by Ranjana Banerjee

Created on: January 16, 2010   Last Updated: November 23, 2010

  Silent Cry

She is my philosopher, she is my guiding angel—she is my hope in darkness, she is my Ma – a unique person who loved unconditionally not caring for loving back.  She never shook in our trembling time and made us all stand firm but now she is fighting for her life, battling hard the disease that makes you see the tick of time. She always made me feel great, always proud of myself to accept life as it sapped for me not to inch back from the hurdles but to master to cross without tumbling; now for the first time in my life I could see how cripple I am who could pray and wait for a miracle when the option swings with time only cash can buy.

She had lost her right kidney in 2001 and we were so sure that we won the doom ‘cause these past years she stayed quite fine with all her follow-ups showing no alert sign. A retired teacher, an avid reader, an excellent cook, a great grandmother of seven brilliant gems, she turned seventy one last September 23rd but not amidst of flower or cake or loved ones but in a cold room with lots of tubes and pipes coiled around and the masked faces monitored in wise white apron, hanging their frowning eyes over her to save her left kidney that made her soul almost to disjoint its mundane core.

I was here in a far away land waiting the night to creep away to let in the light to make her the birthday call but the dark god smiled and the telephone shrilled to tell me the time to join my palms to make her stay. I sensed and realized how helpless I am just like my KG days. She made her come back but we could not cheer as the doctors spilled out those blurry terms renal cell carcinoma—metastatic—4th stage - they made their lips round to shoot each word distinct and crystal clear. My siblings back home huddled to stay calm and tight, to comfort each other to accept the bouts while I coiled in fear the sky came down. Then one doctor bounced an option and they jumped to grab that to stretch her life , Sutent - a pill, a new hope for the third world lives, we could get it from our neighboring land, then the cost is too high we felt so small but she is our Ma our unique Ma who loved us all no more- no less yet making each special feeling someone great. So no backing off , let us climb the steep hill of uncertainty not knowing if it would guide us to the right point or to force us to jump to the helpless pit. She is on her third cycle and the doctor says three more and every follow ups they add up some new must does.

The stress, sometimes push us off line- we scream at each other to set everything right. The bubble of doubt which was hidden deep down- pops up, dance floating showing thumbs down.  We loathe each other for our helplessness for we four can’t handle the bill of our only Ma.  I haven’t seen her for more than a year though we share the same sky but couped in different time zone. I hear her voice trying to cheer me up as if I’m the sick one who needed luck.

I dream for a day when all around the world would get equal access to medical terms and the family of a mother or children like us won't have to feel guilty not given or having a chance. I wish what my family is now going through would be a part of a night mare and I would wake up  all right and my Ma would be sound in health with her dimpled smile toss out all worries and beam with life.

NB: My Ma, Nibedita Banerjee passed away on 30th of August 2010 leaving lots of question marks about her treatment procedures at  Appollo  Hospital Bangladesh.

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