This swinging pendulum of hopefulness-hopelessness, of stability-volatility, of life-death was driving me crazy. And yes, for the first time, I had come to grasp the reality of death. It could be possible that mom could not make it.
My mom was dying!
Here we go again, breathing in the ,now rathar familiar, odor of hospital disinfectant.
This was happening one too many times.
I couldn't take it much longer. I am quite tired, I had been strong for far too long.
I gazed at mom's lovely face. With my finger, I pushed aside the strand of hair that fell over her forehead.
No. I will not give up. Also for the fear that if I give up, mom would too. I can rest when the battle is over.
I will give all my strength, my time and my money if these could potentially make my mom better.
The thought of losing mom was terrifying. The senior doctor came and painted a realistic picture. Mom's heart was failing. The swelling in the brain appeared not to have shrunk in size. I saw the scan, the shadow still occupied almost a quarter of the brain. And the stroke. The stroke rendered her invalid.
"What are the chances, Dr...?" I asked.
"Quality of life will certainly be affected..."
"No, I mean... the prospect of life itself. Not its quality."