A Prayer for Healing Cancer
Heavenly Father, I come before you with a solemn heart and in
need of your intercession. I pray that the cancer that has come into
my father's life soon fades into a quick remission.
I believe in your capacity for miracles, and ask for this on
his behalf. As we grow older, I know we become closer to the day you
accept us back into your kingdom. I ask that you delay that holy
union if it be your will. In your name I pray,
Amen.
*********************************
July 3, 2013 was a
day to remember. Just the night before, dad made a crucial phone call
to my brother, Daniel as he needed to see a doctor as soon as
possible. Dad had never in his life agreed to see a doctor; other
than having his routing check-up for hypertension at a local
physician's; he did not believe that going to the doctor is of any
good if one had good eating habit and exercise. He believed in
self-medication, so a flu does not warrant a visit to a doctor.
However, that day was different. He had bad stomach discomfort that
night; he had constipation a few days, so Dan sent him to the
hospital. The doctor ordered an endoscopy, which could only be done
the following day. Nevertheless, he was given a solution to be drunk
so that his bowels could be emptied prior to the scope.
Dad exercises regularly,
doing his regular brisk walks each morning, and he watches his diet
though he loves drinking sweet stuff. He said it was fine as he was
on medication, and he controls his food intake. He gives advise to
anyone who falls ill like he's a medical officer himself. No one
could blame him for that as he is a very well-read person, and his
knowledge in medical stuff is quite impressive. To keep his mind
sane, he tends to his garden, plays Sudoku on his favourite rattan
chair. He is not afraid to speak his mind at meetings though he knows
that sometimes it's futile. Nevertheless, he managed to get some
things done, much to the appreciation of the community. Dad has a
good reputation, and when it comes to religious rites, even the
elders would approach him for advice. He exudes that authority as he had
been through a lot in the past seven decades of his life. Whether or
not we, his children, are able to keep up to his reputation is left
to be seen.
On that morning, at the
hospital, the blood test was administered first. At about 12:30PM
that day, Dan sent me a text message to inform me that a blood
test was done and that dad would be going through the CT scan soon.
The diagnosis would be known after lunch at about 2:30PM. I waited at
work, but my mobile phone was eerily silent. All the way to
work, on the bus, I had flashback of what dad had done for me, and
what could happen if something went terribly wrong. I was teary that
afternoon. It was the longest an hour-and-a-half bus ride ever. I
couldn't wait any longer, so I picked up the phone and called my younger brother.
Dan said in a rather normal tone,
“
You cannot wait for me to text you, huh?”
“
So, how's it?”
I replied his rhetorical question.
Daniel's voice became
even softer, “
Very bad. Cancer... fourth stage already.”
I was dumbfounded; I just
couldn't believe it was cancer, and worse still, there is still no
cure for it. Daniel gave me the details, and I was even sadder to
find out that the cancer was metastatic – it had spread to the
lungs and the bones. The doctor didn't encourage chemotherapy as it
would aggravate his pain and suffering, so he was discreetly telling
us that my dad has to live with it without any treatment besides
popping in pain killers. I was horrified. All of us were. We didn't
know how much time we had left to be with him before he departs this
cruel cancerous world. It didn't take me long to decide to go home
that weekend rather than to wait, as anything could happen. Never
mind if I had to arrive home close to midnight. Never mind if I had
to take a pay cut. Family comes first.
Dad was calm, as if in
anticipation of the prognosis. Maybe he didn't know but he had
accepted his fate as a result of his religious beliefs. He was
positive about it and even joked with the doctor that it was a bonus
to live up till seventy-four while many of his friends and relatives
had passed on. He was mentally strong and prepared for any
eventualities.
An endoscopy was done the
next day to find out if there was any growth in the stomach. Thank
goodness, other than a benign “growth” which the doctor assured
was not harmful, his stomach was clear. We were elated to hear that
piece of good news; it was a consolation at least. The thought of our
dad having cancer bugged us the next 48 hours; it was like a
nightmare. We have to wake up from this nightmare, and move on.
No one knew how it all
happened. Being one of the silent killer diseases, cancer doesn't
come knocking at your door. My dad doesn't smoke or drink alcohol.
The doctor suspected that it originated from the lung, so my guess is
that it happened way back. Dad loved going outdoors and is an active
person. He was a sportsman during his school days. He was a scout.
Could it be the accumulated smog in his weak lungs as a result of
long exposures to outdoor activities over the decades have caused
cancer? The recent haze even made it worse. Last year in 2012, he
travelled to China with mom, and it was an excruciatingly painful
experience for him, as he had to be wheeled out of the plane when he
arrived at the airport. His health went sliding down after that, and
took quite a long time to recover. Was that the initial sign of
cancer which no one saw? I have no answer, no one has.
Saturday 7 June. I
took the night bus home straight from work. It was a four-hour ride,
and I almost got left behind at the immigration checkpoint. My
sister, Kath, had warned me days earlier that dad looked different. I
wondered how much different he could be. I saw dad for the first time
after the prognosis, sitting on his chair with the television
watching him. Kath and mom greeted me outside. My
cousin picked me up from a bus stop as she knew it would be hard to
get a taxi at around midnight. I guess they were all waiting up for
me to arrive. No red carpet needed. Dad had been sleeping early the
past two days but today, dad was wide awake.
Indeed, dad looked –
different. It was like his hair had greyed so much, and what had
happened to his eyebrow? I saw paleness all over his face. He was
more gaunt than before, but not ghostly. The first thing I asked dad
was, “
Are you ok?” - I got the silent treatment. Obviously
it was a stupid question to ask no matter how noble my intention was
then. When Kath and my niece were in bed, dad, mom and I talked.
Dad's voice wasn't as
commanding as before; it was coarse, feeble but he could talk. At
least he could still eat albeit a loss of appetite. I discovered that
he had been on a painkiller and also on medication to help him sleep.
That can't be good at all. He couldn't sit long as he would feel
discomfort after a while. When he woke up each time, his back would
hurt and mom had to apply ointment. Dad and mom urged me to be more
responsible and caring especially to my siblings. How was I uncaring
toward them, I couldn't figure out. My nature is such that I would
avoid any kind of confrontation the minute I smell it a mile away, if
I could. Accuse me for being uncaring, I shall not rebel anymore;
time will tell eventually. When there was a pause as we were watching
television, dad told me.
“
I want you to tell
you something. Now, listen carefully. When I die, I want to be
cremated, and the ashes thrown into the sea. I've called Thomas, and
he will handle everything. So you don't have to worry about coming
back to clean the grave on Cheng Beng (All Souls Day), or go to the temple to pray;
if you want to remember me, do so in your heart. I've already told
Kath and Daniel about this and they're agreeable to it.”
My sister cried buckets
when she heard dad's wish, I was told. I suppose she wanted
something tangible to remember him. Mom then asked if I were
agreeable to that dad's wish. That was a dying man's wish for
goodness sakes, so how could I disagree? Besides, I was, in a way,
glad that dad could foresee our inability to fulfil the
responsibility of being diligently praying and cleaning at the
tombstone each year like what he had been doing for my late
grandparents. He said that times were different now; my late
grandfather, apparently wanted the same, but in those days, cremation
was hardly ever considered. So, dad was prepared for anything, for he
had summoned the cousin who knows the Chinese traditions and funeral
rites to make all funeral arrangements when he eventually departs.
My aunt and uncle came
from Kuala Lumpur the following day. They brought with them the snake
grass plant – not the commercial ones sold in some orchards or
shops. This plant, my aunt claimed, could help reduce the cancer
markers, and testified that one of her friends had the number of
cells reduced from 14,000 to only 500. In fact, another of my aunt
also gave the same remedy although it had been packed into a powder
form. I honestly do not know if this plant could help lung
metastases, or advanced stage cancer, but since there is no modern
wonder drug to help besides going through the painful chemotherapy,
dad had nothing to lose. We shall all wait in anticipation to see if
traditional medication works.
I surfed the Net to find
out if there was any latest treatment for cancer, though I didn't
expect to see any cure in the next hundred years. Sadly, there isn't
any besides chemotherapy, and exposure to radiation which destroys
the good cells. I thought that being in Singapore might be helpful as
the country excels in providing medical care. An ex-nurse then told
me of a breakthrough drug called
Oxynorm. My excitement was
temporary; my heart sank as this drug is what I term as the terminal
drug – it's just one level below morphine. It is merely a sedative
for very severe pain. I didn't want my dad to be too sedated; he
would then be a “live” vegetable. I would rather have him move
about – although slow – so that he didn't feel helpless, and mom
thought the same, too. I've also checked out websites on the
life span of cancer patients. It was rather disheartening to find out
that on average, Stage 4 patients die in 8 months, though there were
cases of such people living a few years more. It depends on a variety
of factors, mainly age and overall health condition.
Mom reminded me to pray
each time I called home; I have done that, and will continue to do
so. In fact, I took a step further by seeking prayers for cancer
healing online. The prayer on the top of this page bears testimony to
my effort. I've also mentioned my dad's condition to a Christian
website called YMI Blogging; they responded, and I believe they
prayed too. I've also posted a request for prayer on another website
for the online community to pray for my ailing dad, if they wish to
do so. I had literally got the cyberworld involved in this special
prayer. God listens, and miracles do happen. After all, has He not
healed the sick? I had to be realistic as well, for not all prayers
are answered in the way we wanted it to. Dad would still die before
my next trip home, if God chooses to and if it were for our good. So
I wouldn't expect anything except continue praying especially for my
own strength to move on.
On the following day,
July 8, the three siblings sat down to discuss the next course of
action. I had expected some squabbles as I was the only eldest, and
by the Chinese tradition, the male has to be more responsible, yet I
chose to leave home to earn a living in Singapore, about a 4-hour
ride by bus. I had no choice as I needed to service two large loans
monthly. I had expected my fiery younger sister to insist that I
return to Malaysia to work and take care of mother when dad
eventually passes on. After all, Kath did tell Dan about it, and the
latter sent me an SMS to inform me of their wish. Thankfully, there
wasn't any argument about my status. The discussion focused on whom
to pay the utility bills and how to help ease the old folks' burden.
So we decided that we would share the bills – medical and utility.
Dan would also get a wheelchair for dad (and I guess that's for mom
too some day). I'll be pumping in more money monthly for household
expenses via overseas transaction. Thank God for the Internet. Mom
was appreciative of our effort, especially our mutual decision to
keep the house no matter what, and treat it as a home where gathering
takes place once a year on Chinese New Year. At least we have a place
to stay, not in a posh hotel.
I went back to Malacca (home) again on 21
July. This time, I did not take leave. I decided to try making a
quick visit then travel back to Singapore in time for work on
Tuesday. Dad's condition was not much better. He appeared to be
worse; he was more breathless and spend more time in the room due to
extreme discomfort on the back. The traditional Chinese medication
(TCM) which he took caused him to go to the toilet more often.
Apparently that was expected, as it meant his body had lots of toxic.
So it was a detoxifying process. That explained his weakness. He
would continue on TCM – he had nothing to lose. I felt really sad
when I saw his condition; he was as grumpy as before, and gets
agitated easily (I would if I were in pain), and poor mom had to keep
attending to his every need. I was there too to render any assistance
I could. Things like pouring water for him to drink, checking if he's
alright once a while, answering phone calls, and I even shaved his
stubbles for him when mom suggested that dad should shave. I did so
carefully, though I wasn't too sure how to get it done from where dad
sat. He was seated on the low plastic chair, so I had to manipulate
my hand, squat and whatever to get it done carefully – yup, mom
certainly didn't expect ME to do that as she's always thought that
I'm the uncaring one. Not bad at all, he's quite cleanly shaved.
On 23 July, I returned to Singapore.
I spent a few more days
there until I got a message on 26 July, Friday evening from my cousin May (she works in SG), telling me that I had to call home urgently . My sister had
tried in vain to get in touch with me, but she eventually did. I
found out that dad has been hospitalised at a private medical centre,
as he had bad stomach pain, and he could hardly move. Later, I was
told that his blood pressure had also dropped so low that he was in a
shock; dad almost died at home if not for the timely presence of my cousin
Alex, a doctor, who was actually supposed to be out of town already
but somehow stayed back in Malacca a little longer. With his help, dad was
admitted to hospital alive but barely awake. The ambulance took a
good 50 minutes to arrive!! Talking about inefficiency. The telephone
operator had asked dozens of questions when one of our relatives
called for the ambulance. Hopeless! I had to take leave again, but
thankfully, the Human Resources Manager assisted me in getting
replacements. I took a two-day leave (pay will be deducted as usual).
Saturday, July 27.
It was the day when my dad was warded in the Mahkota Medical Centre
hospital. He was scanned a few times; he had also lost lots of blood
(no thanks to the TCM's so-called detoxifying process). He had
loss blood through his stool. Dr Francis also found that his duodenum
had a small perforation. In addition, he informed me that that TCM
contains steroids, is acidic and could possibly cause damage to the
stomach. It was unbelievable, and horrifying. When I saw dad in the
hospital, he was extremely weak and in excruciating pain. I spent
that night with dad in the two-bedded hospital ward. I hadn't had any
rest since 7:00AM as I went to the hospital directly from Singapore.
I decided that I should spend another night, so I was with him on
both Saturday and Sunday.
I hardly slept on both
nights as I kept vigil over dad, to see if he needed anything. In the
two days with dad, I saw how much he had suffered in pain. At a few
instances, he had indicated that he wanted to die. On my first night
with him, he said: “You people are useless; cannot do anything
for me.” - an initial sign that he was ready to leave this
world. The second night was even more nightmarish for me. His
breathing was much heavier, but the machine showed that his vital
signs were normal. I know because I observed and I inquired each time
the nurse came to check on him.
At one point, dad told me
to help him turn (knowing it's painful), and when he did turn, his
hand tried to reach for the machine to pull the out the tubes. I
immediately summoned the nurses who came running in. They tried to
talk to my dad; he said in a loud voice, exasperated: “My time is not up yet”
- the nurses told him to calm down and not say anything rash. Dad
stared at me and gestured that he wanted a lethal injection to end
his pain – and life. I conveyed his intention to the nurses. After some words of
comfort by the nurses, dad quietened, and the nurses left the room.
Dad was in such a pain on
the second night that I felt so helpless, and scared – so scared
that I tried to hide behind the curtain that separated the two beds
(the other bed was vacant). I couldn't sleep at all, I wanted to make
sure dad was still alive. He survived another day.
Monday came. Dad's
condition wasn't getting any better despite being pumped in with
Oxynorm, a strong painkiller. He spent far less time talking and used gestures instead. He could still feel the pain,
and it had made him very drowsy. Surprisingly, he was aware of his
surroundings. He gathered his strength and told me to get in touch
with a few people; he also gestured that he wanted someone to pray
for him daily. We did what he had wanted. That night, it was Dan's
turn to keep a night watch on dad. Mom, Kath and I were at the
hospital first that evening. Both Mom and Kath were at his flanks.
Sensing their presence, dad pulled Mom's hand to his chest, then he
took Kath's hands as well and pulled them closer. It was a final
non-verbal message from him to advise both Mom and Kath to be good to
each other, as he knew that both of them are always at loggerheads.
It was a touching moment. We comforted him, we told him it was
alright if he left us, and he could go in peace. Dan came in later,
missing the drama. The four of us gathered – little did we know
that it was our last meeting with dad. I touched dad's hand and
talked to him; I cried like crazy as I told him how great he was, and
asked for forgiveness as I couldn't help him during my two-day night
watch; I cried so hard that my sister had to tell me to stop. They,
surprisingly, didn't cry that much. Before we left for home, I said a
little prayer to him. I choked as I prayed: “Heavenly Father,
please take good care of him. I know that he will be in good hands.
In Jesus name, Amen!” - I felt like a kid after being caned by
his mother. With those words, the three of us left the hospital at
approximately 10:00PM.
Tuesday, 30 July.
It was a quiet night. We were fast asleep when my phone rang in the wee hours of the morning; it was just
2:30AM. My brother called, and said in a solemn voice: “Papa has
slipped away.” I was speechless for a moment. I was the first
to know, and I woke Mom up. She was shocked that he went so quickly
when the doctor said he could last a few days. Dad was pronounced
dead at 2:11AM. My brother wasn't even aware until he opened his eyes
in the room and saw the nurses with the heart recovery machine. Dad
had stopped breathing. I was supposed to leave for Singapore that
same morning, so I had to cancel my plan, and extended my leave to two
weeks.
We were glad we said what
we had to say; we asked for forgiveness. I kissed his forehead hours
before he passed on, and I wonder now if I did say that I loved him,
or was it just an imagination. I couldn't recall as everything went
by so quickly.
MAY YOU REST IN PEACE,
DAD
