LIKE A BOSS!

2014 was tough. At least the second half of it. It was the end of may, just a few days since I returned home after writing the CPA exams. I was sitting at my desk, working on something I don't really remember. My father called. He had a calm tone, but there was something he wanted me to know. He was not at home for sure. He started in his ever-controlled tone saying my mother has been feeling unwell for quiet a few days and he took her to a doctor. I started getting a little worried but my father's tone was as normal as it can be. I should have known that it is always like that. He continued. The doctor examined her, and told them that it is most probably cervical cancer. My hands started shivering. I thought I must have heard something wrong. There's always bad network reception at office. I got up at once and went to the break-out. I don't remember what I spoke during that time, but I was sure I didn't make it obvious of how much I panicked. I tried to keep myself as composed as possible and asked him what to do next. I asked if he needed me to come. He said he's fine and anyway it's not confirmed yet, so I do not have to worry a lot. He told me the next thing he's doing is to consult my uncle, my mother's younger brother who's a doctor, and then see what to do next. He said he'll keep me informed and disconnected the phone.

I couldn't think about anything. I realised that I had asked during the conversation if my brother knows. Abba said he tried reaching him but he couldn't. So I called my brother, or maybe texted him to call me back, I don't recall the details. But in a few minutes, I was talking to him. As I was telling him about my conversation, I could realise my voice was trembling. There was too much fear, tears welling up in my eyes. The moment I told my brother, I could hear the shock from his voice. He calmed down instantly and asked me not to worry too much, that we'll figure something out. Then followed a series of tests including biopsy. I kept telling myself it wasn't cancer. My parents even went to Chennai to attend a wedding while we waited for the reports. 

Abba has always been strong. He's been through the most difficult of times like there was nothing going on and he was the same even now. He knew all along it was cancer. He wasn't much of a tech-savvy person but he spent his days browsing the internet, learning about the cancer, finding about the best hospitals, the equipment they had, the doctors, etc, etc. By the time the reports had come, he was ready with his plan. He's not known for being proactive in matters that don't bother much, but this time he'd been thorough. He couldn't risk a thing. Against the suggestion given by a doctor referred by my uncle, to go see a surgeon, my father took her to American Oncology Institute. I took a week off and we took her to Apollo for second opinion. The doctor at Apollo, a well known radiologist, seemed too sure that it could be done away with a surgery. I didn't like his tone. Neither did my father. My father was of an old-school view that cancer shouldn't be dealt with using a blade. On our way back I asked my mother if she'd go for a surgery. She didn't say a word. I asked again. She cried. We got her answer, and we didn't think about the surgery again.

She has been the weakest in the family, both emotionally and physically. She was due to travel to perform Haj, the only thing she always wanted. And this. The doctors at the American Oncology Institute chalked out a plan and told us she can make it to Haj if she responds well to the treatment. 27 days of radiation, five chemotherapy sessions once a week, and three sessions of bracytherapy. It would take almost nine weeks.

The treatment started and she responded well. Nothing went wrong the first few days. Then started the side effects. She started getting weak. She could hardly eat. Lived on liquid food. She'd vomit if she ate anything. Even then she'd joke about things. One day while entering the hospital, a nurse who'd grown fond of her asked if she's doing alright. She just smiled, but tells later that she thought of responding by saying she wouldn't be here if she were alright.

She'd be on the treatment chair for chemotherapy, tell me slowly that the woman next to her will start talking now and never stop. And when the woman starts talking, and keeps on talking, she'd look at me and give that I told you so smile.

It was definitely tough. I can't begin to imagine what she was going through. She'd cry every now and then, saying she's making our lives difficult. That was her worry. That we're getting worried because of her. She just couldn't put herself ahead of us. After all she's a mother. A wife. And above all, a woman. One who'd sacrifice everything and still think she's a burden.

After radiation and chemotherapy were done, we were generally talking about how she has to get strong if she really wants to make it to the pilgrimage. It apparently is one of the toughest things, with high level of physical fitness required. She was much better now, meaning she could sit for some time. I was mentioning that she'd have to walk a lot there. We were still discussing when I noticed that she was walking in the house. From one room to the other. I quietly pointed it out to everyone and we laughed. She was in no way going to wait another year to perform the pilgrimage.

Bracytherapy was much easier than radiation and chemotherapy. The discharge report said there was no sign of tumor. She still had a few more tests and a scan 90 days from end of bracytherapy to confirm that the cancer is out of her body. She started getting much better though. She slowly started to get into her routine. Started cooking every now and then. The fact that my brother also came down really helped. The spirits were high. My brother left soon after. I had never seen him cry before. He didn't this time either, but just a hint of it.

It was a tough time for the family. My father seemed unflinching as always. I tried my best to put up a brave face. I used to have nightmares. I couldn't sleep. My sister served her without tiring, and my brother, so many miles away alone, helpless, must have had a tough time as well. Without a doubt it was the toughest on my mother.

I remember the discussions we had, assuming there's hardly a chance that she can make it to Haj in such less time, my father saying that we'll take our chances for we don't want her disappointed, my brother saying that it might well be until January when she might fully recover, I myself hardly believing that she could make it. And how she proved each one of us wrong, and how each one of  us loved being wrong in this case. 

She has been to Haj and back. She keeps saying how she thought she'd never come back. I could make it out from the look on her face when she saw us before she left. She was crying. Trying to say a final goodbye. My grandfather had gone in similar circumstances and died there. She always had that in mind. But I was sure. I knew she'd come back. She did, and how? LIKE A BOSS!