A thousand and one nights
2017. It breaks my hearts seeing you like this.
2014. I remember like it was yesterday. I was away from you in a village in Tasikmalaya (West Java) doing an obligatory field work from campus. There was an earthquake at my place, both literally and figuratively. I was pretty sure that the literal earthquake was somewhere about 5 Richter scale. Strong enough to make angkot drivers abandon their car and passengers. The figurative earthquake, I must add, took place not long after the earthquake as I got a call from father. He told me that you are hospitalized. There was a tumor growing inside your body he said, but it was nothing to worry about, he added.
I finally got to see you several days after his call as my project has come to an end. You already got out of the hospital. But you were awaiting for an operation in few days to come in order to remove your tumor.
At the D-day of your operation. Outside of the operating theater the doctor told me that you were diagnosed with stadium III breast cancer. That today operation was to lift out your left breast for good. Apparently you and father had prepared for this for weeks. I silenced and wept.
But it went well though. You were well treated and well prepared mentally. Not a single thing went south and it was good enough for me.
Then for the rest of your stay I remember writing my undergrad thesis by your side at the hospital.
2015. The treatment and medicines you took were effectively kicked in getting you back healthy again. You and father were even able to go to Abu Dhabi visiting my sister and her family for a month. No less. Nothing could ever possibly go wrong from that moment, ain’t that right?
But you got careless, didn’t you?
It was later in this year the cancer gnawing back inside you. You didn’t go to the doctor for a routine check up. You didn’t watch your diet.
2016. You agreed to a chemotherapy. Thank God you did.
It seems that you and I are the same. We both have a little compassion with a syringe. I honestly don’t know how much it hurts, the chemotherapy is. But I am sure it was an unpleasant experience for you. You complained about getting injected again and again and about how much it hurts. You seemed traumatic afterwards, after you last (re: sixth) session.
You and I fully understand that the cancer still lives inside you even after the treatment. In fact they are spreading. But you refuses to again take the same chemo treatment. You went searching for alternatives. Not that I disagree but I think you will be better off to continue you current treatment. Then again, I saw fear in your eyes. I sensed that you would not want to ever set your foot again in that hospital room being injected with the same treatment and medicines. I could speak to you but couldn’t change your mind. So, with all the prayers, I saw you let go your current treatment.
2017. I write this blog post while sitting beside you, watching you sleep after we had a small talk. You are getting weaker, skinnier everyday. The cancer is now gnawing inside your liver.
The alternative treatments you sought are not working. You are getting worse. I thank the God you agreed to another chemotherapy sessions.
It breaks my heart seeing you like this. I understand that it is far from fun. But I believe it’s best for your wellness. Now one thing I am able to do is to encourage you not to let go living and lose to this disease of yours.
So, don’t let go living and don’t let this disease defeat you. I told you all about my plan, and you have promised me to be part of it.
I love you, mother.
Bandung, 27th of August, 2017
