On the evening of April 3, 2024, I received the devastating news about my mother’s cancer diagnosis. My father was out of town attending my uncle’s Terahvi ceremony, so I had no other option other than to handle the situation alone. After a brief discussion with the doctor, I learned that my mother had advanced-stage lung cancer. I was the only one who knew, and it was excruciatingly difficult to keep such news to myself.
With my father away and my younger sister likely to be overwhelmed by the news, I felt utterly isolated. On my way home from the hospital, I met my friend and shared the heartbreaking news with him. He was deeply emotional and shocked, but surprisingly, I couldn’t shed a single tear. I felt numb and unsure of how to react, whom to talk to, or what to do next.
As my mother had undergone a biopsy that afternoon, with a tissue sample taken from her left lung, the primary site of her cancer. So, only the doctor’s words echoed in my mind after I left her office: “Keep your mother under close observation for the next 24 hours. If she experiences any chest discomfort or breathlessness, call me immediately.”
When I got home, I prepared dinner with my sister. My mother, who was resting, asked about the doctor’s findings. I told her or I would say- I lied to her that it was an initial-stage mass in her lung, and the biopsy results would provide confirmation. We had dinner in relative silence. My father had changed his plans and rescheduled his train ticket. Although he wasn’t supposed to return until April 5, he was now on his way home and would arrive the next morning.
That night, I decided to sleep beside my mother. I urged her to rest and not wake up at her usual early hour of 4 or 4:30 a.m., suggesting she sleep in until 5:30 a.m. at least. It was one of the most challenging nights of my life. I barely slept, and at 4:15 a.m., I heard the sound of the door opening. Startled, I jumped out of bed and saw my mother heading out for her usual walk. I knew she was in extreme pain as a biopsy is a very painful procedure. Despite that, she was insisting that she was fine, but I managed to convince her to return to bed and rest until the 24-hour observation period was over.
I understood that my mother waking up that early in such pain was her coping mechanism for the stress she was enduring. When we struggled to accept the news, how could we have expected my mother to believe it?
From that night on, I have prayed for just one thing before sleeping: for all of this to be a bad dream and for everything to return to how it was before. I long for my mother to be healthy and whole again. But I also realize that if things had remained the same, we might never have discovered her condition in time. Perhaps this is an opportunity given by God to heal her.