Mother's Day

Mother's Day today. I spoke to mum just now. "Happy Mother's Day," I wished her as she picked up the phone. We only spoke briefly, as she said she was tired. It was very warm last night, and she did not sleep all that well, and she got up early in the morning to go out for a little walk around the sports park. The painkiller she took also made her drowsy, so she was just lying down for a rest. The carer just finished massaging her sore bones, so she was ready, and sounded ready, to close her eyes.


I could see her with my eyes closed, lying there, in the bed that I made for her a little over a week ago. I hope she still finds the bed, now with the special foam mattress on top, comfortable. Many times when she was not around, I would lie on the bed and close my eyes and imagine that positive and healing energies would pass from my body onto the bed. I fantasises that these energies would stay on the bed and 'bless' mum whenever she lies down, whether to rest, whether to nap or to sleep. I fantasised that she would feel less pain and her body would be more comfortable. How I do wish it were really so!

When I spoke to her yesterday, she said to me she was touched. "I have two children who are both filial. I have nothing to regret about..." She described how brother has been very caring and doing many things for her. He bought her a wheelchair to take her out for walks, he installed supports in the bathroom so mum can hold onto to something, especially as she is now weaker and more prone to falling. And he went to visit mum's friend, whose husband is a Taoist priest, and to whom mum has entrusted to take care of the "after-affairs". "We still have time, so I have to consider finding a place before ..." mum told me.

It has been a long time since she last talked about this. I know we have had this conversation many times before, and before it never really bothered me (though it is always emotional to talk about...). But when mum mentioned it today, I was moved to tears. I was again reminded of the reality of her condition, reminded how close she was just a month or so ago, and perhaps still is, to the end of her journey...

It should not scare me. It should not bother me. But when I talk about it, when I think about, I become moist in my eyes and have difficulty expressing myself. Since my return here a few days ago, I have more or less been burying myself under books and the blanket to overcome my jetlag. So I have had little time to think about or expose my emotions. And I do feel, I can sense that there are raw, painful feelings that are threatening to erupt, and that will erupt soon, somehow...

"I have asked [brother] to go pick up my will. I want to make some changes..." I remember going to the courthouse over a year ago and having it notarised, and how we together walked to the basement of the bank where she has rented a deposit box. I remember placing the will inside the box and thinking to myself that one day when I open it again, circumstances will be different... Now mum cannot even go down to the basement herself because she has difficulty in moving, because just a few steps can cause her body so much pain and discomfort.

It is hard to imagine... So hard to see screensaver pictures that flash across my idle computer to see pictures of mum and I traveling through the Rockies. I know, we had our time, and we lived those times together, we enjoyed those intimate moments together beautifully. I know, I should be grateful we had those moments and that we have those memories to think back to... But it hurts me to just think and know that mum can probably not go out and go so far again like she used to... And if it hurts me, how does it make mum feel, to be 'trapped' in a body that is declining and much of which is no longer hers to control? "The will is there, but the physical strength is not... (力不從心)" she told me several times when I try to walk with her just a short distance. Mum has become so weak... so very weak.

"Happy Mother's Day..." I said again, "You have to eat well, and  go out to exercise! This way, you can regain your strength again!" I say that to her often these days, and I repeated it again today. Do I believe what I say, because sometimes I catch a glimpse of cynicism and dark brooding thoughts as those words escape my mouth. Sometimes I feel like I am lying to her, lying to myself. But I truly do wish she could feel better, I truly do wish she can get back on her own feet again and walk around like she used to because she lost so much weight...

Because she has been a wonderful mother, who has given me, given us so much, who has made sacrifices  and toiled for so long. And it pains me, pains me so deeply, so powerfully, to see that when she has the time and the means to enjoy life and all the wonderful, beautiful things that this world has to offer, she has lost her health, her body...


Happy Mother's Day,  my dear, dear mother. May you be happy and at ease, today and everyday.



 --
I made a little donation on behalf of mum today, to World Vision, a charity that she supports. She does not know it, but it was for a "Pre/postnatal Care for Mother and Child", which is a very appropiate 'gift' in her name. And for a limited time, my donation is matched by a generous donor, so it will be double the impact! 

dream

There was blood everywhere.

Everywhere...

My hands were stained red.

I looked down at my wrinkled hands, and I was covered in blood...

Return to ER

I called home almost as soon as I got up. Brother didn't want to tell me, but he did anyways. "Mum went back to te hospital today. The bile juices are flowing out."

It's serious. It means the tube they inserted into the intestines in an attempt to lead the flow of bile naturally out of the body is not working. Perhaps the tumour is compressing on the tube too much that the flow is restricted.

Mum sounded tired, and she said she was tired. She went to ER, and was transferred immediately to the 11th floor where she had been staying all this time. They put the bile collecting pouch back on, so she will have to walk around with that now, until another solution can be found. But I suspect there is no other solution...

The conversation ended. Mum told me to study hard, and wished me good morning. I wished her goodnight.

When her voice vanished, everything else, her condition, her illness, her pouch, her smell, the warmth of her body seemed so far away.

I am so far away...

Recounting the past...

I knew it would be difficult. And it was. How do you recount in a few words the events of the past four months? How do you find the words to describe all the feelings, frustrations, trials and great fears mum and I have experienced over the period I was away from here?

"It was very difficult," I said, and kept on saying. "Difficult" does not quite begin to describe it, but it is the only word I could find, and the word that I kept on repeating. "It was very difficult..." Difficult. Difficult. Difficult... As if the mere repetition of the word could do justice to how truly, deeply difficult it has really been.

It was the reason why I do not want anyone to know my return here. I need no distractions at the moment. I need peace and quiet to collect myself, to settle back into my home and my comfort zone, to find my footing in life and try to make the most of the limited time I have to study. I need the concentration to do well in the exam, and to prove to myself that however adverse the circumstances have been, I still have the ability to study whenever I find the time, and I still have the ability to do well.

I told only my good friend and neighbour of my return so far. She came by for a quick visit. When she asked how mum is doing, I had to look away and stare into the distance. I could feel my eyes getting heavy with tears. I have not cried, not really cried since I returned. And I can feel the tears are being hidden and distracted by the hundreds of pages I have still to cover before this time next week.

Perhaps she was being polite, but she said mum looked good in the pictures she's seen on facebook. What else can you say? That she looks terrible? That she looks like she lost a terrible amount of weight and that she is just skin and bones? Mum looks as good as she looks now. She is thin, bony, but her mind is clear, and her will is so strong. She is so brave. She is my mum, and I am so proud of her. Because of all that she goes through, I tell myself again and again, there is nothing more difficult, nothing more testing. I motivate myself that way. I keep on going, keep on smiling, keep on laughing and trying to see the bright(er) things of life because of how mum inspires me, touches me, and makes me cry.

Difficult. Difficult. It truly was difficult.

But it, everything that I have seen and experienced, has now become a thing of the past. "What will happen does not matter. One day at a time..."

Back home...

I called home again, and it was a bit worrying that after two calls there was no reply. So I called my brother on Skype, and the call was rejected. My mind began to imagine all the things that may be happening... Emergency rush to the hospital... Accidental fall? Severe bleeding? High fever?

Then brother called back. Relief... The home phone was unplugged for some reason. Things are alright, though for the past two nights, mum has been running a high fever, 39C the night before, 38C last night. It's worrying, especially in her current state of health, and especially after what the doctor said about rushing to ER should she develop a fever. But luckily, with some icing and wipes with cold towels, mum's temperature subsides and comes down to normal. Mum says perhaps it is due to the winter blanket she is still using, when it is already Summer.

It feels strange to talk to mum at a distance and through a video screen now, especially after I have constantly been around her for the past four months. Stranger to see her lying down in her bed everytime I call. But she said she does feel a bit more energetic, at least better than before. Yesterday, brother posted pictures of him wheeling my mum to the park nearby in her new wheelchair. There was a scene in which mum is sitting side by side next to the baby buggy. Brother captioned it a "four wheeled race". I smiled at that, from afar, and wished I had been there to see mum's face as she smiled looking at my nephew in his race-car (pram). "Remember to go out again today!" I told her. She said it hurts when the wheelchair goes over the uneven pavement, especially where she has an open wound with the bile tube connected, but also where she recently had the bypass surgery. Even so, she must go out and walk about more and get more exposure to the sun and fresh air. It will do her good.

So it has been four days since the carer came to our house. My brother was talking to her today about the possibility of having her around for the long term. She proposed to have  a set wage and to forgo the agent. It does seem like a good idea, especially as it would spare us, and in particular mum, the trouble of finding, training and getting used to a whole new carer. Wait a bit more and see how things are so you can have a better assessment, I suggested.

Seems like things are going relatively well, or at least stable so far. It does reassure my mind, but in some little way, suspicious and perhaps too thoughtful as I can be, I do wonder whether they are not telling me things so as not to worry me and distract me from my exam next week.

Home again...

I walked into my home. It's been over 130 days since I last closed the main door. Opening it filled me with a sense of familiarity and excitement. My own home. My quiet little kingdom. My very own place where I feel so safe and so comfortable.

It was clean and very organised, save for the boxes of things that my ex left behind after his recent move away. I'll have to find time to organise everything and to unpack my suitcases. But that can wait.

At yul

Touch down... 23.51.
Almost home.

Almost home after soooo very long...

回「加」真好！

NRT-YVR

07052012.1840 NRT TIME

Ten minutes into the flight. When I saw the maple leaf logo, I was reminded of the last time I saw that symbol of Canada. I remember at the time I wondered in my mind when it would be till I see Canada again. And that time has come...

Just read the news to catch up on what I have been missing in Canada (and the world) over the past four months or so. Managed to get an upgrade on the long flight, despite being told twice that I could not. Maybe they made a mistake, for they only want 6upgrade points for a trans-Pacific crossing, which is perhaps three times less than I expected. Oh well...

Perhaps I could get some sleep on the lie flat bed, and adjust to the time difference, so I get back "adjusted" and able to cram everything I've yet to study. I made a start, an hour or so before people started talking loudly on the phone in the business centre of the lounge. It's been over a week since I last studied, and I have less than a week to go till the exam...

I'm a bit tired, as I managed to sleep only four hours or so last night. I lay awake for a while, thinking about all the things at home, and what I'll be facing once at get home. I fell asleep, and I swear I remember dreaming of being with mum and being with a carer. A strange and intense dream.
I woke up at around three, and found mum was moving, and I imagine awake. I asked her what was wrong, but she didn't say much. I massaged her a bit on the shoulders, but she told me to go to sleep. I don't know if she managed to sleep after that...

Before boarding the flight, I called home. Brother had good news, as mum's neurosurgeon approved and signed forms necessary for mum to hire a foreign carer. This may mean she could get one within a month or two. If all goes well, we may not have to "bribe" people, which I was so disgusted by when I first heard about that possible need.

But mum threw up a lot today, so I was told, more than she took in. Brother said she was feeling unwell when she went to the hospital for a check up appointment, and threw up stomach liquids, which mum claims is bile due to the colour. it was worrying to hear that, for she was doing so very well yesterday. And brother panicked, and asked me whether mum should return to the hospital, which I know mum opposes resolutely. That day when she developed a fever close to 39C, I urged her to return to the hospital, but she resisted strongly. Luckily, with some icing and constant monitoring of her temperature, the fever subsided. So with the latest vomiting, I told brother to monitor the situation and see.

What happened today, after I left? What is happening now, 18 hours since I left home? As I told mum again and again before I left, mood can have a profound influence on your state of health and well being. And I just hope, I can only hope, now that I am inching further and further away with every passing second, that she is at ease in her mind and that her body is comfortable.

Lounge

I was shaken awake by the alarm. Did I sleep? I'm not sure. But close my eyes I did and let myself just relax and the soft music and soothing scent wash over me...

Almost one hour I lay here on the comfy chair waiting for the check in to open.

Three more hours till my flight....

Departure

"Quietly, quietly I left, as if I quietly, quietly came..." ( 悄悄的我走了，. 正如我悄悄的來)

Those are the words of a famous poet, and every time I leave home I am reminded of those words.

I called mum just before I boarded the flight. She sounded tired. And then it struck me: from now on I'll only be able to hear her voice, at best perhaps see grainy her on the computer. I will not be able to touch her, hold her like I've gotten so used to doing...

Just before leaving home, I lay next to her. Mum did not want to get up. She looked so sad, and said very little. She also looked like she was in pain. I put her arm around me, and she stroked my hair, my forehead. "Go and work hard..." she said, wishing me luck on my studying and in my exam next week.

I did nor cry. I was perhaps over crying. But I can't speak for mum. I stayed by her bedside till the very last minute. I stroked her thin arms, held her hands. In my heart was a quiet calm. No fear, no regrets, no frustrations, no deep heart-wrenching pain as I had anticipated and dreaded. Just this calm. "May you be well... May you be happy... May you be at ease... May you eat and be healthy..." I wished mum silently with my eyes closed. I could smell the scent of mint, the scent of the massage oil that she uses to ease the bloated feelings of her bowels and to momentarily drift away and be free from discomforts. Mum said very little. When I looked at her, she had her eyes closed most of the time and was frowning.

I got up and inspected my suitcase again, and returned to touch mum again. This I did several times. Mum did not want to get up, which was disappointing, for it was hard to see her lying there as I was about to leave for an indefinite period of time. But again I reassured her I would be back again.

"Go quickly," mum said, "Don't keep the driver waiting..." It was a bit disappointing, as I was hoping she'd say something "touching". But I imagine she was saddened (and tired... It as barely six in the morning).

I hugged mum one last time, gently, for I was afraid to hurt her open wound and to push too hard on her frail body frame. "Take good care! Eat well and exercise!" I reminded her again, "Next time I see you, I hope to see be stronger and gain more weight..."
Even as I said those words, there was a disturbing image mum getting thinner and even more frail than she is now, if it is even possible.

I stroked her arm again, and silently wished positive energy and healing vibes would pass through me to her. I left her room, and headed out to put on my shoes, and almost made it out the door. But I turned back again, and went to mum's room one last time. She had her thin arm placed over her eyes. "Take good care, mama. I'm really going." Perhaps I should not have come back and said good bye again, for it would only prolong the pain and the inevitable leaving.

I left mum lying in her bed, left her in the hands of my brother and the carer. I left behind four months of many difficult days and many tough moments of agony and frustrations. But it is all in the past now.

I boarded the taxi, and my cousin came along to the airport with me. It probably made the journey to the airport less sad, less difficult.

It was a clear, beautiful day. Another day I left home to go back home...

Cam on rat nhieu!

06052012.2240


I placed a little note, quietly and clandestinely in the carer's pillow when she was not looking. I looked up the words I wanted to express online.

"Cam on rat nhieu!" (accents are missing!)

She was surprised and smiled when she saw my note. She asked who put that there, and I admitted it was me.

"Thank you so much," I said to her, as I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, "Thank you for taking care of my mum."

It came from my heart, which in seeing her at work around the house over the past two days is filled with indescribably gratitude. This morning, she walked up to mum's bed and smiled so brightly and told mum to get up in an energetic and motivating voice. "Auntie, get up and exercise!" she said, and waved her arms around to demonstrate how to train the flexibility of the arms and hands. Later, when mum mentioned she wanted to eat pho, she went out and tried to get all the necessary ingredients and made a light and very appetising chicken pho soup. Seeing mum eat a bowl of it without throwing up filled my heart with joy and gratitude to the girl (she's around my age).

"Don't you worry! Just go back and work hard, and call home often!" she said to me.

"I will," I said, and deep down I was thinking that perhaps I'll be calling too often! Twice, thrice a day!

Eve of departure

06052012.2344

In a few hours I'll be leaving here. I don't felt sad. Is there a reason to be sad, to feel sad? Or maybe the feelings will come flooding when I board the taxi or the plane tomorrow (provided I'm not too distracted by the excitement of boarding a special livery plane...!)

Mum was already very sleepy and her eye lids were closing when I sat next to her on her bed and massaged her arms and hands one last time. I told her the usual things. "Eat well! Exercise! Be happy! Don't think too much about anything else!"

I told her I'll be back soon, even though I did not want to for I wanted to surprise her, like I've done so many times in the past. But things are different now, and I felt I needed to tell mum, reassure her, that I won't be gone for long, so she has something to look forward to. And I felt I needed to tell her I'll be back soon, so that she is not too overwhelmed by sadness, for she has on several occasions expressed to me how painful it would be when I leave. And I am leaving. By this time tomorrow, I'll be gone...

"You've been here too long. Half a year almost..." she said.

"No, it's only been four months," I said, and counted the months to let her know it really hasn't been all that long. Because I know she feels terribly guilty I've stayed around for much longer than before this time. It was necessary, and I don't regret anything. As I told the monk in the mountains on the phone earlier, I think I have done all I could, and perhaps that is the source of my calm, and in a way also quiet bliss.

I've done all I could, I've tried to do everything I know I could, tried to arrange things, and pass on the knowledge of caregiving to my brother and the new carer, and even stocked up on some items that I know mum would need. And I think I've given mum hope, a renewed chance to recover and live with dignity and the knowledge that she has overcome a very difficult struggle. Whatever happens, and even if there are more difficult days ahead, mum can think back and hopefully remind herself of how brave and how very strong she is to cling onto to dear on through even the most testing of times.

"I'll go back and work hard! I know I can do it when I return and concentrate of my studying!" I told mum. And I reminded her of the promise she made me, that she would also work hard and get up and out so she can recover her strength and be able to stand on her own two feet again. We both have work cut out for us ahead, and I hoped that in knowing that, even though we will be kilometres apart, we are connected in an additional way through the challenges we must face and overcome separately, but in a way also together.

The night is already ripening, and I have not much longer to rest. I must sleep, and will fall asleep to the sound of mum's breathing, and the quiet solace in knowing these few months have come and gone, and I have survived, and gotten stronger, and a little bit wiser...

Mum's birthday

Mum sat quietly on her comfy chair as she made a wish.

"Don't say it out loud, otherwise it won't come true!!!" brother reminded her. I suspected the wish had something to do with us, the children ad grandchild. I can imagine mum wishing perhaps to live a bit longer so she can see us all settle down and be on the right track, especially me. Mum blew out the candle, and smell of a blown out fire filled out noses before the pungent sweet scent of the decadently appetising-looking cake cover with soft dark Belgium chocolate filled our senses.

I hugged mum's body as she was about to slice the cake. I know it's unusual, but I too made a wish, wishing her wish would come true so she can be happy and be at ease. I wished also that she can be comfortable free from much pain, that she can eat and recover.

We sat around mum, all us children and grandchild. The carer was a bit embarrassed to join us, but we insisted that also have a bit of cake.

Earlier in the day, as mum rested and sunbathed for the first time in weeks, clandestinely flowers were delivered. A massive basket of beautiful pink flowers, with a note attached, from no one other than my sweet little nephew.

" A-ma,

Very happy to spend A-ma's 60th birthday together. These are flowers i asked mum to order for me, Hope you will like them.

Loving you,
Xxxxxxx"

Mum kept on saying we shouldn't have, especially shouldn't have spent so much money. But I know, deep down she appreciates all the gestures, and that she is touched.

Brooklyn Bridge

If you honestly mean what you say,
If you truly say what you feel,
I'll be on the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk on 19052012.
Perhaps it will be a new dawn?

Second last night

Will be sleeping next to mum tonight, just to make sure she will be alright: after over an hour of icing and wiping her body, mum's temperature dropped to 36.5C, which is about normal. False alarm, thus, and we could all breath with relief again.

A thought crossed my mind as I laid down my blanket next to mum on her bed. I remember when I was young, much younger, when I was sixteen, seventeen or so. At the time I visited dad in the summers and would sleep next to him. I remembered that on the final nights, I would always go to sleep with the thought that it would be the nth night before I leave. That would make me sad, and sometimes I'd fall asleep with tears in my eyes, having cried to sleep as I listened to dad snore and was so close I could smell his scent...

I will be doing something similar tonight, on this second last night before my departure...

38.7C

The ear thermometer kept on beeping and flashed red. A warning. Mum's body is burning at 38.7C.

The doctor told us to return to emergency when she has a fever. But she does not want to go.

The carer, brother and I are by her side. She is keeping mum cool with ice and a cold cloth.

It'll be a long night...

Night before last night

05052012.0122

Should I be sad? Should I be mourning? Should I face the facts and allow my mood to sink?

Am I lying to myself by being hopeful? Am I fooling the world by not thinking too much about the doctor's words the day mum checked out of hospital?

"It is in the final stages (末期)..." was the only thing the doctor said. He did not know what to say when brother asked for a time. I personally find it somewhat distasteful. As if one could predict when or how or where death, or anything in life, will happen! And what does it matter really? So people could be nicer and do better if someone does not have much longer left? So you could start living more and doing more with your life if you know time is limited?

The doctor was kind to sit down with us for almost half an hour. He drew a picture diagram of mum's inside, and better than before I now can visualise what they did in terms of the surgery and what is causing the jaundice.

I know much of this already, so perhaps that's the reason why I just sat there and let the words wash over me. I felt like I was not in the room, like I was just a bystander, as brother asked the questions and the doctor answered and drew his diagram...

There is a large lump on the duodenum. It is causing food to be trapped in the stomach. They connected a lining of the small intestines to the stomach wall, so that at least some food can leave somewhat naturally down the intestines and be absorbed. The lump is growing larger. It has compressed against the wall of the bile duct, suppressing the flow of bile which normally enters the duodenum. Jaundice is caused when bile, a poisonous substance if not excreted, collects in the body, and it causes the body to turn yellow and causes the liver to slowly lose its functions. Hence mum's continuing tiredness and still yellowish skin tone.

"I discussed with other doctors, and the duodenum is no longer operable." This was contrary to what I was told before, when I was given that glimmer of hope. Hope mixed with anxiety, for back then I was already told it would be a major operation, and I dreaded mum having to face another long stint at the hospital and having to walk on the long road to recovery again... Now, the lump has grown too large, and an operation to remove the duodenum and reconnect the "tubing" in that region ( which involves cutting out a piece of the pancreas, rewiring the biliary tree and readjusting the stomach and intestines even more) is simply too much work and too risky. It's not worth the risk.

"We've done the best we could so your mother can eat. She may still throw up a bit, as some food will still collect in the stomach and not go down the reroute, but at the very least she can eat and drink like before."

As for the bile duct, they installed a tube that is longer and thicker to direct the flow of bile down to the unblocked part of the intestines. For now, it seems to work well, as mum's jaundice level has come down (but still is very high...), but at least the bile is channeled as intended and leaving the body. There is still an open wound and a tube coming out of it, and mum has to have the tube in her for a month or two. The wound has to be cleansed and addressed of every day. Any sign of her skin yellowing more or any sign of fever, she must immediately check into the hospital, for it may be an infection of the wound.

"She can go home and rest and eat. It's important that she eats well and gain back her strength," the doctor reminded us.

Brother is scared, he told me. He's scared of what may happen, and scares of mum's condition worsening. I reassured him in the best way I could. Though, admittedly, I am of course also scared.

"It doesn't matter what will happen in the future, don't think too much about things. They said three years ago mum doesn't have long. Even if something happens tomorrow, or next week, you're doing your best, and you will not be alone. You've got your wife, your kid, and I'll be back too." (momentarily, I must admit, there was a rise in jealousy and sense of longing, for I have none of the important, valuable sources of comfort and support I just mentioned.)

Whatever happens, I am here. I will be here to support you, to support and comfort mum till the very end, I heard myself saying in my head. "You just spend more time with mum, touch her, talk to her, make her feel comfortable and assured. There's nothing more important. There's nothing else we can do but those things."

Brother was silent, but I know he heard me, because I've said the same thing to him several times. And I strongly believe deep down, he also wants to play a role, but he just does not know how or where to start. And I've been also telling mum to give him (and his wife) a chance, not to judge too soon, not to have any preconceptions based on events and unhappiness in the past, but to let them demonstrate what they can do, to let them have their chance at being filial children.

I believe strongly that this is all part of "Operation Eternal Happiness", an effort from all sides to get together and make beautiful memories together to keep, and to keep for life, and to keep even after death. The ways I've seen my brother and sister-in-law bond an interact with mum over the past two days have been very promising. And my nephew's cute little face and multitude of expressions and sweet little bouts of giggles is a wonderful bonus to add to lightening mum's discomforts and adding to her impression that life has been wonderful, and that life continues to be worth all the hardship and pain...

Live-in carer

05052012.1917

After the row there was relative calm. After several calls to contacts of my sister-in-law's mother, brother managed to track down a lady who could come by as soon as the next day. We were all relieved, and I think most of all mum and also brother.

I reconciled with him and explained my out-lash at the hospital earlier. "It's not that I'm angry at you. I know it's hard to be suddenly thrown into all this and not know what to do. But you have to try, and you have to show some initiative." Brother did that by making arrangements and securing a new carer to come.

That night I slept next to mum's bed, the same thing I've done since before she went into hospital. It was tense, and I hardly slept, for I was afraid of her condition just after being discharged.

The door bell rang shortly after eight. It was the agent and the new carer. They came in, and I let brother do all the talking. I let him take charge, let him take responsibility, for a large part of the reason to be back is to get him (more) involved in mum's health and condition, to make him feel useful. Whatever happens, he can look back and say, and mum can look back and see, brother was there, brother was part of "journey's end", however lob that end may be.

The new carer is a young Vietnamese lady, not much different in age from me. She married a Taiwanese husband and came to Taiwan three years ago, and has been working as a carer for a while, sometimes at home, sometimes in the hospital. She was quiet at first, but soon opened up, and I began to introduce her to all the essential things surrounding mum's condition, her needs, and what she likes and dislikes.

Immediately, the girl got to work, helping mum up, massaging her and washing her face. It was a promising start, and a bit later I took her around the local area to show her the market(s) and the stores where mum likes to buy her foods and veggies.

I got talking to her and got to know her more over the next few days, exchanging life experiences, talking about cultural similarities
and differences (more the former) between Taiwan and Vietnam. I guess as we are around the same age, it was easy to talk to her and vice versa. I just want to make her feel comfortable and "at home", and hope that if she feels at ease, she will do a good job takin care of mum.

To be honest, I felt a bit uncomfortable being the "employer"-- and I'm ever catching myself seeing images i've seen in the news of mean bosses who abuse their carers or deduct their wages "just because they can". I'm not used to the idea of having someone do things that I used to do, like cooking and cleaning. But I guess I had to start to learn to let go and delegate, especially as the day of my departed ticked closer and closer.

Diapers

I called my brother to the washroom. I thought I could do it alone, but I needed help. I thought I could pull up and straighten the diaper mum had around her hip, but mum had difficulty even just standing up from sitting on the toilet. I needed brother's help.

He came immediately. At that moment, for the first time ever, two sons helped their mother wear a diaper for bedtime. It did not feel awkward, it did not feel embarrassing. We are all family, we, a mother and her children, represent perhaps the closest bond there is. Mum panted as she struggled to her feet. I leaned in close and pulled her diaper up. Through my nostrils, I could smell the hospital still, that scent still lingering on mum's body, even though she showered just before leaving the hospital.

For all the things I can fault brother, of all the moodiness and impatience and his easy irritability, that moment when we brothers helped mum up on her feet and escorted her back to her bed was a beautiful shared moment and experience.

In that moment, I saw that brother can do things if he really tried. My faith in him, my ability to want to see the "goodness" in him were not wrong.

I later told him privately that this is exactly the kind of things I hoped he would do more of. He must try, and learn, or otherwise he'll never know and never really experience mum's life and illness; otherwise he'll miss out on a part of mum's life that is perhaps as important as traveling together and growing up.

Touching moments

I could not help myself even though I turned away and began to cry. The teardrop flowed down my cheek, even though I pretended it did not happen. I know mum saw it, and that she was hurting too. We were both hurting, both dreading the moment when we must say good-bye... Is there anything more painful than seeing your loved one cry and be utterly powerless to stop your own tears?

"You have been too good to me all these months..." she said, "Having a child like you is worth it all..." She shed tears, and it was so very difficult, so very painful to see mum openly cry. She does not cry when she is feeling pain, she does not cry when she feels so much discomfort. And yet I make her cry... I am making her cry!

I handed mum a tissue and wiped my own tears with my sleeve. "I just hope you are comfortable now you are back home again..." I choked on my words and had difficulty getting my voice out. I stuttered and croaked. "I just hope you can eat and regain your health. The doctor said that's the most important thing now. Eat and recover..." The doctor said so much more, but mum does not need to face so much when she has just overcome an almost six week stay at the hospital. Really, the most important thing is for her to eat, to rest, to eat and eat some more so that she can regain some of her lost weight and look healthy again. In the picture I took of her yesterday, one with me posing next to her as she ate perhaps two, three spoonfuls of noodles, you could tell mum lost a lot of weight... You could tell she's ill. She had the look my uncle had at my brother's wedding. A dazed, fatigued and tortured look. A painful look to look upon...

"I'll eat well and I'll get better. You've done too much for me to let it go to waste..." Mum likes the new mattress cover, and she said several times it's so comfortable and that she feels less of her sores. She kept on asking me how much it cost, and I kept on telling her it was deeply discounted. "The store lady was moved by my story, and she gave me great discounts. And she threw in the heart-shaped pillow for free!" What price can you put on comfort and good rest, I asked mum rhetorically.

"I'm sorry I've been moody and shouted at you, I..."

"It doesn't matter. It's all in the past..." I broke her off. Nothing matters. Nothing except mum being comfortable and at ease in her mind. Nothing else really matters. I have no regrets. The pain I feel is not from regret, but from having gone through so much with mum over the span of over four months. The pain comes from having pulled through, and to see her back home again. What will happen now, what will happen in two weeks, two months from now, nobody knows. The moments of frustration, anger, confusion and being so pushed to the limit... It's all gone, and we made it, somehow we made it. It is a joyful pain, but just as painful, just as heart-wrenching.

"It will be so painful to see you go. You've been here so long. You've done so much, and spent so much money..."

Inside my heart was shattering. I cannot imagine how it will be... Already I am crying, and I feel the tears are just beginning. "It'll be hard to go back, but I must. I promise I'll study hard and do well on the exam. And I'll go to my graduation." Alone, at least without any family present as I had hoped for, but I will go nonetheless.

Brother entered the room. "Mama, are you crying?"

Mum wiped her tears with her fingers. "Weiwei is leaving. It'll be so hard..."

"We're here..." brother said.

"But soon you'll leave too..."

With red and moist eyes, brother uttered the words with difficulty: "Sooner or later we will all leave. You will leave too..." My sister-in-law stood next to him and clung onto my nephew close to her chest. With a free hand, she wiped the corner of her eye.

My nephew giggled, and the mood and all attention turned. He wriggled in his mother's arms like a wriggly worm. He chuckled and seemed to find something so terribly amusing. Perhaps he was laughing at us "crybabies", for the real baby was not crying, but the four of us were. I laid down next to mum while my brother and sister-in-law stood at mum's bedside. I felt in that moment like the luckiest person, and was basking in the warmth of our bonds, our togetherness.

It was such a brief and rare moment, but it was a moment I could not have wished more for. Just the five of us, our whole family together, mum smiling at her grandchild, her children and daughter-in-law at her side. Such a beautiful, touching moment. Shame it did not come earlier, and that there are only two more days for us to relive similar moments together. But we had that moment, and it was so beautiful.

One day, we must all say farewell. But today is not that day, this moment is not that moment.

Time with relatives

04052012.1127

Woke up very early today, and went to visit my grandma (mum's side of the family). It's again my ritual, to pay visits to as many people one either side of the family as possible. I chatted with her a while before I headed over to my aunt's (dad's older sister). Before leaving, I prayed before my grandpa's (mum's dad) altar, and asked him to protest my mother...

We chatted some more, together with my cousin, about my late uncle. Death leads people to reminisce and long for the past, long for the things were. Death also reminds people of those who have gone before, even those long gone, for as we spoke about my uncle's final days, we also spoke about dad and his finals days and moments. I listened and listened. At times it got too much and was difficult to bear. But for my aunt, and my cousin, whose experience of death is much fresher and rawer, speaking about those who have gone triggered inevitable tears.

My aunt recalled the day of the funeral, and how it poured with heavy, heavy rain. A relative came, crying, and held my aunt's hands. "The heavens are weeping. Why is it that the good people go so quickly...?" My aunt said she too started crying. As she recounted the story, her eyes became moist and red again.

It was hard but at the same time also very touching to sit with my relatives and share memories of loved ones, and share our experiences of caretaking and coping with cancer. I felt such sympathy for their loss, and kept telling my aunt that she has done the best she can. "It must have been very hard and hard work for you..." It may all sound so condescending, but it's not meant that way. For I know very well how hard and how much of a hard work it is to live life with your moods pinned to the random swings your loved one's health between good and bad, and worse and hopelessness. The waiting, and the unknown is the most strenuous and arduous of all. And there is the uncertainty of how it will all end coupled with the constant fear of one moment when you suddenly let your guard down or temporarily take a break you might miss the final moment you've been waiting for, you've been dreading... Yes, we are not merely relatives who have lost someone dear. We are also fellow caretakers with a lot to share and talk about on this long and emotionally difficult road..

"Auntie, please take good care of yourself. It's been a hard time for you..." I said and patted my aunt on her shoulder. She's a small lady, with greying hair, and as she aged and grew wrinklier, I saw the reflection of my dear grandma, and saw reflections of my childhood summers in the countryside. How I have grown how people have aged and changed, and passed away... It's all part of growing up, of dealing with life, and death.

I headed to the high speed rail station and caught a train within a minute of it departing. I sat down, and as the train picked up speed the scenery outside began to blur.

Perhaps this is the way life looks at the end... A blurred vision fast forward, with glimpses of deep impressions that remain clearly etched on the mind.

As the world blurred outside, I drifted inwards, drifted and drifted off to sleep and to a world beyond thoughts, beyond words...

Guidance

03052012.1823


A little guidance from the deities...

"When adverse circumstances come, go with the flow of karma,
Where the bonds of people sparse, the bonds of family are ever present.
In your dreams, why fight between you or I?
Let go of the body and mind, and see the heaven and earth. "

In Chiayi

04052012.0304

Arrived in the late afternoon, and first stop was my aunt's place. She (dad's older sister) was surprised, but happy to see me, for it's been a while since we last really connected and talked. Last time I saw her, earlier on Monday, I did not say goodbye, but quietly left after the farewell ceremony. It's part of tradition here: you don't say goodbye or keep the guests for longer than necessary. You just leave.

We caught up on news, and my aunt revealed how in the last month or so of my uncle's life, she was constantly in hospital, afraid to even go home. He weighed 46kg (or so) when he passed away. Before, he was a strong man who stood almost as tall as me...

"He told me he wanted to see the grandchildren grow up..." she said, after I showed her pictures of my nephew and said what happiness children bring to a patient's life. Children give them smiles, hope, and positive energy. Her eyes became red and moist.

I left a little later to visit my uncle (dad's youngest brother). A bachelor still at 62, he's the oddball of the family. I spend a lot of time with him whenever I am in my parents' hometown, because he's by himself, but also because he likes to bike around like I do. We took our usual route, to visit my grandma's resting, and later went to the old folks' community centre for a session of karaoke. I can't sing for my life, but as it was just me and him, I sang- at times mockingly and with a funny taiwanese accent, at times with soul and feelings, especially songs about love and longings for an illusive partner.

I am spending the night at my mum's youngest sister's place, the one who over the past few years has periodically gone up to taipei to be with my mum whenever she needs help around the house. She was a great relief over the past few months, and without her I would have not gotten the few hours of solitude and time to go home go shower and rest.

My aunt and I chatted, mostly about mum. Earlier, when I spoke to mum she said the doctor told she can be discharged as early as tomorrow. But she is worried to go home, for who will take care of her? She can barely walk a few steps, let alone clean herself well or cook for herself. Who will take care of her and look after her needs, something she took for granted at the hospital for she had access to a 24hr carer? I'm leaving in three days, I can no longer be around and keep a constant ear and eye out for mum's well being. And Brother certainly is not up to the task, as well intentioned as he may be. As for my sister-in-law... Well, she's just very distant and handsoff, and she has her hands full with taking care of my nephew...

My aunt said she will go up in a few days, and told me not to worry too much. "Go back and co concentrate on your exam. Your uncles and aunts will take care of things here..."

I don't know what will happen, but my aunt mentioned that around two weeks ago, mum expressed interest to come back down south back to her hometown, where most of her siblings are, so she can have people to look out for her and take care of her in this crucial period of recovery. Mum never mentioned this to me, but if she is willing, if she really means what she said to my aunt, then it may be a good idea, for she needs all the family support and help she can get, and tree is no better place than back here in Chiayi, where all her closest family members are. But mum has a thing with being picky, and being difficult when it comes to asking for help... Maybe she said things back then for the sake of it, because she really never mentioned any of this to me.

Unfinished business

04052012.0138

So many things going through my mind right now... The nature of my random thoughts and disjointed writing style shows just how very scattered and lost my brain is...

I fell asleep, and managed to "sleep" for ten minutes, but was suddenly jolted out of sleep, and now am wide away at 1.42am...

The fact that I am leaving here in a little over 72hours is disturbing me. I feel like there is so much I still need to do, so much I still need to settle before I can board that plane with ease of mind...

Now that mum is/may be leaving hospital and heading home, I need to make the place safe for her and get special equipment in the washroom and toilet to make sure she can safely take care of basic needs. And I will need to tidy up her room, place the new mattress I bought for her on her bed before she returns home. So many things I planned to do before i left home today in a hurry. I never thought mum would be discharged so soon...

...and who will assist her when she showers? Or when she goes to the washroom? She is so weak she can hardly get out of bed without help, without someone having to " lift" her up. Her thin, frail arms have so little strength to prop her own body up...

And who will cook for her? Who will make sure she gets enough nutrients to restore her body to some degree o stable weight and relative good health? Who will monitor her eating and drinking? All I can hear is brother saying "I don't know what to cook..." What can he do then? What is his role in the picture and in the coming two months?

We can maybe ask the carer who's been with mum for the past two weeks to come for a short period of time. But in the long run, we will need to hire a long-term carer to stay with mum due to costs.

All these things here to be done and to think of. But I will have to think of my own life and my exam in a little over ten days!!!

All in a day

03052012.1234

I woke up early, even though I slept late. I was up till after one packing my suitcase, and dismantling my bike to get it ready for storage before I leave. As I took the bike apart, I was saddened by the fact I've only really used it twice. Once, a spin at night, which was cut short by a storm. Another day during the day, and the furthest I got was south of the city. My hopes and plans to bike around the island, one hundred km a day, never was realised. Mum got ill, and got worse and worse. Originally scheduled for end of February, I postponed till mid-March, then later April. I thought perhaps with brother's return I could find free days to realise my dream, or at least part of it. But he was barely around. And now the rain season has set in (even though the forecast rain never came today...), it's less likely I'll be able to use my bike. So into the bike bag and under mum's bed it goes... Until next time, when I have more time and when it's meant to be...

I woke up late in order to visit dad. I wanted to take a taxi and intercept an intercity bus at a stop on the hill not far from where I live. But by the time I arrived, I suspected the bus already came and left. The driver offered to take me, and we agreed to a price. Mum, when she heard how much I paid, laughed. But he was an old man, probably near his seventies, and for the ride through the mountains to dad's resting place, including wait time for me to pay my respects, I thought it was reasonable. When he took me back into the city, I said I needed to do some errands (one to get a wrench for my bike, and then buy some noodles that my brother did not have time to buy...), and the guy patiently waited for me. I even had time to go home and get some light change of clothes before I rushed to the hospital. And the taxi driver took me all the way. So I was grateful.

Before the ancestral altar I knelt and silently prayed. It's always the same... Asking the ancestors for protection, asking for their blessings, asking them to watch over my family, especially mum, and brother's family. I went to pray also before dad's urn, which I gently and silently kissed as I "spoke" to him. I told dad the time has come for me to leave. I said I don't know if I should be leaving, but that I have plans to study and to take an exam. And I told that I'll be attending my graduation, and hope that I can make him proud...

"Please take good care of mum," I pleaded, "Please give her strength and energy, so she can go home soon and recover..." There is really nothing I would ask for. I just wanted mum to get better, so she doesn't have to spend every single moment of the day in that hospital ward...


Later, close to lunch, I arrived in mum's room, and she was surprised, for I told her last night I'd be headed straight to the south to see my relatives. But I surprised her with "longevity noodles", roasted pork knuckle and soy-sauce boiled egg (traditional foods eaten on the day of your birthday to welcome good fortunes and good health). She had little appetite, but she did get up to eat a little, and I was so happy to see her eat without feeling sick or throwing up. As she ate, I wished that the symbolic foods would indeed bring her good fortunes and better health.

Downhill

"The nurse said she's seen many cases like mum's," brother said. I heard what he said, but there was no expression on my face. "And it'll only be downhill for now..."

I heard what he said, there was no expression on my face. But deep down, somewhere hidden from sight, I am hurting again...

Hospital Carer

04053012.1729

I could not contain my tears or wavering voice as I handed her the red envelop. It contained a little money I wanted to give her, and nobody else knew about it for it was my idea, and comes from me (and my wallet)

"Please, auntie, take it. It's a little something from my heart. I cannot say how much you've been a help to us..." I started to tear uncontrollably as those words escaped my mouth. "You really cared for my mum very well..."

It's been almost two weeks since we hired her. In total we had four carers, and she is nothing compared to the rest. She is caring, really genuinely cares, and she gives mum massages that have really made the swelling of her feet and the bloated feelings of her stomach go away. And whenever it's meal time, she'd think hard about mum's nutritional needs, and for severals days even went back to her own home to cook rice and noodles for mum. Sure she can be a tad talkative at times, but she radiates positive energy, and is very experienced in caregiving. And she speaks Taiwanese, or at least Hokkien (for she is from Xiamen, across the Taiwan Strait where they speak the same language as most people in Taiwan do), which adds that extra touch of familiarity and warmth--something mum has been hoping for in a carer. Though mum's health is still frail, she has on certain days looked really happy and had a reddish glow on her cheeks. I think in part thanks to the carer.

"Please take this," I said as she resisted and pushed the red envelop back into my hand, "You've really done a lot for us, and I appreciate it with my heart..." I patted her on the shoulder and felt my eyes dampen again. I know she gets paid, but for all the little things that she does more than the rest who have come before her, for feeling down when mum cannot eat or when her health deteriorates, for feeling joy when mum eats a lot and is looking healthy and feeling fine, the least I could do was show a token of appreciation. For not only has the carer helped mum, but she has also helped me, by taken a lot of weight ad worries off of my shoulders, by given me time to study (even though toward the end I did not really make much use of the time....).

Checking out

04052012.1345

We fought in front of mum, which I know is not pleasant for her to see. In the chaos of checking out the hospital, with so many things to pack, and documents to sign, bills to pay for, and follow up appointments to be made, it did not help that brother made a fuss about what happens after mum returns home.

"I can't take care of her! I don't know what to do!" he kept on saying.

I got upset. "What about me? Did I know what to do? You just learn as you go along!" I retorted, "I can't believe that you two cannot manage to take care of mum when I managed by myself all these months!" I know, it doesn't help to deescalate the situation, but it's been bothering me. He's not even tried to do much since he got back home (admittedly, he was struck down by the cold, but still, he has so far done sorrily little for mum or spent much time with her.

As brother and I exchanged words, mum lay languishing in bed, in great discomfort. I didn't expect him to miraculously know what to do, nor did I expect him to give mum (frankly...) the same level of attentiveness and care I give her. But I did just want him to take some initiative. Take some Initiative, not just be away with his family in another part of the country while mum needs support and as I am about to leave.

Brother got upset when I shouted back at him, something I rarely do. And he started to just throw things around as he packed them. Very mature. "Is this how you want to be?" I asked him, "How can you make mum so insecure and feel some uncomfortable about going home, when she's been so looking forward to returning to the comfort of her own home after being in hospital for so many weeks?"

The main problem is that we've gotten used to having a 24hr carer over the past two weeks. She has even exceptionally good at making mum feel assured, and making sure mum eats and gets up to exercise and walk about at regular intervals. And importantly, the carer could help mum go to the washroom and shower, which can be an awkward experience if I or brother both boys, were to do it. At first we thought that perhaps she could come back home with us, at least for a few days for us to find another live-in carer, but her agent refused to let her go home with us, and arranged for another shift at the hospital as soon as they heard mum could be discharged. That was the reason for brother's panic. he even proposed that mum stay in hospital a few more days so we can take advantage of the carer in the hospital, which was ridiculous, as mum, if she could and had the energy to, would sooner jump out of her hospital bed and rush home. She has been so looking forward to going home!

But panic, and a bit of angry goading from me, is good. Brother got on the phone and started calling and making arrangements, trying to get ahold of human resources agencies who could dispatch a carer within short notice.

I sat with mum and tried to reassure her it would be alright, told her not to be afraid. Deep down, I was planning to change my departure if need be, to stay around to help out more so brother does not become overwhelmed and lost.

We wheeled mum out the hospital, the first time she breathed fresh air, the first time she left the hospital building since she checked in on 20 March. She was very frail, still very weak. I held her hand throughout the ride home. "Almost home," I told her, "it's been far too long..."

When she got off the taxi, there was a step, and she could barely make that step. Her legs had really very little strength, her body had very controllability. It was then that I saw she really needed help, and that it would be a long, tricky road ahead for her to recover and be well enough to walk around on her own. If ever.

We put mum in her own bed. I had rushed home straight from my trip south and before I headed to the hospital to tidy her room a little and make it presentable. Most important of all, I put the mattress top I bought her clandestinely over her bed and under fresh, clean sheets. I hoped she would not notice, but how could she not when there's an obvious difference in "elevation" between where there is a memory foam padding and where there is none?

"What did you buy?" mum asked as she lay on it, "How much was it? How much?"

I didn't answer her question, or at least I answered her with a question. "Is it comfortable? It's supposed to support your whole body so you feel less sores and pains." And that is all that matters, however many times she asked me the price, and even saying she would go back to that store to check the price on her customer records.

"It doesn't matter how much. You're home now and I hope comfortable..."

Noodles

All I asked him to do is go to the market, buy some Longevity Noodles and cook some for mum for her birthday. It takes a total of half an hour or so.

"I have a kid to take care of!"

I asked him why it's so much effort, why he's making an issue out of something so small. It's not even a favour for me. It's a surprise for mum's (lunar calendar) birthday. Isn't it rare and so special that we happen to be here, all of us? And what effort does it take to make a little trip to the market and to wait five minutes for the noodles to boil?

Apparently it's too much trouble.

"I'll do it myself..." I said. Even though I was still outside, in another town and paying respects to dad... I guess if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.

Rain...

I waited and waited for a time to take my bike out. Waited and waited for my brother and his family to come home, so I could leave mum at the hospital with relative ease.

Tomorrow, I had planned to do the furthest trip I've yet to make on the bike, to Jinshan, to dad's resting place and pay homage to him before I leave.

But it began to pour today, heavily. Beginning of the rain season, which will last for over a week...

Nothing is going according to plan. All my plans are soaked...