Going from Purple to Bald, Part Two

(Read Part One Here)

“Hi, how are you?” The flight attendant greeted me. I gave a reluctant smile without looking at her. But I answered her … in my head.

“Well, let’s see, Miss. I’m going home to see my mother whom I haven’t seen for months. She’s bald now, and she needs me. No, it wasn’t her choice – it just is. And when I asked her want she wanted for pasalubong, she didn’t ask for the usual which includes – but not limited to – bags or shoes. Instead, she wants a bandana … with shiny stones and beads! How cool is that? Oh yeah, she has Cancer. So, does that answer your question?”

I went straight to my seat, put my earphones on, and waited for the announcement to turn all electronic devices off. I took the Jessica Zafra book out from my bag, and although I have read the book one too many times already, I purposely packed it because I know it’s going to be a long flight, and I could use a laugh or two. The flight generally takes about an hour and a half, but due to the bittersweet nature of my trip, I know that it’s going to be a very long one.

When the number of boarding passengers began to thin out, I sent a text again. “Switching my phone off in a bit. Love you!” And right before I could turn it off, my phone beeped. “Can’t wait. We’ll be waiting. Love you, nak!”

How are you, the question from the flight attendant echoed in my mind. How am I? I didn’t know how I could possibly begin to find the answer. I’d like to say that I’m fine, but that’s the most overused lie, second only to I’m on my way. So, I let the question hang in air as the plane taxied on the runway. I’ll check back on it once the plane lands. By the way, it was such a beautiful day, it was ironic.

Five minutes into the flight, I again recalled the text I got from my sister – do not cry in front of Mama and maintain the usual banter. That’s a tall order, I thought. But how was I supposed to do that? The easier response when you see your Mom bald for the first time from her Cancer treatment was to bawl your eyes out, is it not? And I can’t do that. Instead, I am advised to maintain the usual banter. Well, when Mom and I would get together and talk, we get so animated that you’d think we’re just friends. And my sister requested that I hold on to that.

So, I devised a plan, and thought to myself, why not cry now if I couldn’t do it later? And when you’re in the same situation, crying requires little to no prodding. I went to the toilet, wailed for a good five minutes, came out, went back to my seat and wailed some more … the entire duration of the flight. And when Dipolog City came into view, I already had red, puffy eyes.

“Touchdown,” my text read. And got Mama’s usual reply, “Yipee! Thank God!” I immediately scanned the Arrival area for Mom. But she wasn’t in her usual spot. Instead, I saw my brother and my cousin waiting for me. They looked more somber than what I had hoped.

I handed my bag to my brother, and asked, “Where’s Ma--?” But before I could finish my sentence, my cousin interrupted, “Don’t forget, no crying.” I know. “Mom was waiting in the car with Uncle,” my brother said. I braced myself. “Kuya, remember…” Yes, I know. How could I ever forget? I’ve been psyching myself up for more than two hours now.

As we approached the vehicle, my heart suddenly sank the moment I saw her. She was in the front seat. I managed to hold back my emotions. I tried to wave; she didn’t. She was wearing her gray t-shirt, shades, and around her head wrapped a violet floral-printed bandana. And yes, she lost an awful lot of weight.

I waved again, this time more enthusiastic. But she just sat there, pretending she didn’t see us. I know her; I know when she’s trying to ignore someone. And this time, she’s ignoring me. I couldn’t begin to describe how heart-wrenching it was.

For some reason, instead of opening her door and giving her hugs and kisses, I immediately went straight to the back passenger seat, settled down, and blurted in a fake enthusiastic tone, “Dipolog was colder from what I can remember. How hot is it here?”

It wasn’t hot; the sky was gloomy. My brother squeezed my arm.

After what seemed like the longest two seconds of silence, I reached for Mama in the front seat, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and patted her thin, sagging arms. “Hi Ma, how are you?” Still not looking at me, she faintly said in a coarse voice, “Oh… Hi Doy… Okay…” That’s it? That's it!?

I wanted to shake the begeezus out of her; I wanted to tell her to stop acting like she’s weak and ill; I wanted to shake her up so bad so that she would become normal again … like Mama again. But no. This is the reality, and no amount of shaking could restore Mama to her old self again. At least not at that moment.

While I was chatting up a storm with everyone in the vehicle, Mama was still soundless in the front seat, and still refusing to turn her head to look at me. But although she was wearing shades, I knew she had been looking at me from the rearview mirror. I stroke her arm from time to time and all he could respond was a slight nod and feeble groan.

My Mom and I had this sort of thing in that we can somehow read each other’s minds, or anticipate what the other was about to do, especially when we’re far from each other. For instance, there had been numerous times when I would text her with a simple, “Hi Ma, how are you?” and she would reply with “You know, I was just thinking about you. In fact, I was just about to text you.” It was so severe that we could actually finish each other’s sentences. It would freak me out sometimes.

But at that moment, I just couldn’t make of it. Was she embarrassed? Was she starting to feel self-conscious, even with her own son? Or perhaps she just didn’t want me to see her like that. I was grappling for an answer. One thing’s for sure, though; right at that moment, I wanted to have my Mom back.

Read Part Three HERE

Image 1: Indulgy Bloom Magazine

Image 2: Good fon by Flor

Image 3: Author's Own

Image 4: Indulgy Succulents

Image 5: Pinterest

Posted in: Cancer, Endometrial Cancer, People