Her cancer, their cancers

Tuesday evening, 10.30pm, Mr Hubby was still not back from dinner with his colleagues. So I put on my facial mask and slumped in front of the TV, a rare thing for me to do nowadays because Laetitia sleeps at 10pm and I would usually keep her company in bed.


I was channel surfing until I caught this documentary on Channel 8, and I was like, "Hey, don't tell me they are running a story on Shin!"


Shin, is a mom in her 40s as well as a cancer blogger I am following since Shandy and Molly, who had departed our world few months back.


Watching Shin's cancer journey and her fight to stay alive for her 3yr old and 5 yr old on TV was unbearable for me, as a mother. I felt her heart-wretchedness, knowing that she can't stay around long enough to watch her kids grow up and has the fear of leaving them any time but still she wants to make the most of it, creating happy memories for them, with her remaining days.


Then I thought, maybe my mom had felt the same with Shin, even though her kids are 29 and 32 instead of 3 and 5. I guess, in the eyes of all mothers, children will always be children regardless of how old we are. As much as I would like my mom to live and fight cancer bravely like how Shin is doing it for her kids, I also would want her to know we would be alright and respect her wish if she would one day tell us that she would prefer quality over quantity of her life.


I cried, soaked through my "already dried up" facial mask! When I removed my mask, I thought I looked WORST then before I had in on. Fuck to that!


Mr Hubby returned, unaware and totally not suspicious of anything.


It was midnight, he caught a glimpse of me in the bathroom, tonging my hair. He asked, "So late already still don't sleep?!!" "I can't sleep, I watched something very sad on the TV earlier." I answered nonchalantly, trying very hard to detach myself with emotions.


"Huh, what show?" He was curious.


"I don't wanna say, don't make me tell you and cry again." I deliberately avoided his eye contact and went back to tonging my hair meticulously.


I thought with my effort to indulge in the silly little activities like tonging my hair would for
1) Make me feel good
2) Put me into my bimbo-tic mode, and thus snap me out of this consuming melancholic mood
3) Relax my thoughts, so that I could sleep soon
4) If all else failed. Hey, I still have pretty hair to go to work tomorrow.





After 15-20 mins, I was done with my hair. Not the prettiest, but it would do. I crawled into bed where Mr Hubby had already planted himself in. I tossed like a disturbed prata. Finally, I hugged my pillow and bawled like nobody's business. Mr Hubby just stroked me by my arms gingerly, it was like he had expected that I would somehow just lost it and break down.


The next day, I did have a good hair day, but it just didn't go very well with my pair of swollen eyes!

Well, if I can't handle stuff like that, I would have to go into "rehab" and to restrain myself from visiting those cancer blogs. "It's through them I find strength not weakiness." I repeatedly told myself.

SHIT!! I hate to be weak!

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