MOM
The loss of my mother was totally unexpected. She died of cancer. Yes, I knew that her death was certain. But being an optimist, I was somehow very sure that she would not die of that. Call it foolishness, or what you may. One of the reasons for that was she used to say that she had dreams of losing her teeth. Now, that was usually interpreted as longevity. I may sound absurd, I know. But knowing mommy, the way she was so optimistic about things, her fierce fighting spirit, I knew that she was somehow going to live.
Why wouldn’t she? She had fought the same breast cancer 20 years back. Didn’t she come back with such vigour that even the doctors treating her were stunned? No. I am not here to boast about my mom. Usually a person fighting cancer (whatever its stage was) had to overcome such intense pain not only as a result of the disease but also because of the treatment undertaken.
She was first diagnosed with breast cancer about 20 years ago, the cancer during in the initial stages. She had been employed then. Being well read, well informed and quite knowledgeable, she was thoroughly prepared (even mentally) to undergo the treatment for cancer. She had shown such courage that even the doctors who were treating here for the disease were inspired to do their best. She had her left breast removed (left mastectomy) followed by a cycle of chemotherapy. I was doing my high schooling then. Normally when a person undergoes chemotherapy, the side effects are appalling. You lose your hair at an alarming rate, lose your appetite, have skin dis-colourations, and you literally cripple – just to name a few. (If you ever have the chance to come across a person who has had chemotherapy, you could ask them what it is like).
Fortunately for her, the doctor treating her had prepared her medically, in advance, to overcome these horrifying side effects. She had a surgery at a private hospital (NSM Hospital, Coimbatore) and underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatment at another hospital (Kuppuswamy Naidu Memorial Hospital, Coimbatore). The doctors administering chemotherapy and radiation at the latter hospital were surprised to see her withstand such side effects. She had had no skin dis-colourations, nor had had any hair loss.
In October 2005, suffering from poor vision, she fractured her right arm when she failed to locate the sofa for support, trying to find her way to the bathroom at night. Those were trying times for me as well as our family. It was during the last visit to the hospital that she started dodging the doctor’s questions about her health and the visible indications noted on her body. When finally asked for her earlier case report of her treatment for cancer, she had coolly replied that, she, tired of seeing the case records, had put them to fire. Without the earlier case records the doctors were virtually at a dead end to decide her further treatment.
To cut the long story short, she was again diagnosed with cancer – this time not only in her right breast but spread all over her right shoulder and arms – well in its final stage. As I said earlier, it was almost 20 years later when mom said “history repeats itself” with a wry smile. Though after my marriage we were living separately, I could sense the despair in her voice. (If you feel that this is too becoming personal, you are encouraged to stop reading this. I have a lot to pour out).
Mother was not the same now, she was aged and together with her diabetes, she cut a sorry figure. She had lost her left eyesight to diabetic glaucoma. And her right vision too had been fast deteriorating. She used to turn to the direction of the sound and answer whenever spoken to.
The doctor at PSG Hospital treating mom had firmly suggested a cycle of chemotherapy before surgery and another cycle post surgery. Being an experienced doctor he had known very well to what extent it had spread. Those were her words describing chemotherapy: “it just cripples you”, she said before her death, curling her fingers. The doctor’s report on her health was so shocking, so numbing, I felt helpless. I felt helpless, that I had not done anything in return for all that she had done to me. It was heartbreaking to realise that what one did in return for what one received from his mother was poorly matched.
So much had to be done. And so little time left. I felt that I had wasted 40 years of my life. It was as though that I was yet to plan what was to be done, more or less wonder what I had done (for her)? With a very poor memory to aid, I was helplessly trying to find answers for questions that was beginning to flood me endlessly...
Mommy had made it a custom to give me a pant bit and shirt bit every year for Deepavali, the festival of lights. And I felt so bad to take it from her, often refusing saying that she really shouldn’t have bothered. And she usually countered it by offering me the best she had (not costly material though, still, getting it from my mom, it was priceless). I was moved to tears (which I made sure that she did not notice) last year when I refused the clothes she gave to me, and she said, “you take it, I may not be there to give you the next year”. Normally, I prefer black coloured pants as it would go along with any shirt. This last time I never refused nor complained about the colour, but just accepted what she gave. Had I symbolically accepted mother’s fate? I never thought about that.
The fact was that though she knew about the onset of the disease earlier, and faced with financial commitments that were sure to outlive her, she had silently let it take over. When asked why she did not inform earlier, she said, “Enough. Each time I go up one step on the ladder, I come down four. I have seen enough. And there is already enough dues for me to pay, let alone sign up for yet another (loan)”. And whenever she spoke like that I hurt me so much. During this period I learnt the hard way what it was to be helpless.
With her poor vision, she needed to be led (like my uncle - her brother) to the bath and the loo. To avoid this hardship and to avoid troubling others, she soon reduced her intake of food. Water inclusive. When mom was admitted to the hospital for the treatment, the doctor then informed us of still more complications, including her kidney. With her poor intake of water, she was inviting trouble with a red carpet. No amount of convincing could alter her mindset. She was determined.
Father was very much attached to mom. I often wonder how they managed to live so. Whereas, I was finding it so difficult to adjust with my spouse. He was completely upset to see mother like this. To tell the truth, I had expected my father to go first, not mother - because father has a lot of problems related to the heart and does not bother much with his diet or lifestyle.
My prayers were usually about her speedy recovery, if there were any, or a painless end to her suffering and that she should not know about the turmoil that I was undergoing in my family. I was much concerned about her leaving peacefully. I did not want her to lose her peace of mind over me, as she was a bit more attached to me, had a soft corner for me, as I was more like my uncle (his late brother); and always did support me to my father.
Another reason for my anxiety was because of my colleague, Vasu, who had lost his aged mother while he was running the seven year itch (or what you call Ezharai sani). He had once said that since he was under its spell, it was also a cause of his mother’s death. With me facing enough troubles to last a lifetime during this (my errand with ezharai sani now running) period, I learnt the hard way - a lot about people, time, the helplessness you feel when everything turns against you when you least expect it. And this was causing an uneasy feeling deep inside - holding me responsible for my mother's present condition. But being absent minded, I could somehow easily take things, by considering this forgetfulness as a gift.
Sorry. Once I begin to pour out, I wander aimlessly (I can hear the chorus: as usual).
Mother had her surgery on 1st April, 2006 after completion of three cycles of chemotherapy with 20 days gap in between each chemo. Being frank, I still did not believe that she could survive the surgery. I had hopes only after I could see the wounds healing quickly. Though, in between she had some kind of watery substance oozing through the bandages, and when contacted the hospital, they had no idea what it could be. Being bed-ridden all the while, and on minimum food together with very poor vision she could hardly walk, let alone steadily. The blessing in disguise was that she did not feel the pain owing to her diabetes. She underwent two more doses of chemotherapy post surgery. During her stay at the hospital, my brother and me took turns looking after her. I attended to her during the night and he during the day. As far as the food was concerned, the hospital had their own kitchen which provided food for the inpatients. Somehow, mother was not able to adjust with the (insipid - her comment) food being served there and she preferred curd-rice from Annapoorna hotel. With no provisions for taking in outside food into the premises, the curd rice was literally being smuggled to her. We did not force her on that issue as long as she had any food inside her. I opined that she could have any food of her choice, provided that she did not remain on an empty stomach.
It was after her second chemo that she showed signs of deteriorating health. With absolutely no appetite, she forcefully stopped her food intake and half-heartedly managed on liquid diet. On her last two days, she had only water, refusing everything else. All these years I had been with mom, I have never heard her saying a prayer or utter the name of any god aloud. The last two days she just kept repeating “bhagawane”. Her eyes were set. She refused her food. But answered questions as to whether she was hungry, needed water or food, with nods of her head. She breathed her last on 27th April, 2006, taking only a sip of water last.
It was a pathetic sight to see her there on the cot, lifeless, large empty patches of skin on her chest sutured up on both sides of her torso. I was not with her when the end came. I was at my home, feebly hoping that I hadn’t been the one who answered the phone that early morning. It was my brother calling me to come home. I did not have to ask anything. The light had gone.
The void created by her absence makes it difficult even to visualize how the next festival of light would be without her at home. I take much care not to think that I am somehow responsible. Take even more care not to talk about things related to mother lest father should have his blues..
Why wouldn’t she? She had fought the same breast cancer 20 years back. Didn’t she come back with such vigour that even the doctors treating her were stunned? No. I am not here to boast about my mom. Usually a person fighting cancer (whatever its stage was) had to overcome such intense pain not only as a result of the disease but also because of the treatment undertaken.
She was first diagnosed with breast cancer about 20 years ago, the cancer during in the initial stages. She had been employed then. Being well read, well informed and quite knowledgeable, she was thoroughly prepared (even mentally) to undergo the treatment for cancer. She had shown such courage that even the doctors who were treating here for the disease were inspired to do their best. She had her left breast removed (left mastectomy) followed by a cycle of chemotherapy. I was doing my high schooling then. Normally when a person undergoes chemotherapy, the side effects are appalling. You lose your hair at an alarming rate, lose your appetite, have skin dis-colourations, and you literally cripple – just to name a few. (If you ever have the chance to come across a person who has had chemotherapy, you could ask them what it is like).
Fortunately for her, the doctor treating her had prepared her medically, in advance, to overcome these horrifying side effects. She had a surgery at a private hospital (NSM Hospital, Coimbatore) and underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatment at another hospital (Kuppuswamy Naidu Memorial Hospital, Coimbatore). The doctors administering chemotherapy and radiation at the latter hospital were surprised to see her withstand such side effects. She had had no skin dis-colourations, nor had had any hair loss.
In October 2005, suffering from poor vision, she fractured her right arm when she failed to locate the sofa for support, trying to find her way to the bathroom at night. Those were trying times for me as well as our family. It was during the last visit to the hospital that she started dodging the doctor’s questions about her health and the visible indications noted on her body. When finally asked for her earlier case report of her treatment for cancer, she had coolly replied that, she, tired of seeing the case records, had put them to fire. Without the earlier case records the doctors were virtually at a dead end to decide her further treatment.
To cut the long story short, she was again diagnosed with cancer – this time not only in her right breast but spread all over her right shoulder and arms – well in its final stage. As I said earlier, it was almost 20 years later when mom said “history repeats itself” with a wry smile. Though after my marriage we were living separately, I could sense the despair in her voice. (If you feel that this is too becoming personal, you are encouraged to stop reading this. I have a lot to pour out).
Mother was not the same now, she was aged and together with her diabetes, she cut a sorry figure. She had lost her left eyesight to diabetic glaucoma. And her right vision too had been fast deteriorating. She used to turn to the direction of the sound and answer whenever spoken to.
The doctor at PSG Hospital treating mom had firmly suggested a cycle of chemotherapy before surgery and another cycle post surgery. Being an experienced doctor he had known very well to what extent it had spread. Those were her words describing chemotherapy: “it just cripples you”, she said before her death, curling her fingers. The doctor’s report on her health was so shocking, so numbing, I felt helpless. I felt helpless, that I had not done anything in return for all that she had done to me. It was heartbreaking to realise that what one did in return for what one received from his mother was poorly matched.
So much had to be done. And so little time left. I felt that I had wasted 40 years of my life. It was as though that I was yet to plan what was to be done, more or less wonder what I had done (for her)? With a very poor memory to aid, I was helplessly trying to find answers for questions that was beginning to flood me endlessly...
Mommy had made it a custom to give me a pant bit and shirt bit every year for Deepavali, the festival of lights. And I felt so bad to take it from her, often refusing saying that she really shouldn’t have bothered. And she usually countered it by offering me the best she had (not costly material though, still, getting it from my mom, it was priceless). I was moved to tears (which I made sure that she did not notice) last year when I refused the clothes she gave to me, and she said, “you take it, I may not be there to give you the next year”. Normally, I prefer black coloured pants as it would go along with any shirt. This last time I never refused nor complained about the colour, but just accepted what she gave. Had I symbolically accepted mother’s fate? I never thought about that.
The fact was that though she knew about the onset of the disease earlier, and faced with financial commitments that were sure to outlive her, she had silently let it take over. When asked why she did not inform earlier, she said, “Enough. Each time I go up one step on the ladder, I come down four. I have seen enough. And there is already enough dues for me to pay, let alone sign up for yet another (loan)”. And whenever she spoke like that I hurt me so much. During this period I learnt the hard way what it was to be helpless.
With her poor vision, she needed to be led (like my uncle - her brother) to the bath and the loo. To avoid this hardship and to avoid troubling others, she soon reduced her intake of food. Water inclusive. When mom was admitted to the hospital for the treatment, the doctor then informed us of still more complications, including her kidney. With her poor intake of water, she was inviting trouble with a red carpet. No amount of convincing could alter her mindset. She was determined.
Father was very much attached to mom. I often wonder how they managed to live so. Whereas, I was finding it so difficult to adjust with my spouse. He was completely upset to see mother like this. To tell the truth, I had expected my father to go first, not mother - because father has a lot of problems related to the heart and does not bother much with his diet or lifestyle.
My prayers were usually about her speedy recovery, if there were any, or a painless end to her suffering and that she should not know about the turmoil that I was undergoing in my family. I was much concerned about her leaving peacefully. I did not want her to lose her peace of mind over me, as she was a bit more attached to me, had a soft corner for me, as I was more like my uncle (his late brother); and always did support me to my father.
Another reason for my anxiety was because of my colleague, Vasu, who had lost his aged mother while he was running the seven year itch (or what you call Ezharai sani). He had once said that since he was under its spell, it was also a cause of his mother’s death. With me facing enough troubles to last a lifetime during this (my errand with ezharai sani now running) period, I learnt the hard way - a lot about people, time, the helplessness you feel when everything turns against you when you least expect it. And this was causing an uneasy feeling deep inside - holding me responsible for my mother's present condition. But being absent minded, I could somehow easily take things, by considering this forgetfulness as a gift.
Sorry. Once I begin to pour out, I wander aimlessly (I can hear the chorus: as usual).
Mother had her surgery on 1st April, 2006 after completion of three cycles of chemotherapy with 20 days gap in between each chemo. Being frank, I still did not believe that she could survive the surgery. I had hopes only after I could see the wounds healing quickly. Though, in between she had some kind of watery substance oozing through the bandages, and when contacted the hospital, they had no idea what it could be. Being bed-ridden all the while, and on minimum food together with very poor vision she could hardly walk, let alone steadily. The blessing in disguise was that she did not feel the pain owing to her diabetes. She underwent two more doses of chemotherapy post surgery. During her stay at the hospital, my brother and me took turns looking after her. I attended to her during the night and he during the day. As far as the food was concerned, the hospital had their own kitchen which provided food for the inpatients. Somehow, mother was not able to adjust with the (insipid - her comment) food being served there and she preferred curd-rice from Annapoorna hotel. With no provisions for taking in outside food into the premises, the curd rice was literally being smuggled to her. We did not force her on that issue as long as she had any food inside her. I opined that she could have any food of her choice, provided that she did not remain on an empty stomach.
It was after her second chemo that she showed signs of deteriorating health. With absolutely no appetite, she forcefully stopped her food intake and half-heartedly managed on liquid diet. On her last two days, she had only water, refusing everything else. All these years I had been with mom, I have never heard her saying a prayer or utter the name of any god aloud. The last two days she just kept repeating “bhagawane”. Her eyes were set. She refused her food. But answered questions as to whether she was hungry, needed water or food, with nods of her head. She breathed her last on 27th April, 2006, taking only a sip of water last.
It was a pathetic sight to see her there on the cot, lifeless, large empty patches of skin on her chest sutured up on both sides of her torso. I was not with her when the end came. I was at my home, feebly hoping that I hadn’t been the one who answered the phone that early morning. It was my brother calling me to come home. I did not have to ask anything. The light had gone.
The void created by her absence makes it difficult even to visualize how the next festival of light would be without her at home. I take much care not to think that I am somehow responsible. Take even more care not to talk about things related to mother lest father should have his blues..
posted by senthil @ 1:11 AM
0 comments
