the payment for her surgery upfront, for it was such a large sum of money, and till this day he keeps on saying "Later, later... Not to worry..." whenever mum talks about paying it back.

We had a quiet afternoon at home. Mum sat in her comfortable lean back chair, while my uncle and I gathered around her. We chatted, about mum's condition, about her plans for the future. As we did so, pictures sprang up on mum's screensaver... so many pictures of so many places that mum has been to. Michellin star restaurants, railway journeys, blue, blue lakes, snow-capped mountains and glaciers, misty ocean playgrounds... "I have been so lucky," mum said to us.

"You still are very lucky! You can go to these places again!" my uncle and I said. She can, but does she has the will to? Can she muster the courage and  the energy to just forget about everything, about her worries, about treatment, and most of all, forget that there is this terrible illness inside of her, and just go travel her? That is the biggest question. She must have the will, she must have the courage and push herself, tell herself, "I can, I can..."

Is it too easy for me, for an outsider, to say "You can if you want to?" Is it?

Around seven or so, we went out on our way to go eat. I walked a few steps ahead to let younger brother and older sister bond. But moments later I heard my uncle call my name. I turned around and saw mum stand by a pillar, next to a sewage drain. I immediately understood why. I immediately went to her and handed her the bag containing plastic bags, tissues and bottled water that has become unmissible on every excursion, even short ones around the block, outdoors.

Within seconds of me handing her the bag, mum crouched down and began to vomit. Again, like a river, the vomit poured out. Again, and again. Three times. I extended my hand to pat mum, but my uncle's got there first, so I let him comfort mum this time. I could see on his face was the look of worry, look of concern and helplessness and pity. In a way, I was 'glad' my uncle saw it; not that it is a pretty sight, not that it is a great thing that mum was vomiting severely for the third, perhaps four day in a row. 'Glad' because my uncle saw what only I have been able to see, only I have alone been forced to see and deal with so painfully. I was 'glad', but someone could see my pain, share my pain and worry.

We must go to the emergency room. No more delays...