A little more time and some coconut water

Chandramallika Guha

Author and Editor of the article

Life stories and personal experience of cancer patients and care givers

Series 1- S1 (A little more time and some coconut water)

Synopsis:
This is a story of a son who had lost his mother to cancer and again he faces a similar situation in his life. He shares his candid experience and emotional state of mind in dealing with such difficult situation and why he feels that cancer may have taken away his mother, but cannot take away her fond memories and love from him.

The Call:
I still remember that Friday evening very clearly. Every detail of it. What I ate in the night, what seat I was working at, what I was working on and how I researched the situation. The call I received that evening changed everything. My cousin had called and it was pretty short. “Mausi’s report is not Ok. The doctor says she has Cancer”. It took me 10 minutes to digest it. Mom has cancer. I kept working, clanking on the keyboard almost aimlessly. He had said that he would send the report. It was PDF he sent over email and I didn’t know how to read it. But Google helped. I was in denial. Mom was smart, well read, well informed, she would know. Maybe there was another explanation.

The Denial:
I called up my sister and brother and they had received the news already. I went back home and did more research on what we were facing. The internet gave her 6 months. We were still in denial. I didn’t have my passport that weekend since it was away at the Japanese consulate. I booked my tickets back home for the next weekend. I still had to go on a junk party this weekend! How could I? But would staying home be a wise choice? I still had a week before I would be home. That first week was difficult. A constant denial. I informed my team at work that I would be away for a while. That was relatively easy. The real struggle started after I reached home. I didn’t know how to break it to her and dad. I went to the doctor who had given the initial diagnosis and he was pretty sure. The very same evening I booked an appointment with the best oncologist in town for the next day. It was tough keeping a straight face in front of mom and dad.

She Knew All Along:
Mom’s homeopathy doctor confirmed the bad news. Even the thought of going to him came as an afterthought. Initially he was being secretive, she wanted it to be kept a secret. But the fact that I was going to an oncologist next day made him come out in the open. She knew of her situation for 4 years! And was diagnosed of the breast lump a mere 2 months after her first mammography, which was clean. She didn’t want dad to go through the entire pain again. Oh, I must’ve mentioned it before. She’s my step-mom and I lost my real mom to cancer too. Cancer of the cervix. She went through all of it alone. Medicines we thought were allergy meds, her periodic visits to this homeopathy doctor and we were all oblivious to the truth. The narrative had changed. How do I now tell her that I knew.

The Talk:
The first conversation with her was tough. She broke down twice. Asked me to take care of the family and made me promise to her that I wouldn’t tell dad, and he doesn’t know to date. I couldn’t understand or place fault with her. I wasn’t sure if it was guilt, if it was anger or sheer frustration. Guilt of not being around to help, anger upon her that she didn’t go to a proper doctor and made a call that this was un-treatable, frustration at the entire non-curable nature of the disease. My move to HK happened the same year she was diagnosed. She wanted to talk to me, but didn’t coz she knew I wouldn’t go if I knew. Eventually I believe, after this conversation she went down pretty quick. It started with no moving around the house, then no moving out of the room to being permanently bed-ridden. We had help from Ganga Prem institute for the terminally ill. They helped us with how to take care of her better, how to manage the pain.

The last moments – The last words:
Dad was befuddled, he had no idea, or at least he put up a good act. I still believe he knows. He was not going through it for the first time. My sister was the bravest of the lot. She was by her side all the time and still put up a pretense of normality. I was back home every month for 2 weeks each time. It wasn’t going to get better. Every time she has more than 1 bowl of dal, a full cup of tea, was a reason of happiness to dad. He even analyzed her stool pattern and a good amount of stool coming out was good. I really didn’t know what to say to him. My sister and I would have long conversations in the night when everyone was asleep. We only had the 2 of us for each other. I read constantly about how would I know that the end is near? It was pretty confusing. She passed out a few times 2 weeks before she passed away. When that happened we thought, “not this quick God!”, which in hindsight was a better way to go. As the situation worsened, we kept a full time nurse. Changing clothes was becoming problematic, it was difficult turning her over. The last 4-5 days were the toughest. She refused all food and was in a trance. She looked at us, but there was no recognition. Saying random things, confusing us for someone else. She couldn’t eat, so we put her on glucose drip with painkillers injected into the drip. The nurse helped in keeping the meds and glucose regular.

The whole family was at home when it happened. She was in lot of pain. But couldn’t say anything. We couldn’t recognize her face by now. Her breaths were becoming shallower by the minute. I was on the phone talking to my wife that the end was near. And just like that, she was gone. “I love coconut water. I had a lot of it in Diu”, these were the last legible conscious words she spoke to me.

Letting Go of Pain- Holding on to the “Fond Memories”:
I wondered how I would recover from the grief of losing a mother again although I don’t remember my biological mother’s death as I was taken away to my uncle’s house at the age of three, there was this emptiness that her loss had created till my stepmother came to our rescue. I slowly accepted that in life and death there are certain questions that just cannot be answered. Cancer taught me that sometimes there’s no moving on, no closure, there’s only acceptance of pain and grief. Take time with forgiveness and take time to deal with all the questions that are left unanswered in the wake of death and loss. Realise that letting go of anger, grief, hurt and pain is not the same as letting go of someone’s memories.

As narrated to Mrs. Chandramallika Guha (Author and Editor of the article)