Dream

After mum was wheeled into the operating room, I went up to her room to take a nap. I suddenly felt so very, very tired...

I was at the waiting area, I was not alone but with two of my cousins (from dad's side of the family). I was just sitting there waiting, playing with a piece of paper or something.

Suddenly I got up and went to the area where there is a big display board. The name of the patient being operated, what illness, the status of the patient were all displayed on there. (in the real world, there is such a display board, but it shows only the name (partly blanked out) and status of the patient: currently in operation or in recovery room).

In the dream, I saw mum's name. Behind her name in big flashing red letters, "BYPASS SURGERY", "FAILURE", "PATIENT DECEASED".

My heart tore into a thousand pieces, I broke down there and then and began howling, inconsolably howling and crying. So much pain, so much tears! My cousins rushed to hug me, but they could not touch me, for I shrugged them off and was beyond comforting. Mum was gone, and I didn't even say goodbye...

Such powerful emotions...

I woke up in a sweat.

Skype session

There were many moments when brother just looked at mum, and mum looked at brother. No words were said. Mum was still sleepy, very drowsy and tired, while brother was about to go to sleep. It's midnight in europe, and he looked tired. A couple of times, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Mama, you have to be strong..." brother said. That was as much as he said, and he said it several times. Again, I could feel the awkwardness, for I'm sure deep down he wanted to say much more, but he could not find the words. But I know deep down there is a heart that is racing, a mind that is frightened, and a boy longing to be at his mother's side...

"Don't worry," I said, "I'll be by her side". Brother reminded me again and again to call if there is anything.

"My mobile is on, my Skype is on. Call anytime you need to, just let me know how things go." there was a moment when it was just my brother and I speaking. He asked if I had contacted our second uncle (mum's second brother). "You know, in case something happens..."

"I know," I said, "It's been arranged. He knows."

Quarter to seven. Reluctantly, my brother hung up Skype. Mum was getting a bit irritated, and she needed to get dressed for surgery. I believe she did not sleep well, for she was a bit moody, and looked so very tired... I was disappointed, for I had hoped they would connect a bit more, perhaps say some touching things. But mum seemed to want to get back to lying down and resting.

For a few moments I massaged mum's legs, feet, arms and hands, and rubbed her back. She closed her eyes and had an expression of bliss on her face. I grabbed the family portrait I had brought with me, and places it in front of her. She took the portrait and looked at it for several minutes, studying every detail, studying our family... In the background, soothing yoga music played.

"Relax, let the doctors do their jobs. They know what they are doing, so just let go and relax..." I said. I read in a book recently that you should remind the patient to relax and ease the body, so that the muscles are not as tense and the body will be more receptive to an invasive procedure. It will make it easier for the bleeding to stop, for the body will let it's guard down, instead of resist surgical intervention and make it harder to heal.

"The deities are with us... I will recall the Bodhisattva of Mercy. And all you do for me, it's enough to make the heavens give us blessings..." mum said.

I hope so, I really do hope so.

Three hours countdown

I suddenly heard mum groan. It was just after four in the morning. She twisted and turned in bed, and was unresponsive to my questions to her. "What's wrong? Mum, tell me what's wrong...?"

"I can't say..." Something was bothering her, but she couldn't (or didn't want to) say what it was. Was it a nightmare? Was it her sore arms or legs that are keeping her from sleeping? Was it "something else" bothering her (yes, I mean the supernatural...)? She just lay there, writhed her body in apparent discomfort. Her legs were so thin and twisted in a mangle like the plastic tubes coming put of the artery in her neck.

I did what I could think of to calm my down... I massaged her arms, her legs, her feet, her hands... With each rub, each stroke, each pull and push motion, I silently wished my touch would take away whatever was bothering mum. I massaged her with love, with the love of a child, with the devotion and dedication of a child who wishes nothing more than to calm his mother's mind and spirit a few hours before a major operation-- an operation which could very well determine mum's fate and course of life...

I can only imagine, only just imagine and even that is not close enough to what she must be feeling, what she must be thinking of fearing... The heat packs I prepared for her I placed under her shoulder blades. And suddenly, in a rare moment of clarity, mum opened her eyes. "Thank you... Thank you for everything..."

Eve of the surgery

I rushed home to quickly shower and grab some things after the doctor explained to us the procedure tomorrow. I didn't really need to go home, but there were two things I wanted to do.

I got home, and knelt before dad's portrait. "Please dad, protect mum and help her surgery to go smoothly tomorrow... May she eat and drink away, may she at least enjoy some of the privileges of living by being able to taste, to digest food naturally... May she have strength again and may she have the health to live a life of happiness..." I knelt on the floor, and kowtowed with great reverence. Tears were on the rim of my eyes. It was a touching moment of just me and dad, and my prayers...

I also prayed before the little shrine mum has set up in the dining/living room area. A thought came to me out of nowhere, again the random imagination of a naive child who daydreams in order to escape from reality at times. I thought to my self and asked the deity: " if I have accumulated any good merit points in all my life, I would cash it all in and direct all the positive karma to mum in the hope that the surgery will go well, and that she will be free from her problem of not being able to eat or drink. Take my good fortunes away, take anything from me, just let mum come out alright..."

Before I left home, I did the second thing I went home to do. I grabbed the most recent family portrait, of me on the left, brother in the middle, and his wife on the right. In the foreground is mum sitting down and holding my little nephew. Our first family portrait together. "We are family..." I once commented it the portrait. We are family, and we can grow strong, be strong together, no matter what. I took that portrait, and it is now standing at an angle where mum can see from her lying down position.

Anything, anything, absolutely anything to keep the hopes up, to keep the spirit afloat and mind at ease. As I headed back to the hospital, I sat quietly in the taxi. The scenery outside was a complete blur. All I could see and imagine were scenes of "this time tomorrow"... Will mum be conscious? Will she be in the intensive care unit? Will the procedure have gone as planned? Will the doctor come out and say to me "I'm sorry, we did the best we could..."? I was again so afraid; so anxious, such a nervous wreck...

Before sleeping, I meditated a bit in front of mum. For a few moments, I places my hand on mum's belly, ad imagined... That inside, it is not so bad... that tomorrow, the doctor will open her up and easily do the procedures they had planned... That they will be able to stitch mum ip again and that the condition will be stable for some time at least...

Pray, pray, pray...

Agreement

"... The whole body anaesthesia may cause stroke, heart attack, and she may go into shock. In her state of health, there is a high risk..." the anaesthetist explained.

"What is the probability?" My mind raced with images of mum lying there connected to a life support machine. I could hear the beeping sound of her life... I could see mum lying there unconscious, all life draining from her body... Fear, such fears!

"Five percent."

Whatever the probability, we must proceed, for it is mum's wish. There is a line handwritten by the surgeon himself "If the blockage is too severe, there is the likelihood the bypass cannot be proceeded with". That line sent fear up my spine, and for a while after reading that I felt such dread, such terrible dread... What if the surgery fails? What then?

It is mum's wish to put her life ad condition in the hands of the doctors. Buy I have to sign the consent forms. Again it feels like such a heavy, heavy responsibility.

May it be that I just signed a sentence to give mum a renewed chance at life again...

A life where she can eat again, drink again, and a chance to recover some of how lost health so she can live her days happy and free from too much pain and suffering...

Skyping with grandchild

"A-ma, good luck! Good luck! I'm cheering for A-ma!" my brother said in a baby's voice. My nephew was in his arms and smiling at the video cam. I looked at mum, and she smiled. Her eyes shimmered.

Brother could only see mum lie there, weakly, lethargically. He could also see tubes now coming out of her beck, and a big two litre bag of extra nutrients the doctor prescribed for her in preparation for the surgery. For several moments, he was silent. For several moments he rubbed his eyes. What do you say... What do you say to your mother when in a few hours' time she'll be wheeled into the operation room?

I did not tell my brother about the risks. They worry me, but they are more disclaimers to ward off liability issue just in the slightest chance something terrible should go wrong... But even a slight chance is a chance, and I do not need to worry my brother unnecessarily.

"A-ma, be strong! A-ma, good luck!" my "nephew" said. It was as if through my nephew, his dad could best express his words of encouragement and love and not feel so awkward. It's a shame we grew up in a culture in which we are not so open about our feelings, and in which we find it hard to put into words sentiments like "I love you..." But we all know those sentiments are there, even if expressed through the voice of a baby.

Mum smiled and smiled. She said very little, and mostly watched her grandchild wiggle and giggle, wriggle and throw his arms around as his dad tried to hold him steady in front of the camera.

Perhaps she was thinking: "I want to see you again... I want to hold you again..." Such longings and wishes can carry someone far, far and gather the strength needed to overcome even the most challenging of obstacles.

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...

Pre-surgery preparation

The nurse showed us a video explaining the procedure and what the patient and the relatives have to be aware of before and after the surgery.

Mum says she's seen it before, back in December when she had her last surgery. A lot of the information I know from practice, after I returned and was suddenly thrown into the "deep end" of taking care of mum.

Breathing exercises, getting out of bed, exercises of the limbs, lung expansion exercises, phloem extraction, etc, etc... To think, just three months ago, mum went through all this, and how wrong I was then to think that that would be the last major procedure mum has to go through...

I suddenly have these pangs of fear, exacerbated when I look at mum and see how sickly she is. She is so thin, so frail, in a lot of discomfort. It really pains my heart, really wrenches my soul seeing mum like this, and knowing that this time tomorrow she'll most likely be in the operation room...

I am so afraid... Never have I felt such levels of anxiety, and tomorrow I will know what it feels like to be waiting outside the operation room, to wait and wait and wait and wonder what is happening, wonder if mum is still ok, if mum is still with us... But the doctors know what they are doing, I must trust them and have faith in their professionalism. All I need to do is sign the agreement to proceed.

I will be all alone tomorrow... All alone while I wait and wait.

Recurrence

I know it already, but sometimes it really hits you when you see it on paper.

CVC and TPN

The doctor suddenly came in and presented us with the fact that mum's nutritional intake may not be enough for the impending surgery. He recommends the placement of a CVC (central venous catheter) in order to conduct TPN (total parenteral nutrition), which is reserved for patients who cannot take in food the "normal" way.

He came back with a nurse, and right there, on her bed, injected a massive needle into a vein on the side of mum's neck. Some local anesthesia was administered, but still it does not completely remove the pain that lingers on. This is all in preparation for the intestinal bypass surgery, planned for tomorrow.

Already, mum has a tube sticking out of her nostril, two tubes going into her port vein, and now two more places on the neck where tubes can be connected to. It's not a pretty sight, and again the question that arises: what are they doing to her? Is she soon going to be free from all these tubes and invasive treatments...? Will any of this work to "treat" her inability to ingest food and even water, or are all these procedures just prolonging her pain and suffering?


Mum is lying there, now even more lethargic and perhaps in even more pain than before. And it is so difficult, so very difficult to bear...




PS: something I read on Wikipedia (the most reliable source of information, I know...) worried me:

There is no evidence to support the idea that intravenous nutrition 'feeds the cancer, not the patient', but weight loss with advanced disease is significantly more complicated than simply replacing calories as cancer produces a multitude of chemicals that also lead to weight loss, and giving extra nutrition does not prevent this.

Killing her softly

Am I really so evil, as mum implies, and do I really want to just send her to the hospice and let her die there...?

Another eruption this morning, as mum was moody and so was I. She kept on telling me go get a carer, which I have already asked for yesterday. But since it's a big holiday coming up (Tomb Sweeping Festival) a lot of people are off and it's hard to find someone. I think she's getting irritated because I'm around most of the time. She worries that i might get too tired, but what else can i do? Now there's only me, and noone else. I'm just waiting for a call from the agency to send someone over.

Perhaps it's me who's getting irritated and frustrated of all this waiting and just seeing her get thinner and weaker, surviving only on IV drips. But really when we're together, except for music or the tv in the background, there's very little talking. I can only watch her lie there, seemingly in a lot of discomfort, and yet when I ask her what's wrong, often she doesn't say anything...

Am I doing something wrong? I'm just here standing by to do something if she needs me to. What is wrong then?

Again she said I just want to send her to the hospice and let her die. But I never said that. Why would I even want that? How terrible that would be! She said she wants to five the bypass surgery a try and that she has faith in the doctors. After she said that, I stopped raising issues about risks and about the surgery being too risky in her state of health. It's not for me to assess, but for the doctors to know what to do best and what the risks are. I can only stand by, and with what rudimentary knowledge o have of medicine, let mum know what the doctors told me and what I fear are the likely consequences...

How painful it feels to be so misunderstood...! Is the problem really me, me being stubborn and too conservative about taking risks? It's painful to see mum get so upset... I'm just trying to do my best, but she seems to think I wish her to die quickly and die a painful, slow death from starvation...

Counselling

The lady in the next bed has Stage III colon cancer. She cannot sleep at night, is often restless, and every night I can hear her quietly weep and moan in pain and frustration.

she just had

Bleeding

Mum has had the NJ tube inserted for three days now. Vomiting has at least ceased, though she still cannot eat, not even tube feeding as the doctors had intended. They can extract stomach fluids, which cannot escape naturally the "other" way. Normally, those juices get absorbed in the intestines and are filtered by the kidneys. But since the blockage in the intestines has become more severe, there is less fluids going into the kidneys, and more collecting in the stomach. Everyday, at least 1.5l of stomach liquids are drained out of her into a collecting tank...

Today, the tank drew visibly browner liquids, almost reminiscent of dried blood. I was worried and the nurse and resident doctor also noticed the noticeable difference in colour and the quantity of liquids drained. they gave her more bags of chloride solutions than before (up to six bags of 500ml compared to three bags in days...). A blood test revealed a deficiency in vital minerals, and a test on a sample of the stomach fluids revealed traces of blood.

The nurse say it may be from an ulcer, and that is causing mum to bleed. The suction from the vacuum pump draining fluids from her stomach may also be a cause of bleeding.

They have since stopped the draining of stomach liquids, but it may mean mum will start vomiting again...

Another complication and another issue to deal with...

Wish...

Perhaps in your darkest moments, in moments when you are lost and confused, you daydream... Daydream a lot.

I don't know why, sometimes when I am sitting and eating alone, or even when I am sitting next to mum as she sleeps, I dream someone suddenly calling my name. Again and again, the voice, a male and familiar voice calls my name until I turn around and see a familiar face. And my heart will suddenly race with the injection of a sudden boost of adrenaline and longing...

Will I break down and cry? Will I rush to hug him, touch his body and collapse into his embrace? I daydream and smile at the imagination conjured up in my head.

Whatever I do, it is all in my head...

Love is easy

"You say you love him, but you have tears in your eyes, your mind and emotions are exhausted.

If a relationship requires great energy in order to maintain it, even to the extent that you empty out your heart, then this relationship must be wrong.

Darling, to love someone should not be so tiring.

Love should be able to lift you upwards, take you flying, allow you to feel light and easy, and feel free, and not drag you downwards."

Memories

There are few people mum sees nowadays. Besides her siblings, there is her cousin and a friend of hers who visit mum once or twice a month.

With her cousin and this friend, mum has traveled to Europe on no less than three separate occasions. Together, they have common memories of riding the Glacier Express in Switzerland, of visiting the village where van Gogh painted in Southern France (2004), of exploring the fjords of Norway, of taking the Flying Scotsman to the Scottish Highlands (2003), of exploring the French Riviera, of playing slot machines in Monte Carlo, of watching the sun rise over the Mediterranean, of shopping on the Champs Elysees and at various outlets, of many sumptuous feasts at fancy bistros... There are so many more memories that only they can recall, that only they can reminisce and smile back at.

They came by today, unannounced, and called only when they were at the hospital. Mum received them, and they sat down for a few hours. I took the chance to quickly go eat and to rush downtown to Boa-an Temple, where the deity in charge of health and recover is the main patron saint.

I returned later, and as I approached mum's room, I heard the "auntie" (mum's friend) talk excitedly about travels in southern France. I went into the room quietly, and one of the first thing mum asked was: "What is that name of that village where Cezanne lived?"

"Aix-en-Provence..."


Excitedly, mum's friend continued recalling their trip there, and I listened quietly.

"Get well soon so we can go traveling! Courage, and next year we can go to 'A-mei's homestay'!" the friend said, referring to a beautiful house in Aigle, Switzerland, where a Taiwanese lady mum's age runs a B&B together with her husband.

"You know," mum recalled, "In their garden there is a cherry tree. And in the Summer when there are cherries, birds would come and eat them..." She closed her eyes, reminiscing, and smiled gently. What came to my mind was that I climbed a ladder one day and went up the tree to pick cherries and shared them with mum. So fresh, so juicy, and completely organic, mum's favourite! There were kiwis, peaces and apples too, and we saw them all grow in the garden of the B&B. My mind thought back to the Summer of 2010, when I "surprised" mum in Europe and went to search for her all the way in Switzerland. The crazy thing was that two days earlier, I just returned to Canada from Taiwan. I took a flight to Europe the next day I landed, and a day after that, I flew to Switzerland to find her at the B&B. Why? I guess it was all part of what I nowadays call "Operation Eternal Happiness"-- attempts to do things with mum, for mum, to make her happy, to make her smile, so that one day she can look back and realise time and again what a wonderful, fun and colourful life she has led. One day, like today.


There was a tear in the corner of mum's eye. I wanted to give her a tissue to wipe it away, but I did not. The tear glistened there. Perhaps my mum's friend also saw it.

"Get well soon! We will go travel again next year!"

I smiled at mum, and still saw that teardrop. Some things are best not said, but that does not prevent a thought from arising, even a dark thought...

Departures

My aunt (mum's youngest sister) left this morning. Last night I slept at home, as it probably will be a while till I can have a good night's rest at home. I actually slept for a good nine hours, I actually overslept, which was embarrassing, as I promised I'd bring breakfast at seven in the morning!

Mum's youngest sister has been with us for over ten days. She's been a great help, especially as she gives me the opportunity to go home for a few hours a day to rest and shower. Plus, she has been brewing soups and broths, so that mum can at least get a little more than just water. She has been very helpful, not only around the house, but by being there, and being someone with whom mum can talk to and feel like less alone. But she has her own life back home, in the southern part of the country, and I always knew she would have to go back someday.

My uncle (mum's first brother) and his wife have been in hospital even before mum checked in. Today, he was discharged and also going back home. He and his wife lived in the ward next to mum's and every day they would come in and sit down, watch tv, watch the sunset. Their daughter, my cousin who works at the airport would come by every evening to bring food, and we've enjoyed many meals and talks together, given each other mutual support and encouragements. My uncle and his wife came into mum's room around noon. He is the silent type, but in the greatest show of affection, he held onto mum's arm with both hands. "You have to take good care..." His wife's eyes were red. She leaned in closer to mum and whispered something I could not hear, but I knew it must have been touching. "If there I anything, please call. Being like this is no state to feel like you're imposing. Please call us if you need anything." They quietly left, and the daily chat sessions, the routine walks around the ward, moments sitting around mum and chatting, reminiscing, drinking warm high mountain green tea from their home region while munching on peanuts and other delicacies, became a thing of the past as the door shut behind them.

It's just mum and me now... Mum and me, and the unknown days ahead.

Dream

I saw mum lie in bed, choking, suffering, in terrible, terrible pain. She was saying something, asking me for something, but I could not understand. I saw myself almost in tears, looking very anxious.

My sister-in-law appeared in my dream, looking tired and somewhat apologetic, as if something was troubling her. I think she was also in tears.

The next image, I was shouting at her: "Go and be with mum! There are issues with you she has not let go of yet!"

I suddenly woke up from my sleep, looked at my watch, and realised it was already past nine in the morning, and that I overslept...

It doesn't matter

"Thank you..." mum said, as she looked up at me from my bed, "I made you feel so wronged..."

I immediately teared, and my body shook with the sensation of being deeply, deeply touched. Touched because despite her harsh words, she does not mean them. I knew that already, but what she just said, her thank you, confirmed that again. "It doesn't matter," I said as I untangled the various tubes sticking out of her body, "As long as you are happy, as long as you are comfortable..."

Really, what does it matter if I think about it afterwards? After confrontations, even if I feel it is mum whose voice is raised and who is being demanding, so what? I don't need to be right all the time. I don't need to have my way, for my way is not necessarily the right wei.

I don't need to argue with her, don't need to fault her or lecture her on everything. She is already in a lot of discomfort, she has a tube going into her nostril, she has two tubes coming out of her IV port. Her body is a thin frame of bone and skin, her mind is probably in a daze of having not only to cope with the constant discomforts , but also having to mentally digest the risks of undergoing another surgery and the possibility that she may not have long left...

And I perhaps forget too easily, because I can eat, and I put food and drink to my mouth without thinking about it too much. But mum is starving! What does that feel like to be starved of food, to see food all around you, to smell food, to hear about people talk about food, and yet not be able to enjoy it?

Mum is already tormented enough, and she does not need me to torment her even more.

Farewell, Little Rabbit...

I didn't get to see my nephew again before he left this morning, even though I had hoped that my sister-in-law would bring him to at least say goodbye to mum. But my nephew started sniffing earlier this week, so te planned trip was canelled, much to my disappointment.

My sister-in-law showed me pictures of him sitting next to a suitcase as she was packing, and today there was a picture of him at the boarding gate. So cute and lovely, so beautiful and heart-warming it is to see him, even if only a picture of him...

I followed my nephew's departing plane with an application on my phone. It's so strange to think that in that very little red plane is my sister-in-law and my nephew inching bit by bit away from me...

They have almost been back here three months (I have just passed my three months mark...). Where did the time go? How come everyday feels like it is so long and painful to pass for me? Is it terrible to envy them for being able to leave here, while I stay on and on till a date of departure yet unknown?

"Farewell, Little Rabbit..." I wishes him in my heart, "May the winds be with you! And may your mother have a good restful flight!"

Till very soon.

--

On the phone a bit later with my Brother I spoke to my brother. It may be no coincidence that his wife and child are returning to Europe to reunite with him on his birthday.

"Happy birthday," I said to him, "You're very lucky to have a wife and child. Treasure them dearly."

I meant what I said, and he said he understood.

How are you, dad?

"Dad, I miss you so much!"

"Dad, I love you!"

"How are you, dad?"

"I hope you are forever happy and healthy..."

I lay down towards the end of the movie and without realising it started to tear. Tear first, and then cry. Silently cry as mum slept on her bed a few steps away from me. I was lying down in a position that she could not see my face.

The movie "How are you, dad?" (爸，你好嗎?) really touched me. It is a movie composed of short, extremely touching stories about dads and their families. A dad who is distraught by his son who wants to undergo a sex-change operation... A dad who sits at home alone at night after the children visit him and celebrate his birthday... A dad who cries on his birthday next to his daughter, who due to an accident is now in a vegetative state... A dad who risks (and loses...) his own life to save his two children from drowning... Various shorts about the silent sacrifices, unexpressed feelings of love and devotion and longings, and loneliness of dads throughout the world, from all walks of life.

The end credits had recordings of  various members of the public declare their feelings toward their dads. Declarations of love and intimacy, in several languages, yet the messages are all the same. Tell someone you love  him/her, express your true feelings and do not be afraid of your feelings. Tell them before it is too late! Show them and love them when you still have the chance!

I cried watching the expressions of love of so many people. There are perhaps things I did not say to dad I never had to the chance. I never said :  "I love you!", because it feels strange and embarrassing. Even though I "keep in touch" still with my letters, he is now long gone, and whatever I say to him or write to him is replied only with silence. How I wish he is happy, how I wish he is free now and can enjoy the life and many pleasures of life he deprived himself of while he was still with us!

I turned to look at mum, and saw the tube coming out of her nostril. Her chest heaved, her mouth slightly open, her body twisted in a mangle again in that protective foetal position. She looked so fragile, so weak... How she is suffering deep inside! How I wish I could do much more to take away her discomforts and mental anguish! I cried even more seeing mum lie there...

I lost dad, and I am losing mum, slowly, slowly losing her... Those beautiful expressions of care and love to dads at the end of the movie could just as much be expressed to mums, to my mum. And one day, I may sit and dream and ask "Mum, how are you?" and receive a silence as a reply...

I became so afraid, and I cried even more silent tears. Why suddenly did my mind drift to my ex? Why did I imagine him by my side, why did I close my eyes and imagine him comforting me and holding me so tightly like he used to do before? Why is it that in my deepest moments of despair, I have the urge to write to him, to contact him...? I haven't contacted him for over two weeks now, the last time we spoke I unleashed my feelings and asked him how he could tell me he loves me and cares about me so and yet still be with another person. I told him how afraid I am, having to deal with my mum's situation and to suddenly receive hints that he wants to be with me and help me get through this... In my deepest moment of despair, in my moments of sorrow, I cannot help my thoughts drifting to him, even though I feel we have drifted apart...

The movie left me longing, for dad, and fearing the loss of my mum. The movie left me longing for my ex, left me wondering about how beautiful it would be if I could talk to him and not have to feel like I am the "other" person...

I wrote him a text message, rightly or wrongly, I wrote to him.

 "I miss you so much..."

Farmer's philosophy

(translation mine, Liberty Times)

"Because you want to know the answer, your heart is racing rapidly, hoping to immediately get a positive result.

 But, everything has its time, everything has its natural course. When the time has not come yet, you will not really understand.

This is like when you plant an apple tree today, you cannot expect to immediately bear apples tomorrow. An apple tree must undergo a process in order to bear sweet and juicy fruits. Time will mature an innocent relationship, time will also terminate a troublesome problem, but you must give time time.

Darling, just remember, anything that is worth having is worth waiting for. This is a farmer's philosophy, and is also the truth about time."

Misunderstood

"You have to think about it! You can't just hand it all over to the doctor for the doctor to decide! It's your life, your body!" I was getting emotional, unnecessarily so, for being so may have just diminished what I was trying to say.

One of the doctors in the medical team charge in charge of dealing with mum's inability to eat came in this morning. He said after careful consideration, and after the failure of the NJ tube to fully enter the intended area of the intestines, the only option remaining is bypass is surgery. He did not say whether or not we have to proceed, but if we do want to, the earliest that it can be done is coming Tuesday.

"Think about things, mum. You don't always have to do what the doctor says." In this case, the doctor has not said anything concrete yet, but just presented the option of surgery. And to me at least, they presented facts that they have not presented to mum.

"I'll let the doctor decide," mum said. I don't know if she thought things through, or perhaps she is too tired and starved to think... I asked her to consider the bigger picture, to consider the risks, and to remember that perhaps a month or so after the surgery, she may end up in the same place as she is now: starving, unable to eat because the intestines have been clogged up again by the tumour spreading.

"What do you want me to do? Just starve to death? Send me to the hospice and wait to die?!" Mum reacted angrily. From her words, it seemed clear she misunderstands me and has not understood what hospice care means. She, and my aunts, believe I am completely against all treatments, including the NJ tube and surgery. They probably think that I want to get rid of mum as soon as I can, so that's why I'm been eagerly promoting hospice care. But I just would like mum know there is an alternative to pressing forward with treatment, to getting your body so tormented by cuts and poisoned by medicine that one by one things begin to fail. The alternative is not pretty; starving is not a pretty sight or feeling... I've seen how starving has eroded mum's body to just skin and bones, and it's scary. But what is the lesser evil, what is less torturous: starving or going through surgery, through the long period of recovery and most likely needing to starve yet again some time from now as the tumour spreads and blocks ofd more passageways in the small intestines?

I felt so wronged... "You're my mother! Why would you even think that I want to get rid of you? You think I'll be so free when you're gone?" Mum just retorted that she does not need me by her side, and that she can easily someone. That only added salt to the wound...

I truly just want her to suffer less, to not suffer needlessly and for any period of time. What is the point of living then if everyday is just waking up to suffering, sores and bearing with pain? I never said I'm opposed to the surgery, for ultimately it is her choice. As I told her, it is her body, her life. Whatever happens, she is the one who has to bear the physical pain and the mental torment that comes from feeling pain and sores almost every moment of the day. I cannot bear responsibility to decide something as important as mum's life, especially a course of intervention that could very well put mum's life at risk. "I just want to give you the bigger picture, to tell you what I know from the doctors and what they have said to me. You're my mother, I want what is best for you..."

Return to Lake Louise

I've had the great fortune of traveling to many places around the world with mum and collected many a memories of our times together. Perhaps it's ridiculous (or just rare) that someone my age would still even until last year want to travel with his parent. But ever since mum's illness five, six years I've thought of traveling with her as a way to give mum joy and happiness and indulging in her greatest passion (besides the stock market...)

One trip, one moment stands out most, and that is to Lake Louise, Alberta. I was just sitting there and thinking, and suddenly it came to me. I want to return there again after mum is gone. Is it strange? Is it going to be emotional and make me break down? I don't know. But I suddenly had this urge to go there, to relive the memories of paddling on the blue, blue lake again, even though next time it won't be with mum, I know that. I closed my eyes and saw myself back there, saw myself sitting on the shore and not alone. Someone is next to me, holding me, making me smile as I recount fond memories of my time with mum. I can in fact picture his face now...

Is it strange to dream of returning to a place where mum and I made such beautiful memories? Somehow if i just think and dream about it, I find it will be, at least for now, strangely comforting and therapeutic.

Spill

The nurse came in early in the morning. "So much fluids!" she exclaimed when she saw the tank of mum's stomach fluids, which has been extracted through her NJ tube and collecting in a tank next to the bed. There was around 1.5 litres full. No wonder before she vomited so much!

The whole night, I slept on the sofa and could here the a pressure pump constantly decompress and compress, sigh and heave. Whenever I opened my eyes, I could see mum lie there with a long tube extending out of her right nostril. I'll have to get used to the "new look". It doesn't disgust me, for it is just the way we can at best deal with mum's health dilemma. I don't know if it was mean or interpreted as such, but the tube I said reminds me of an elephant's trunk.

Clumsily the nurse spilled the tank, and the foul, foul stomach juices flooded part of the room close to mum's bed. The stench immediately filled the room. It's a smell of something rotting, of blood, of acid... A smell if I only get a whiff of it can easily make me gag and want to throw up. It's the smell I've had to deal with every time mum has thrown up in a bag, for I take the bag and empty the contents into the toilet bowl to flush away. But however many times you deal with the smell, it gets to me every time.

And this time it was a flood. A pool of brownish liquid, containing god knows what kind of waste water the bowels secrete and mum cannot expel through natural means...

For a while after the spill, I could still smell it, and it was nauseating. I mopped the floor, two times, and a cleaning lady came by and used some bleach. Still the stench of bodily fluids hung in the air.

Hope

Even in hopelessness there is hope.
It may not be hope of recovery, it may not be hope of prolonging life and taking away inevitable pain and suffering. But there can be hope of a beautiful, comfortable, dignified process to rounding up the wonderful journey of life.

I've been wanting to take mum to the Hope Cancer Foundation since I last went there over a month ago, just after my birthday. I wanted to share with mum my new found source of hope and inspiration, wanted to show her that there are many out there like her, and that she need not fear and need not be alone. But but incessant vomiting and fatigue prevented us from going there together.

I went back again today. Mum thought I was going home to rest, but I needed another opinion, especially in light of the setback of the NJ tube insertion, and the startling option of final resort with the major bypass surgery.

I saw a volunteer, a colon cancer survivor who was rescued from the brink if death, a lovely lady around mum's age with two children studying in the UK. We spoke for almost an hour and a half, talking about mum's condition, and about me.

She was more interested in me, how I am coping with all this, how I am releasing my feelings, if at all. I say I write, I write down everything in the first person, write down all my fears, joys, feelings, dreams, thoughts and emotions and experiences as I am doing now. It is my way of letting pent up emotions vent, my way of communicating with the world and "asking" for help. Because I know I cannot cope without an outlet, I know I cannot cope by bottling everything deep inside, for one day, in one way or another, a lot of it will erupt and I will be so torn and traumatised-- perhaps in the way my childhood experiences suddenly came to haunt me a decade or so later.

Mum will pass, it is a matter of time, a matter of manner. I would like her to leave this world feeling like she's really lived, like she's been touched and loved, like she has had a blessed life, despite certain hardships growing up and in this final stage of her life. Nobody can know how much longer she has, but we can try and try to much that last, or at least feel like it is lasting. I want to make her comfortable, make her close her eyes and be able to drift away in bliss and feel like "My duty is done here..."

I have to be aware, not everything will be according to plan. Who would have known a year ago she would have a spinal surgery? Who would have known a month ago she would deafened to this poor state of health on the brink of death? I can try to plan things, but I must also allow the possibility for life to take its natural course.

"Don't feel it's your responsibility for her to get better. Some people completely collapse after losing a loved one, others hate themselves or even get angry at the loved one for dying. Be aware of that..."

I have thought of that possibility, hence I am already seeking help, I am already making plans for the "hereafter". I need to live, I need to love, I need to still love life after death. For I have seen and heard about people around me descend into a depth of depression and terrible, inconsolable sadness, and I must be ever so wary. I must be vigilant.

I must be able to find life again, find a way to keep motivated, keep interested, keep me busy, so that that day when a fundamental aspect of my life, my rock and my core, disappears, I have a net to break my fall.

Hence various "projects" I've been thinking and planning in my head, all part of "Operation New Beginning". I want to bike around the island to prove that I can fulfil a lifetime dream, that I can challenge myself and live up to a personal promise. I want to go to India and/or Tibet (if allowed...) and follow do a Buddhist pilgrimage. I want to return to Lake Louise, where mum and I spent a wonderful hour paddling on the lake. I want to attend my graduation, alone if I must, for I want mum to see me at a proud moment and know that I can do what I set out to achieve. I want to qualify for the bar, work in a field of law I am passionate about (it's crossed my mind, all my accumulated experiences dealing with health care and hospital, why not loom into the field of Medical law?). I want to be with someone who loves me dearly, unconditionally, and whom I love and trust fully. I want to be there for my cat, I want to one day have children of my own! I have dreams, even though mum may not be able to see me realise all my dreams.

I may be calm now, I may be so cool and may still be able to make myself smile when I look at myself smile in the mirror. But that may all disappear, that smile may quickly, unexpected turn to a sad, howling face laden with tears and regret.

I may still be able to calmly narrate the story to people, and even comfort people, but who will comfort me? I must let someone into my life, someone I trust, someone I have for a long time confided in, even if I don't want to.

I must already prepare to accept, to let go, and eventually to heal. It is never too early to prepare for death, for the next moment may already be too late.

Failed

The passageway to the intestines have become too closed off by the tumour.

The NJ tube could only be extended as far as the narrowing of the opening of the intestine, for even the thin tube cannot pass through. There is a slight chance that fluids can be directed into the intestines, and that mum can at least absorb some nutrients. Some is better than none.

The only positive note is that the NJ tube can direct the stomach fluids out of the stomach, so at least that should prevent mum from throwing up so much.

Mum came back to her room and looked so sad, so disparaged, so very sad like she could burst out crying...

I wish I could comfort her, reassure her, take away and destroy all her fears and frustrations...

Waiting...

Almost one and a half hours since mum entered the room. The assistant said one hour at most.

The wait is gruesomely long...

I hope mum is alright...

I hope my dear, brave mum is alright...

Fluoroscopy

Mum looked so forlorn and so afraid when I left her. I patted her legs, and before the assistant covered her body with a blanket, I held her hand. Tightly, reassuringly, warmly, not letting go, even though her grip was so weak it was almost non-existent.

I didn't say anything, for the assistant was explaining the procedure and trying to calm mum down. I would have said: "Hang on there, I'll be right outside! I'm here with you." I can only hope the grip of my hand, and the smile I flashed her told her so much.

I could have missed her completely before she went into the fluoroscopy room. I was running an errand and went to the post office to mail mum's doctor's notes to my sister-in-law, just in case she or my brother would need it. When I returned to mum's room, the bed was gone, the room was empty. I was afraid of not being there before mum conducted the NJ tube insertion procedure. I imagined that mum would be frightened, for this is a resort she never did really warm up to, and I wanted to be by her side. The nurse who tends to her confirmed that mum had already gone down to have the tube inserted.

I ran down the stairs, 9 floors down to the second floor. Waiting for the lift, and most likely needing to stop on every floor, would have been excruciatingly long.

Is there such a thing as fate? Were things somehow destined to be, for is arcane knowledge and aimless wanderings around the hospital not so aimless and not so arcane after all? I had done some prior research online about how an NJ tube works and how it is inserted. I know from my browsings that a fluoroscopy (sort of xray) is needed to ensure that the long, long tubing is directed into the correct passage once it goes down the nostril. One wrong move, and it could go into the air duct, and down into the lungs, causing severe damage. And by pure coincidence, the other night as I took some time alone to walk around a bit after dinner, I wandered into the area of the hospital where fluoroscopy is conducted. Coincidence? Or meant to be?

Mum is inside now, hard to imagine that she and I are separates by a mere few metres. What anxieties is she feeling? What discomforts? What sense of loss of dignity and powerlessness as she watches with wide open eyes as a very invasive and long tube is inserted down her nose?
I cannot imagine her fears, I cannot imagine how she is feeling. I cannot imagine how I would be feeling. I cannot imagine how I could comfort her, reassure her afterwards, when I see her with a tube hanging out of her nostril, that things are still normal. I cannot know how she will feel, how I will feel. Such fears, such unknown fears, such crippling fears!

We had a hectic morning. The main Colonrectal surgeon came early, around sevenish, and I had a chance to ask him about mum's condition in more detail. He said he fears that the NJ tube may not be able to pass through the blockage, for the tumour may have completely blocked off the opening into the intestines. This may explain mum's severe, and increasingly severe, vomiting of stomach fluids, because there may simply be no way down.

Surgery is a possibility, but one the surgeon wants mum and the relatives to decide. He cannot and did not say we have to do it. He was honest and frank in the way he presented the facts and risks, like a true, moral doctor would. I know that the situation inside is not pleasant, that there are multiple growths in the intestines and colon even, from the images I've seen. But the doctor cannot say for sure how (bad?) the situation is until they go inside. It could be that the linings of the intestines are festering with cancerous cells, which will make healing after surgery very difficult, if not impossible. The surgery may not kill mum, even in her state of health, but the question is whether mum can survive the recovery and rehabilitation after surgery. Just the spinal surgery took her close to two months to recover (though, it is hard to tell, for in the mean time, she began CyberKnife and also began to vomit...).
How would an intestinal bypass affect her body and overall wellbeing, both physical and mental?

My aunts (mum's youngest sister and mum's first brother's wife) were outside the fluoroscopy room, and another aunt (mum's second brother's wife) and a friend of mum's have arrived since mum entered.

Five people all waiting, all hoping, all ready to rally around mum as soon as she exits from this very invasive procedure.

Around this brave heroine, who fights and struggles, who preserves and rarely flinches or cries, there is a group of loved ones and precious supporters who will be there till the end...

Eva Air joins *Alliance!

Mum switched on the news early in the morning. It's good to fill the room with some other voice than just silence, which is often the language between us now.

I first heard talk about Eva Air, perhaps my favourite airline, so I turned to watch the screen. And then there was a shot of a bunch of officials stranding in front of a Star Alliance sign. "Eva accepted as Star Alliance member"!

I was suddenly elated! I've been anticipating this day when about a year ago news of talks between the airline and my alliance were leaked. I fly (almost) exclusively Star if given the choice (I'm loyal and don't like to "cheat"!). I'd even pay a bit extra and transfer two, three times if I have to just to fly a Star Alliance member to collect points. So for three years running I've attained Gold Member status, which gives me upgrades and also extra allowance and priority services. "I've earned it" as the *Alliance ad says!

I sat next to mum and was so excited! I've not been excited about anything much for a long time! "This means I can come back here more often! Direct flights and earn points!"

Mum didn't say anything. She had just vomited. I felt somewhat bad and out of place getting so excited by something as airline miles, when half an hour ago the doctor came in and talked to us about the big decision. And I was getting excited about flying and collecting miles and Gold Status!

I guess you need to distract yourself in the worst of times. You need to find something to make you feel excited, feel passionate and alive again, even if the one next to you looks and feels so tired and lethargic.

Just because we're facing a stark decision, a decision of life and quality of life, I still need to find reasons to smile and feel like an excited child again!