Room 1

Mum was transferred to Room 1 of Ward 114 around five days (days go by one after another, I lose track of what day it was/is...). It's a lovely and bright room, with light green curtains, a nice view of mountains and the river in the distance. The view is particularly stunning at sunset.

The night before and yesterday, mum was severely tortured by vomiting. Yesterday was perhaps the worst of all, for she threw up no less than eight times throughout the night, every half an hour or so, she really did not get to sleep much. Last night was also the night mum told me to go home to sleep, and my aunt took over the night shift, for I've not slept at home for over a week.

Today I heard her say perhaps there's something "wrong" with the room. "Why only at night do I vomit so much?" it's true, during the day, she doesn't really vomit, perhaps one or two times at most. But as night falls, the frequency and quantity of vomit increases.

I turned the lights completely off the first night we moved into the new room. Mum said she hardly slept for she was scared of "things". The second night I left a light on in the far corner, and have been doing that for several nights. Vomiting go worse the night before last, and last night was the worse night she ever had, vomiting at eight times or so... I wonder what tonight will be?

Mum requested a room change. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. She feels the room is "bad" for her, and that something is bothering her and making her condition worse at night. Whether that's true or not, whether I believe it or not, I told her not to think of such stuff, not to worry about unnecessary things that cause unnecessary her worry and fear. Over this issue, we came so close to another argument again. I just let things go, for if she wants to change rooms, if it'll make her feel better, than why not?

It's just I feel bad, because i was the one who more or less pushed mum into taking this particular room, for we had been waiting several days before moving here, and were placed in a shared room before. For about three nights in that two bed-room, mum dared not go to the washroom at night, because she was afraid of waking up the neighbour (who suffers from anxiety and wakes up from the slightest sound, not to mention the noise of the washroom door opening and the flushing of the toilet...) So at the first instance of a single room freeing up in a neighbouring ward, I jumped at the opportunity, even though mum wanted to wait a bit for some reason to be in the same ward as her brother. But I kept on saying she can rest better and have more privacy and need no longer fear waking someone up whenever she so much as coughs or turns around in bed...

And look at us now... Moved into a room where she believes is "unclean" (Taiwanese euphemism for haunted or possessed by a bad spirit...), and we have to go through the trouble of moving elsewhere again...

If it's true, this particular room is "bad" (for mum...) then I feel terribly guilty. Have I again being too pushy and trying to get my own way without respecting her wish and her comfort levels? Am I again being too insensitive to her desires and needs as a very ill and sensitive person?

I hope we can move again, and that it will be a cleaner room, so mum can rest peacefully and be free from any "disturbances"...

Be prepared

Be prepared

"Your mum came too late..." The lady told me. All those drugs and medicine she has been taking have completely covered her organs that they don't function any more. The last five days of chantings every single morning can only help her a little. She has to be responsible for her health and happiness. She has to be willing to believe she will be better.

"You can only do your best as a child, and leave the rest to the heavens," she said to me as I put on my jacket to leave. Send positive thoughts to her, silently give her your wishes and blessings, silently ask her spirit to chant with you, she told me.

"You have to be prepared..."

Was there a veiled caution? Does she know something I don't know but may know very soon? Again, the Taiwanese language is one that thrives on ambiguity.

Prepared for losing her... Prepared for losing the one last thing that is dear to my heart, dear to my life, dear to my very being.

Language of the Heavens

"Kong kong kang san Chiang si kang san yi si kong kang ki ki chiang si kang ku...

Kang kiang kong kong ki Ko
Kana Yi kong San chiang si
Kaaaang..."

And on and on and on. I have no idea what the lady is saying, neither does my mum. It sounds like a between Vietnamese and Japanese, Taiwanese and Hakka. But it's none of those. It's supposedly the "Language of the Heavens", with which you can summon deities down to earth and ask for their blessing and protection.

The lady chanting asked mum and I to follow along. "Not with your mouth, but with your heart..." The chanting is lyrical to the ear, sometimes sounds so sad, as she is wailing, but sometimes also so forceful and energising.
Before she starts, she always hands me a large pieces of yellow paper, all filled on one side with unintelligible scribbles and lines in black and red marker pen. Follow with your finger each "character" (or whatever symbol they are...), and "read" it with love, I was told.

For a while I felt like a fool, but cancer, and illness in general, makes fools of us all. When "traditional" arts of western medicine do not seem to work, or work well enough, you seize whatever other options you can. With limitations of course. The chanting and "text" reading can do no harm. It's not as if mum or I are being asked to drink potions made from the blood of a black dog and toad's foot, or to use lotions made from the eyes of crow and baby's urine. It's just chanting, and a kind looking lady gesturing with her hands and fingers and as if communicating with some unseen persona in the room. All mum and I have to do is sit there and listen, and chant along with our hearts.

Believe it or not, mum said before se started going to the daily morning sessions of chanting, she said she felt a lump in her bowels. It's supposed to be the "unseen", a euphemism for so angry spirit or demon which has sought refuge inside mum's body and is causing her stomach to be congested and causing her to vomit so wildly. After attending two days of chanting, the lump was gone. I don't know if I am under their persuasion, as everyday they keep on saying that mum's complexion is getting better and she looks like she has more "qi" (energy in the metaphysical sense) than before, but mum does indeed look somewhat a little better. At least not worse off than before.

The chanting continues and half way through the session I'm always asked to take the pieces of text and burn them. So I burn them, and bow to the heavens with great reverence, and ask for their blessings. It's what I do anyways, so it does not surprise me or make me feel in any way odd.

"Believe in yourself," the lady says to mum every single day at the end of the sessions, "Believe you can beat this demon! Love yourself and be happy. Don't think of anything else, but just be happy!"

I don't know what religion or customary practice these people perform, but anything that talks about self-love and being happy gets my support. Anything that will boost mum's confidence and health and wellbeing is worth a try, even if I don't understand a thing they are chanting.