Call

Unexpectedly, the phone rang. I did not recognise the voice, but the lady asked for me. She said she was the social worker at Hope, the foundation for cancer welfare.

She called to see how I am doing. With a lot of attention focused on my mum, rarely do people as how I am doing. I almost cried when she asked. I forced a smile, said "I'm coping". She could hear it was a forced smiled.

"You have to eat well and sleep well. I know it's hard."

I told her about my dreams, about how I do eat, but more out of necessity than anything else. I haven't lost too much weight in the past three months, but people say I have grown thinner, visibly bonier. I know I am at the limits of my patients, I am being tested and driven to the limits of my mental and physical tolerance. Perhaps it is a good thing that I notice it, for otherwise, I might just press on and on and on and suddenly without realising it, break down. If I notice that I am frustrated, troubled, fearing even in my sleep, then I can do something about it; at least I can warn myself, warm my body and my mind, to beware, to take things easier.

It is so much harder when there is nobody at my side with whom I could talk to... There is really nobody here I am close to, with whom I can turn to and pour my frustrations and fears out.

"You have to take care of yourself, or otherwise how can you take care of your mother?" the lady kindly said. She's probably seen plenty of cases of "carer fatigue"-- situations when a carer becomes so overwhelmed s/he becomes overly burdened, depressed, angry, or perhaps even suicidal and loses interest and hope in everything. Absolutely everything.

I am getting help, for a carer is coming tonight to help out just before the operation tomorrow early in the morning. And in less than two weeks, brother and his family (the "European Support Group") are scheduled to return. I am hoping, unlike last time, they will provide some relief and allow me time off so I can go off on my own. I need it. I desperately need time on my own.

"Thank you for calling and being so concerned," I said.

"Don't thank me. I really am concerned..." she answered.

That was touching, for though we have only met and spoken twice, she could see I am struggling. Struggling from day to day, struggling to find rarer occasions to be on my own, struggling to come to terms with all the invasive treatments that seem only to make my mum ever weaker, and ever weaker...