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Tears In Heaven The
day when my mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer
I could not and did not
want to believe it. I kept insisting that the doctor was mistaken and that this
could not happen to her. I was only nineteen years old and it had never crossed
my mind that I would lose either one of my parents so soon. My mother had
already reached menopause and the stain on her skirt could not have been
menstruation. She was actually bleeding. Her gynecologist advised her to seek treatment
immediately because the sooner she did, the better the chance of a cure. My
mother did not like hospitals and was afraid at the thought of therapy. She had
heard many frightening stories of the side effect of therapy and so when my
sisters wanted to bring her to the treatment centre, she flatly refused to go.
She said life and death was predestined and that we should not worry about her
too much. My sisters persuaded her day and night for a week to seek treatment
but they finally had to give up. They could not very well drag her to the
hospital kicking and screaming. I did not try to persuade her then because I
still could not accept the fact that she was really ill. Sometimes looking back,
I feel a deep sense of remorse. I asked myself frequently, "Could I have done
something?"
She preferred instead to rely on Chinese medicine. She conscientiously
took herbs and animal parts that the Chinese sinseh recommended to her. The
sinseh would claim that he had cancer patients before and that he had managed to
cure them. She believed him or it was that she wanted to believe him very much
because it offered her hope.
She took the medicine for half a year but the bleeding never stopped. One
night she hemorrhaged and an ambulance had to be called in to bring
her to the hospital. She had lost a lot of blood and I was shocked when I saw my
mother’s face. She was as pale as a ghost. "Oh my god", I thought and I
prayed, "Please don’t let my mom die. I’ll give up ten years of my life
for her. Just don’t let her die." Thank god that night she survived but the
doctor had only bad news for us. He said that her condition was very bad and
that we should not expect too much about how much longer she had to live. He
added that without treatment she had no chance of surviving past a month. That
night we went home wearing our hearts on our sleeves. Our mother had always been
a kind and sweet woman. She had always cared for others more than she cared for
herself and we did not understand why she had to be stricken with such an
illness.
After
she was discharged from the hospital, I knew I had been given a chance to spend
more time with my mother and I should treasure every moment I still had with her. I
never realised how much I took her for granted before this. I felt really
indebted to her for all the things she had done for me. My
mother went for laser therapy three times a week and she looked fine for about
eight months but she grew weaker and weaker after that. When she could not walk
anymore we had to wheel her around the house and help her to the toilet and to
bathe. At times she could hardly get up from her bed. Watching her suffer was
very heart-wrenching for me. I had wished that I could somehow carry some of the
pain for her. After
one year, the laser therapy was of no more use because the cancer cells had
ravaged almost every part of her body. She was admitted into the intensive care
unit again but for the last time. She was given morphine and other drugs to
alleviate her pain and that was all they could do for her. I would go straight
to the hospital after school everyday and keep her company. I would tell her
about school and how I wished she would get well soon. She and I knew very well
that there was no chance of that but I was hoping against hope that some miracle
would happen because God would never let bad things happen to good people.
Towards
the last few days of her life, she was drifting in and out of sleep. Her
breathing was laboured and she hardly had the strength to talk when she was
awake. There was only pain in her eyes. The look of suffering on her face was
unbearable but there was nothing we could do. It seemed death would be her only
release. After two weeks in the hospital, the doctor told us that there was
nothing more he could do for her and that she could be discharged. When my
mother knew she could go home after spending two weeks in the hospital, she was
so happy her face practically lit up. She probably knew her end was near and she
did not want to spend whatever time she had left in a hospital. That night, on
the 21st of April 1995, she passed away peacefully at home after one
and a half years of suffering, with the whole family by her side. We were
devastated by her death but relieved at the same time because she had finally
found release from the physical pain that was torturing her. It has been three years now since our mother had passed away and all of us have learnt to cope with her death, each of us in our own way. Sometimes, we will reminisce about the happy times we had with her and sometimes a few tears will fall remembering our beloved mother. We may have lost her but she will live on in our hearts forever.
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