Letting Her Leave Peacefully

On January 3, 2002, afternoon, while trying to get up from her bed, my mother screamed with pain, her right thigh bone had suddenly snapped. Dr Raghubir Das, an orthopaedist and a family friend, examined and put her on traction. The pain subsided immediately. When we enquired, he did not give a straight reply: “You see, bones are very strong and do not break just like that.” He didn’t want to utter the “C” word. He advised us for Fine Needle Aspersion Cytology (FNAC) test, which initially didn’t make much sense to us. Panic set in when we realised that this test was to check whether the cause was cancer.

When the FNAC test report came the next day, it drowned us in despair; malignancy was at stage-V. Dr Senapati, an oncologist, explained to my father, my brother and me what it actually meant: “Stage-0, means there’s no cancer, only abnormal cells with potential to become cancerous; Stage-I means cancer is present but confined to a small area, Stage-II and III means cancer has grown into nearby tissues or lymph nodes and Stage-IV means the cancer has spread to other parts of the body. Stage-V is metastasis, cancer cells have broken away from the original (primary) tumour, travelled through the blood or lymph system, and have formed new tumours in other organs or tissues of the body. In this case the cells have started breaking the bones.” He was very honest in explaining things. “I don’t want to give you an optimistic picture. The condition is very bad, malignancy has spread all over. It is very unlikely that she will respond to treatment. You should be prepared for the worst. The end can come in a year or even in a few days, but most likely in a couple of months, irrespective of whether you go for advanced treatment or not. I would recommend palliative care.” It hit us like a bolt from the blue; we were in a state of shock, it just did not sink in. She was just about 65. There was no previous sign of any ailment except her complaints of knee pain, once in a while.

My mother was a very gregarious person and loved to entertain guests. She was a wonderful host and enjoyed the company of relatives and friends. After retirement of my father, she felt a bit mellowed as the inflow of guests reduced considerably. Now that she was unwell there was a beeline of relatives and friends to our place. Her pain had subsided and she was really enjoying their company to the hilt, blissfully unaware of her own health condition. She would explain to the guests, “It is just a fracture and I will be recovering in a month or so.” She ordered for snacks to be prepared for guests and would shout out instructions to make them prefect. She was back to her good old self of 15 years ago; gossiping her way to glory.
We three, my father, my brother and I, were in a real dilemma. On the one hand, we knew hers was a case that had no hope. On the other hand, she was on cloud nine enjoying the attention she was getting. Shifting her to Mumbai or anywhere else would, not only, shatter her completely, but also entail insufferable miseries. She also had a fractured femur bone, which was never going to heal. As such the only hope for her survival was a miracle. We also didn’t want medical research at her cost. It was a very difficult decision; we also realised consulting relatives and friends was likely to create more problems than solve. The next day, I bounced the idea of ‘letting her leave peacefully’ with Upendra Singh, a dear friend. He was aghast and had no clue about what to say. His wife Archana wondered how am I remaining so calm under such circumstances. My father talked to a couple of his close friends and finally, we realised that it was only we three who had to take the final call. And after deep contemplation we decided to prolong her cheerfulness, for as long as possible.

It was indeed very tough to act normal with her, when we knew the reality, particularly, for my father. My mother was clueless why my father was not being a part of the fun and was generally keeping aloof. She jokingly announced, “Your father is jealous of my popularity. Tell him there is no point in sulking after 44 years of marriage. He should accept the reality.” She was actually very popular among relatives and friends. To keep her spirits high, we encouraged more and more people to visit our place. Our house resembled a club in the evenings. The honeymoon of sorts, continued for more than a month and a half. Towards the end of February, 2002, the inevitable pain set in. The medication then focused on pain management; from painkiller tablets to injections and finally to administration of morphine injections. She remained in astate of unconsciousness most of the time and, finally, passed away peacefully on March 8 morning, after suffering for about a fortnight.

My father was always against explicit expression of love. Citing a popular Odia proverb, he would say, “Wherever an elephant maybe, its ownership always vests with the king.” His adulations, particularly gifts, for the sons and his wife were so camouflaged that many a times it went unnoticed but he never grudged. Many a times I felt sorry for him that he was misunderstood unnecessarily for not being caring. But my mother had serious reservations on this, she strongly believed affection should be expressed openly and overtly. My father gifted 45 days of bliss to my mother at the end, but she never realised; or maybe she did!