Nani
Saw the movie October
recently and it felt so very close to my heart. I was speechless and choked with
emotions, reminiscing a time that was life altering for me and my family. The
movie brought back moments from the time my Nani was fighting brain tumor.
I was 27 years old and had just returned from New York to spend time with her. It was almost after a year that I was meeting her. When I entered my home, my mom woke her up and helped her to sit on the bed so we could meet properly. She’d lost her voice and memory partially – implying the possibility that she may not remember me. I was raised by my Nani most of my life and we shared an unspoken yet deeply connected bond. I was sub-consciously terrified and in complete denial that she may have forgotten me. But once she opened her eyes and became fully aware, her eyes sparkled and lips twitched with excitement, as she whispered my name. I felt utmost relieved, hopeful and grateful. Some things would always remain outside cancer’s control.
I researched most of that night about brain tumor and possible treatments, but found extremely limited and disappointing options.
Next day, she felt encouraged to walk out of her room after a couple of days and sit outside in her lobby for some time. My nana was ecstatic, feeling hopeful that my arrival may help her push through this phase. Before, her lobby used to be her arena of control and reign. She managed the entire household, budget, everyday kitchen, driver/cleaner, etc. – all interactions took place in the lobby. To see her sit again in the lobby and observe everything carefully was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. To see her transform this way and lose her sense of power made me feel helpless – completely helpless that none of us with our advanced medicine could do anything to stop the tumor inside her. Nothing at all. That was the nature of it.
She was admitted to the hospital after a month as she had some trouble breathing. Our entire family poured to help her push through this – held her hand constantly through this toughest phase. For the next month, our sleep was replaced by prayers, the lobby was replaced by hospital room. Our routine revolved around hospital visit hours and the highlight of the day was doctor’s visit. Life had changed forever.
Our hope was that she’d come back home soon, as it was her sanctuary and temple. It was her peace. But after a month in the hospital on December 13, 2010, she passed away in the ICU with my Nana, mom, brother and myself by her bedside…leaving us all.
Today and always, I’m immensely proud that she went as a fighter. Not for a second did she give up. She fought fearlessly, embracing every step with courage -- accepting the way she and her body changed. In the end, she couldn’t fight something that was out of her complete control. No one had survived this type of brain tumor.
I don’t know how long it will remain this way but all of us have to change it with all our power, so no one has to lose a sense of their power and control.
Please donate to advance brain tumor research at https:://www.braintumorcommunity.org/site/TR?px=3705336&fr_id=3010&pg=personal
I was 27 years old and had just returned from New York to spend time with her. It was almost after a year that I was meeting her. When I entered my home, my mom woke her up and helped her to sit on the bed so we could meet properly. She’d lost her voice and memory partially – implying the possibility that she may not remember me. I was raised by my Nani most of my life and we shared an unspoken yet deeply connected bond. I was sub-consciously terrified and in complete denial that she may have forgotten me. But once she opened her eyes and became fully aware, her eyes sparkled and lips twitched with excitement, as she whispered my name. I felt utmost relieved, hopeful and grateful. Some things would always remain outside cancer’s control.
I researched most of that night about brain tumor and possible treatments, but found extremely limited and disappointing options.
Next day, she felt encouraged to walk out of her room after a couple of days and sit outside in her lobby for some time. My nana was ecstatic, feeling hopeful that my arrival may help her push through this phase. Before, her lobby used to be her arena of control and reign. She managed the entire household, budget, everyday kitchen, driver/cleaner, etc. – all interactions took place in the lobby. To see her sit again in the lobby and observe everything carefully was heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. To see her transform this way and lose her sense of power made me feel helpless – completely helpless that none of us with our advanced medicine could do anything to stop the tumor inside her. Nothing at all. That was the nature of it.
She was admitted to the hospital after a month as she had some trouble breathing. Our entire family poured to help her push through this – held her hand constantly through this toughest phase. For the next month, our sleep was replaced by prayers, the lobby was replaced by hospital room. Our routine revolved around hospital visit hours and the highlight of the day was doctor’s visit. Life had changed forever.
Our hope was that she’d come back home soon, as it was her sanctuary and temple. It was her peace. But after a month in the hospital on December 13, 2010, she passed away in the ICU with my Nana, mom, brother and myself by her bedside…leaving us all.
Today and always, I’m immensely proud that she went as a fighter. Not for a second did she give up. She fought fearlessly, embracing every step with courage -- accepting the way she and her body changed. In the end, she couldn’t fight something that was out of her complete control. No one had survived this type of brain tumor.
I don’t know how long it will remain this way but all of us have to change it with all our power, so no one has to lose a sense of their power and control.
Nani, we miss you every
day!
Please donate to advance brain tumor research at https:://www.braintumorcommunity.org/site/TR?px=3705336&fr_id=3010&pg=personal
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