residue

Last Friday, my mother had her final chemotherapy. Mother, as well as dad and I, wanted to celebrate. It meant the end of those vicious chemos leaving mommy like a crumpled paper. It meant not seeing those dainty nurses uniforms every 3 weeks or so. It meant the end of the constant stress of finding a means to pay for them.

And so we did celebrate. We went to our pizza pasta restaurant and ordered our favorite pastas and the must-have buffalo wings. Mother even ordered bottomless soda for herself. It was really a celebration, free from all stress...at least for the meantime.

Yesterday, the side effects of the chemo were kicking in. Up to now, mother feels very weak and depressed, aggravated by vertigo. It was a sight disheartening to behold---one I never want to see ever again.

Still, I find solace that it would be the last of it. It is just a residue of a difficult chapter now closed.

the dilemma of a weak heart

Last night was eventful in my life.

It led me to the understanding of what I already knew -- it is hard to cure a weak heart. Of course, the constantly improving fields of medicine and technology as well as industrial bearings promise cure for a weak body, or if improbable, at least alleviation of pain. But what can cure a weak heart? The constant support of people doesn't quite help as much as valium does in sleeping problems (although valium sometimes "helps" in handling pain). The companionship does not quite help treat loneliness as much as arcoxia relieves pain, albeit temporarily. Faith isn't easily infused in one's being as easily as blood is infused in one's body.

The trial in one's sickness is as much the suffering of the body as it is the suffering of the heart. But in both body and heart, although hard, there is nothing much left to do but to have continuous "medication" and "treatment" ("the fight") and of course, prayers for the body and the heart. Lots and lots of prayers.

mind power

Yesterday, I was left to watch over Mommy, so that Daddy could get her laboratory results from the hospital. When he got home, my father had a worried look. It turned out that my mother, who had been staying in the room all day for several days now, had a very low WBC count. Two days before, she was injected with something to boost her WBC; the doctor said that a sudden drop of her WBC is expected, hence the injections.

But her WBC still dropped big time. We immediately brought her to the hospital so she could again have the WBC-boost injection. Dad and I both tried to act cool about it, but I know, we're panicking inside.

All this time, I never really let mom's cancer to get to me, always acting cool about it. It was probably because I am constantly rejecting the idea of the sickness, believing that this is just a phase and believing, not hoping, that eventually mom will get better soon. But instances like this one shakes my resolve. It scares me and makes me think of how things can get worse. The memory of seeing my father lying unconscious on the floor one Christmas day comes flashing back. And it's destrying my shield from all these scary thoughts. If I could just find a way to forget all those unpleasant memories way back by and limit it to the good ones, I would. I hope it's as simple as using refrigerator filters or commercial dream catchers or just suppressing it. But it's not.

It's really so sad when you see a loved one really sick. It's more depressing when the trauma from the past is coming back. I am again practicing my poker face. I am just trying to think that, after all we went through when it was my father who was really sick, he survived it...we survived it. I hope there is really power in the mind and strength in one's will.