As kids we barely realize the importance of any event, be it happy or sad.
Life changed drastically as we were growing up, in my family. We went through many ups and downs as any other family would. Amongst many downs, one was my mom's tumor.
I was in 4th grade when we took a trip to Vaishno Devi (pilgrimage center for Hindus). Nobody could have imagines what happened next.
During the trip, my mother fell so sick she couldn't even stand straight, let alone trek, without howling miserably.
I don't remember much of the trip except that there was news of 2 planes colliding mid-air during take-off and landing, respectively. I know, nothing relevant to my mother's condition.
Funny what we choose to remember and forget..
Back home my mum was diagnosed with tumor in the backbone; how big or small I know not.
Our parents did not divulge the severity of her condition which is why I resort to eavesdropping on my father consulting with his brother on what the doctor had said- This would be the third operation of its kind in his professional career with a 95% chance of her survival and further 2% of her being paralyzed from waist down for the rest of her life, giving her a 3% window of hope. My father decided it was good enough for him to take a shot.
I don't get a knot in my throat telling this story to anyone as it seems mythological to me, a fairytale grandmothers tell their grandchildren while putting them to sleep. As a kid I sure would have been tormented by this piece of information but I don't recollect any of it.
On the day of her 14-hour long operation, I had my English unit test and I cried through most of it. I remember that my dad spend all his nights in the hospital and that my uncle was distant to us.
By God's will, her operation was successful and she started walking in about a month's time. Her doctor called it a miracle as it was supposed to take over 4 months to even get her to stand on her own.
My mother tells us how my dad made her walk even as she was on the verge of passing out, by reminding her of her kids; she drew her strength from her husband and endurance from the desire to come back to her kids.
Maybe some day I'll ask her to pen down her own story since I am incapable of even imagining how she must have felt.
I always told this tale with pride, about the trail of 876 stitches on her back, her courage that brought her back to us and my father's love and will to fight against all odds and ends.
But what I always left out was the fear, the dread that I had almost lost my parents. What if she had not made it back? What emotional and mental turmoil my father went through while signing that consent form? Her own pain, both physical and emotional, her parents' that could have easily lost their daughter?
This acknowledgement hit me recently while watching a medical drama on TV based on a similar case.
When the husband discovers his wife may have stage 2 tumor...that terror slapped so hard on my face. I suddenly realized that my mom, her life, her rebirth, was nothing short of a miracle of God.
And yet my mom never acted a victim, she never tried to gain sympathy. She doesn't consider herself a brave warrior, just a loving mother that wanted to see her kids grow, a wife that couldn't abandon her husband so, a daughter that had parents to come home to.
I now have a newfound respect for my mother. Her jovial nature has brought light to so many people's dark days and yet whose own life has been compromised in ways more than one.
I couldn't be prouder of this woman, that has taught me how to live and fight for your life and still be humble yet keep your pride.
