What I believe in
and what I face up to
Yes,
I admit that I am not my usual upbeat self,
but I don't want others to think of me as weak and feel sorry for me. I wished
I hadn’t revealed the truth which heavily and cruelly beat me up. I used to let my
confidence win without mercy, which I prided myself on especially meeting challenges. But it is not this time.
I
told myself it was only a stroke of bad luck, not a big deal. I was so confused
that I didn’t get the points of the description of my symptoms, delivered by
the doctor after the double check. He looked very uncomfortable, knitting his
eyebrows on and on and taking deep breaths. It seemed what he said should make
one’s life turned upside down. Instead, I held his gaze and he caught it and
looked away in a split second. I could only comprehend a fraction of what he
said. He eventually tried to tell me I might end up on death – maybe an untimely
death.
What did he expect me to react to? Should I fill my eyes with tears and wipe them with the back of my hand before they streamed down my cheeks or he would be nicely give me some tissues? I was running into a roadblock, a web of fate and bad luck complicatedly woven. Surely, I couldn’t easily or possibly escape it, so what I could do was to take it.
What did he expect me to react to? Should I fill my eyes with tears and wipe them with the back of my hand before they streamed down my cheeks or he would be nicely give me some tissues? I was running into a roadblock, a web of fate and bad luck complicatedly woven. Surely, I couldn’t easily or possibly escape it, so what I could do was to take it.
I stood still in a daze after he walked me out from the clinic room. There was no sound to escape through the knot in my throat and I just stared at the caller’s ID, my son’s. I didn’t want to let him hear my sniveling on the phone. I wasn’t one of those who enjoy the endless chatting with others or gossip about the trivial or nagging complaints about what was fair about anything. Then I suddenly wished I could have someone around I could have yelled to. What I did was to swallow a sob.
In the hospital
After a couple operations in one month followed by chemotherapy, I told myself to get out of the hospital bed. I shouldn’t allow myself lying withering in the bed. I pulled the rail to sit up with the strength left in me, and I could feel cold sweat beaded up on my forehead. I felt my legs like lead too heavy to move.
It took a while for me to realize that the gaits were slow and labored for me. So, I tried to lie in the bed when I knew it was the time my only son and his wife would visit me. I hoped they could save their sympathy, which was the last thing I expected. I didn’t give them a chance either to accompany me to the rehabilitation center. I did arrange the time when they were at work and walked on the crutches on my own. I hated to sit myself in a wheelchair.
I
had a crew cut before chemotherapy and the hairs seemed all gone gradually. The
puffy bags under my eyes were getting darker and heavier with each passing day,
and I was losing my eyesight. My chin sagged and my arms were jiggled when I
waved my son away. Those familiar knobby knees and varicose veins showed in
front of me when I moved my shaking hands to lace the shoes with my efforts.
Being
strong wasn’t one of my natures. I had taken more than a decade to steel myself
before I realized I could raise my son on my own. I learned to let every trace
of the past gone without bothering me anymore. I wasn’t afraid of being alone
and I thought I was ready for the unexpected, but I didn’t prepare for this.
It is better off if I leave my son alone and stay unattached. He and his wife deserve a life of their own. What I’m doing should take much pressure off them. Their lives should go on with or without me around. A long-gone loneliness sank into my heart. The thought about this made me feel a twinge.
Now,
my attitude towards life becomes unavoidably fatalistic, giving me some peace of mind, and my unreasonable anger calms down. There is still the emptiness now I feel, but I prefer it
stays the way as it is. I have no intention to let anyone into mine, which is
definitely filled with the horror of the unknown of death.
I’m trying to
live from day to day without feeling and worrying about anything. But, there
are always days I get no sleep. It seems that the debt of this is not paid in
full.
Or is there anything I’m allowed to do except
that? Doesn’t it nature to see myself aging, shrinking, fragility, illness and
breaking down to the end of it? Is it so-called bravery in the face of
struggles for life or greed for gaining some time breathing the last breaths?
I
told myself that everything should fine. What could be worse than this? I’ve
had a life of my own and I should just be patient and wait another six months
or worse -- possibly make another year.
What if it goes
more than a year? I wondered what would become of me.
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