You're in my Prayers, Auntie Jane
About a year ago, I talked about how Auntie Jane had been stricken with Stage IV cancer and that her days are numbered. I have a confession to make: since then, I've hardly met her. She's in increasing discomfort, so she hardly goes out. Which is fine, cos my parents will make the effort to visit her. But I never follow when my parents go visiting.
I've always had this impression that she's still doing well. Even though her treatments have had limited effect, my parents say her fighting spirit is commendable; that she's willing to live life to the fullest while she could. In my mind, Auntie Jane was how I remembered her: smart, joyful and definitely not someone you'd imagine suffering from cancer.
A week ago, while I was having dinner with my family and Auntie Lin, she mentioned how Auntie Jane is clearing showing signs of her sickness. I'd heard from my parents that she'd gone for several operations, but Auntie Lin gave a more graphic description. She mentioned how her abdomen has been operated on so many times that the doctors would no longer make incisions there. They thus cut further up, closer to the ribcage. Auntie Jane has been cut and patched up so many times that her abdomen can no longer stretch out as it would when a person stands up straight. She now walks with a perpetual hunch, aided by crutches.
My father was commenting how she was complaining to him, "Look at me. I'm hunched like this; like an old woman!" On the surface, it was simply a complaint about the crutches, but it was also a complaint about many things. Why cancer? Why her? Why now? Why not later, when she has seen more to life? Can it be cured? Will things ever be the same?
It's interesting how we conveniently forget things that are not immediately in front of us. Is it true that the age of instant gratification has really shortened our attention spans such that "out of sight, out of mind" truly holds? Was I being ignorant? Perhaps I was being optimistic: if I don't remember her as being sick, she might be fine the next time I see her. Maybe I'm just apathetic.
Maybe I was simply practicing what the education system has brought us up to be: extremely pragmatic worker drones, continually improving our work efficiency, without realising the uncaring cores that we're harbouring.
Unlike the optimistic ending I had one year ago, I'll end off sober this time. She's out-lived the doctors' expectations and judging from what I've heard from my parents, she's enjoyed when she could, what she could. Auntie Jane, you're in my prayers. -Jimmy
I've always had this impression that she's still doing well. Even though her treatments have had limited effect, my parents say her fighting spirit is commendable; that she's willing to live life to the fullest while she could. In my mind, Auntie Jane was how I remembered her: smart, joyful and definitely not someone you'd imagine suffering from cancer.
A week ago, while I was having dinner with my family and Auntie Lin, she mentioned how Auntie Jane is clearing showing signs of her sickness. I'd heard from my parents that she'd gone for several operations, but Auntie Lin gave a more graphic description. She mentioned how her abdomen has been operated on so many times that the doctors would no longer make incisions there. They thus cut further up, closer to the ribcage. Auntie Jane has been cut and patched up so many times that her abdomen can no longer stretch out as it would when a person stands up straight. She now walks with a perpetual hunch, aided by crutches.
My father was commenting how she was complaining to him, "Look at me. I'm hunched like this; like an old woman!" On the surface, it was simply a complaint about the crutches, but it was also a complaint about many things. Why cancer? Why her? Why now? Why not later, when she has seen more to life? Can it be cured? Will things ever be the same?
It's interesting how we conveniently forget things that are not immediately in front of us. Is it true that the age of instant gratification has really shortened our attention spans such that "out of sight, out of mind" truly holds? Was I being ignorant? Perhaps I was being optimistic: if I don't remember her as being sick, she might be fine the next time I see her. Maybe I'm just apathetic.
Maybe I was simply practicing what the education system has brought us up to be: extremely pragmatic worker drones, continually improving our work efficiency, without realising the uncaring cores that we're harbouring.
Unlike the optimistic ending I had one year ago, I'll end off sober this time. She's out-lived the doctors' expectations and judging from what I've heard from my parents, she's enjoyed when she could, what she could. Auntie Jane, you're in my prayers. -Jimmy
posted by Jimmy at 11:28 PM
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