Next 6 Months

I was talking to my friend last night and I told him what happened to my recent visit at the palliative care center. Palliative care is actually our next step because like what I’ve said, mom will no longer take chemo. According to our doctor, palliative care would mean that we will no longer prolong mom’s life but we will not shorten it. Palliative care will prioritize quality life while she is alive.

Mom’s new doctor is very lighthearted and jolly. I love his energy. He would also talk about death the way I talk about death and how my mother talks about it. He also reminded me that we will all experience it one way or another. He gave us higher doses of pain relievers in case mom’s pain will reach 10/10. I then asked one of the most difficult questions a son will ask: How long are we still going to be with my mom. He said since the cancer is aggressive, it will only take 4-6 months, but the initial signs will start once she refuses to eat. So far, mom’s appetite is still good. She recently asked me to buy her Black Tea with Grapefruit and Strawberry syrup in Starbucks. 

My friend felt sad with the prognosis and asked me if I’m going to be fine. I told him that I am going to be fine. I added that while waiting for my turn at the palliative care clinic, I already drafted a resolution on what to do in the next 6 months. He started laughing because he said that even in times like this, I am a planner.  For this stopover episode, I would like to read my plans in the next 6 months. 

The next 6 months is probably going to be the most crucial months of my life. My mother is dying and I am not sure if she will be here after 6 months. God willing, she will still be here for Christmas because I was not able to spend Christmas with them last year because of the pandemic. But the “next 6 months” project is for me, to save myself from further pain and suffering the next few months will bring. This is also a personal time to reflect and to work on a very tight and disciplined routine during this season. Preparing for my mother’s imminent death is never easy, that is why I need this plan in order for me to atleast minimize the physical, emotional and mental damages of this season. 

  1. 5x a week workout. I will start the Built By Science program  by Jeremy Ethier, a fitness coach, on Saturday, March 20, 2021. March 16 to March 19 will be a “workout bootcamp” I will work my heart out studying the concepts and theories behind this new program. This is a proper nutrition and proper exercise program. Note that exercise is very vital during this difficult season. (context: I am currently using the beginner’s workout program by jeff nippard. this new program is for the intermediate lifters)
  2. Meditation– A 30minute meditation (regardless of the style) should be added on this daily routine. I can be creative with this. Allot a regular time for this, but not strict. The next 5 days will be spent in cleaning the meditation area and trying out progression in meditation (10mins, 15mins, 20mins, and so on and so forth). Use Headspace app as a tool. You can also chant a mantra. Again, be creative. 
  3. Creative documentation– allot a special time in journalling and podcasting and creating things throughout this season. One stopover episode and one regular episode could be published weekly. 
  4. Reading. Allot a special time for reading. read anything, not necessarily spiritual books. 
  5. Take it all in. Embrace the pain and all the emotions that may arise during this season. Learn to accept future dramas inside the family, historically, this is inevitable. Learn to manage your energy. Slowly detach yourself more to the dying loved one. Learn from all this. Learn to always let go everyday. There are no “must do” or “must haves” during this season. This is your battle. No one can take this away from you. FIGHT IT GRACEFULLY. 

Not a Perfect World

Last Tuesday, my dad and I went to the Oncologist. This time without mama. We had to show the doctor mom’s lab results and  tell him my mom’s decision not to undergo chemo. My dad and I expected bad news, but before going there, I prayed (which I don’t usually do anymore) and asked for a little good news.Just a tiny one.

I honestly did not pray for healing anymore, but I asked for strength to take it all in and to take it gracefully. That’s also mom’s wish. Mom knows what is happening, too. She’s strong enough to go with us, but she decided not to. And the environment of the Oncologist department won’t help. The doctor told us that chemo is risky at this point. And then he told us to give what mama wants and tick the boxes off her bucket list. My dad cried. The doctor was also speechless. Mom is one of his success stories. He would tell us that mom is jolly and bubbly and to see her like that is also hearbreaking for him. I know doctors should be strong and firm, but I cant blame this one. He then recommended us for palliative care. It’s like a scene from a movie. 

On the other hand, I felt relieved. Now, we can finally get the chance to face the reality and to trust the process. You see, hope is sometimes crippling. Hope allows us to to hold on to people even though we should let them go. Hope allows us to make stories in our mind which will soon frustrates us. 

In the evening, I went out with my friends, you know to breath and to move. I believe that idleness wont do me any good. I have to move. I have to walk. I have to laugh with them. I wanted to eat Thai food so they took me to a Thai restaurant. We then had coffee at Mcdonalds. While this is happening, my cousin told me that my mom’s siblings are in the house, having a meeting. I told him that I am not comfortable to attend it and I asked to be excused because I just need to breath. He said that I should not worry and people understand why I am outside. My Dad told them that I am strong like my mother. I’m surprised that they see me as a strong person. That means a lot. 

Anyway, I am not comfortable with the stigma of death and dying. I just want to think of it as something normal like travelling or eating or giving birth. 

The following day, I finally had the chance to talk to my mom. We were on her room and we were just talking what to do next. And then I started crying because this is so surreal, talking about her final days, plans, and shit. She told me not to cry because she hates drama and she wanted everyone to just accept this. I told her that I am strong like her, that I am going to be fine and that I am smart enough to know what is going to happen to her, but I told her that it sucks to lose a mom. How can you actually live in this motherfucking crazy world without a mother? She would tell us that all of us will have to face death at some point, and she knows that this time, it’s her turn.  

The next day, I have been receiving calls and messages from cousins around the world. I only answered one call. It was from my cousin from Singapore, who lost both her brother and father in 2019. I wanted to talk to her because she knows the feeling of losing a parent. She told me that I have to accept things as they are and how lucky I am that I can prepare for this. She told me that mom did not quit the battle but this is her way of winning the battle. We were both crying. It’s weird to do this in front of the camera. 

Yesterday, I went home and all the furniture were piled up at one corner. My uncle told me that they are making a room for mom downstairs because she doesnt have the energy to go upstairs anymore. She would feel dizzy going up and down. Again, it felt weird. It got worst when they brought in this hospital bed frame and this green mattress. This is going to be her deathbed. I had to go in my room to cry, because this is quickly sinking in. Mom then told me that I can sleep in their room now while they’ll be sleeping downstairs. My mom, being a very OC mom wont even allow me to use their bed because for the longest time, I am a dirtball in her eyes. It sucks to hear her say that I can sleep in their bed. 

My aunts and I had this heart to heart talk last night. I told them that when mom was diagnosed in 2018, I started to detach myself. Not that I stopped loving her, but I slowly trained myself and prepared myself for this day and the days to come. The preparation was hard. In those 2 years when mom has no evidence of the disease, I still wake up in the middle of the night, with sweaty palms, with nightmares and with panic attacks. i still space out even if I’m with friends. 

Recently, my mantra is “we dont live in a perfect world”. It’s been on repeat since our visit to the Oncologist last Tuesday. We dont live in a perfect world where parents and the people you love are immortal. We dont live in a perfect world where we can walk in the streets without face shields and masks.  We dont live in a perfect world where we get to live all our dreams. This is a broken world and its brokenness is really the reason why it is good to be alive.