-- By Arulnambi K.
Sometimes, what seemed like a curse or a cruelty can turn out to be a blessing in disguise, with the passage of time and the perspective it offers on the worst of our pasts.
I suppose I could say that I knew even then that my time with Amma during her last weeks would be precious and enormously meaningful to our mother-son relationship. As it turned out, it helped elevate that relationship to greater heights, as only a crisis can really do, and offered me opportunities to express my love, regard, respect and concern for Amma in deeply meaningful ways.
Bond of Blood
By early December of 2014, my parents were both caught in a deep inertia about doing something, anything, to investigate Amma's near constant pain and suffering and seeking possible remedies or at least palliative measures. The first thing I did after reaching Chennai on December 23 was to seek out a doctor who would be willing to come home, examine Amma and recommend next steps. I also wanted to get some basic tests done right away. The doctor visit and the tests were both done within two days, and the results indicated two things: she was critically anemic - hemoglobin was 3.4 (normal range for women is 12-15 grams/deciliter), and her CEA level was clearly abnormal, possibly indicating a recurrence of the cancer.
Amma agreed, after much discussion, to get hospitalized the next day. My father would say several times over the next month that Amma would have never agreed to the tests and the hospitalization if I had not come down and convinced her.
The first thing the doctors wanted to do was to put Amma on blood transfusions. Several units of blood were required and the blood was readily available. Amma shared the same blood group with both her sons, and I wanted to donate her a unit. I spent a largely sleepless first night at the hospital with Amma. She was in much pain and discomfort for long periods. The next day, after Appa took over at the hospital, I walked to the blood bank which was about a 10 minute walk from the hospital and donated blood for the very first time in my life. The experience was comfortable enough, but I would admit that it was a bit disconcerting to see so much blood come out in such a short time. It was also immensely satisfying that I could help my mother in that very critical condition, even if my donation was more symbolic than satisfying a real need (although Amma's hemoglobin climbed back up more rapidly than expected and they said that blood from a close family member could have that effect). I could also see that it made my parents very happy. Over the next weeks, they would mention it with pride and satisfaction to many people.
Eye of the Storm
On January 2, 2015, a few days after returning home from the hospital, Amma suffered three separate seizures within a period of about 5 hours. The aftermath of those seizures left her conscious but detached from reality and at times mildly hallucinatory for almost a week. That she was mentally present, but not fully, seems to be the best way to describe it. Among all the blessings in disguise during Amma's last weeks in this world, this was perhaps the most immediately apparent.
Immediately after her first seizure, Appa and I rushed her from home to the nearest hospital - a mere shack of a place with a single doctor and a single nurse, and just a handful of beds. They did a good job of stabilizing her and performing some basic tests. She suffered two more seizures just after reaching the hospital, but they got it under control quite quickly. Thinking back to those harrowing few hours, a funny thought always pops into my head. Amma was extremely tidy, neat and orderly, and frowned upon any kind of mess. It was a good thing she did not realize where she was then, and could never recollect what happened that day. If she had, Appa would have been in trouble for bringing her to a hospital like that, and she would have walked out of there, all the pain be damned! It was that kind of hospital, with questionable bedding, dim lights, a sloppy lab assistant who could not get a blood sample even after repeated attempts, and what looked like a splattering of dried blood on the wall near the bed where Amma was lying.
The seizures left Amma in a mentally altered state for about a week. This was a golden week for her and for all of us. She was mostly happy, not feeling or oblivious to any of the pain and discomfort she had been experiencing previously. She would grin broadly at me, and say things that were perhaps unintentionally funny but would bring a smile to my face nevertheless. It was almost magical, like the calmness in the eye of a storm. The nurses who had joined us at home to give her what was essentially in-home hospice care would chat about all kinds of things with her, sharing their life stories, talk about food and recipes, and so on. My brother, my wife and son had joined us in Chennai over the past week, and we would all sit around her and join in those conversations.
But, every now and then, a random hallucination would occur, reminding us of the grim reality that was hiding just underneath it all. She would imagine blood flowing on the walls, or hear sounds nobody else heard, and seemed to lose her ability to read Tamil. But these were fleeting, and her overall mood was upbeat and happy. She got through that week without taking any pain medication at all.
A Birthday Together
For the first time in 16 years, on January 13, 2015, I got an opportunity to celebrate Amma's birthday with her. Thambi (Tamil for younger brother) had been able to do it a couple years earlier after a long time, but this was the first birthday in over two decades that we were there together with Amma. We made the most of it, given the circumstances. Thambi, who takes after Amma in his culinary interests, baked a special cake that took into account her dietary needs and restrictions. Amma's favorite among her nurses at that time was Brighty Paul. She had been fast tracked by Amma to a near daughter-level relationship within a period of a week. Brighty and her husband got her a birthday gift - a portrait of Lord Murugan, Amma's favorite deity. Amma was doubly impressed that Brighty and her husband, Mestin Thomas, Christians from the heartland of Indian Christianity in Kerala, had chosen to give her such a thoughtful gift. Amma cut the cake in bed, surrounded by her family, including Dorai Mama, who happened to visit that day. Later, Thambi and I visited the local Murugan temple to pray for Amma. It was a good day. Amma had been slipping more heavily into her symptoms after the brief reprieve offered by the aftermath of her seizures earlier in the month, and Appa had wanted to do something special on her birthday. We were able to achieve that for at least a few hours on that 68th birthday of Amma.
[ This series of essays is a meditation on the last days of my mother's life and the blessed time I was able to spend taking care of her. It seeks to shine a light on the last days of a great soul - on lessons learned, health, family, relationships, love and hardship. ]
[ Part 1 - Into the Maelstrom ]
Sometimes, what seemed like a curse or a cruelty can turn out to be a blessing in disguise, with the passage of time and the perspective it offers on the worst of our pasts.
I suppose I could say that I knew even then that my time with Amma during her last weeks would be precious and enormously meaningful to our mother-son relationship. As it turned out, it helped elevate that relationship to greater heights, as only a crisis can really do, and offered me opportunities to express my love, regard, respect and concern for Amma in deeply meaningful ways.
Bond of Blood
By early December of 2014, my parents were both caught in a deep inertia about doing something, anything, to investigate Amma's near constant pain and suffering and seeking possible remedies or at least palliative measures. The first thing I did after reaching Chennai on December 23 was to seek out a doctor who would be willing to come home, examine Amma and recommend next steps. I also wanted to get some basic tests done right away. The doctor visit and the tests were both done within two days, and the results indicated two things: she was critically anemic - hemoglobin was 3.4 (normal range for women is 12-15 grams/deciliter), and her CEA level was clearly abnormal, possibly indicating a recurrence of the cancer.
Amma agreed, after much discussion, to get hospitalized the next day. My father would say several times over the next month that Amma would have never agreed to the tests and the hospitalization if I had not come down and convinced her.
The first thing the doctors wanted to do was to put Amma on blood transfusions. Several units of blood were required and the blood was readily available. Amma shared the same blood group with both her sons, and I wanted to donate her a unit. I spent a largely sleepless first night at the hospital with Amma. She was in much pain and discomfort for long periods. The next day, after Appa took over at the hospital, I walked to the blood bank which was about a 10 minute walk from the hospital and donated blood for the very first time in my life. The experience was comfortable enough, but I would admit that it was a bit disconcerting to see so much blood come out in such a short time. It was also immensely satisfying that I could help my mother in that very critical condition, even if my donation was more symbolic than satisfying a real need (although Amma's hemoglobin climbed back up more rapidly than expected and they said that blood from a close family member could have that effect). I could also see that it made my parents very happy. Over the next weeks, they would mention it with pride and satisfaction to many people.
Eye of the Storm
On January 2, 2015, a few days after returning home from the hospital, Amma suffered three separate seizures within a period of about 5 hours. The aftermath of those seizures left her conscious but detached from reality and at times mildly hallucinatory for almost a week. That she was mentally present, but not fully, seems to be the best way to describe it. Among all the blessings in disguise during Amma's last weeks in this world, this was perhaps the most immediately apparent.
Immediately after her first seizure, Appa and I rushed her from home to the nearest hospital - a mere shack of a place with a single doctor and a single nurse, and just a handful of beds. They did a good job of stabilizing her and performing some basic tests. She suffered two more seizures just after reaching the hospital, but they got it under control quite quickly. Thinking back to those harrowing few hours, a funny thought always pops into my head. Amma was extremely tidy, neat and orderly, and frowned upon any kind of mess. It was a good thing she did not realize where she was then, and could never recollect what happened that day. If she had, Appa would have been in trouble for bringing her to a hospital like that, and she would have walked out of there, all the pain be damned! It was that kind of hospital, with questionable bedding, dim lights, a sloppy lab assistant who could not get a blood sample even after repeated attempts, and what looked like a splattering of dried blood on the wall near the bed where Amma was lying.
The seizures left Amma in a mentally altered state for about a week. This was a golden week for her and for all of us. She was mostly happy, not feeling or oblivious to any of the pain and discomfort she had been experiencing previously. She would grin broadly at me, and say things that were perhaps unintentionally funny but would bring a smile to my face nevertheless. It was almost magical, like the calmness in the eye of a storm. The nurses who had joined us at home to give her what was essentially in-home hospice care would chat about all kinds of things with her, sharing their life stories, talk about food and recipes, and so on. My brother, my wife and son had joined us in Chennai over the past week, and we would all sit around her and join in those conversations.
But, every now and then, a random hallucination would occur, reminding us of the grim reality that was hiding just underneath it all. She would imagine blood flowing on the walls, or hear sounds nobody else heard, and seemed to lose her ability to read Tamil. But these were fleeting, and her overall mood was upbeat and happy. She got through that week without taking any pain medication at all.
A Birthday Together
For the first time in 16 years, on January 13, 2015, I got an opportunity to celebrate Amma's birthday with her. Thambi (Tamil for younger brother) had been able to do it a couple years earlier after a long time, but this was the first birthday in over two decades that we were there together with Amma. We made the most of it, given the circumstances. Thambi, who takes after Amma in his culinary interests, baked a special cake that took into account her dietary needs and restrictions. Amma's favorite among her nurses at that time was Brighty Paul. She had been fast tracked by Amma to a near daughter-level relationship within a period of a week. Brighty and her husband got her a birthday gift - a portrait of Lord Murugan, Amma's favorite deity. Amma was doubly impressed that Brighty and her husband, Mestin Thomas, Christians from the heartland of Indian Christianity in Kerala, had chosen to give her such a thoughtful gift. Amma cut the cake in bed, surrounded by her family, including Dorai Mama, who happened to visit that day. Later, Thambi and I visited the local Murugan temple to pray for Amma. It was a good day. Amma had been slipping more heavily into her symptoms after the brief reprieve offered by the aftermath of her seizures earlier in the month, and Appa had wanted to do something special on her birthday. We were able to achieve that for at least a few hours on that 68th birthday of Amma.
[ This series of essays is a meditation on the last days of my mother's life and the blessed time I was able to spend taking care of her. It seeks to shine a light on the last days of a great soul - on lessons learned, health, family, relationships, love and hardship. ]
[ Part 1 - Into the Maelstrom ]
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