My mother's daughter

Yesterday Ranjan's oncologist could not resist asking me why I was so much against chemotherapy. This was during our heart to heart where we found ourselves talking as usual at cross purposes. His question took me by surprise. How could I explain to him that for me it was a visceral reaction? I simply told him that the very idea of having to kill the good with the bad did not sit well with me. I realised later that my answer would have sounded very hollow. So be it. Even if God descended and asked me to change my opinion, I would and could not.

Later at night when sleep eluded me, I again thought of my strained relationship with chemotherapy and wondered where it came from. My thoughts wandered back to Kamala, my mother. Her apparently illogical and childlike reaction to cancer was probably the reason, if reason there is. At that time both Papa and I were so steeped in our love for this incredible woman that we followed her wishes blindly. Neither of us ever asked ourselves why a woman who had withstood every blow that came her way with courage and clarity had suddenly become an unreasonable and obstinate brat. We only wanted her to be happy and thus played by her rules. Last night, I tried to make sense of that fateful year that began in July 1989 when she was diagnosed with lung cancer and July 1990 when she breathed her last. And suddenly I saw it all: mama had scripted her swansong.

Knowing that she could not beat us and have her way if she remained the pillar of strength she had been all her life, she knew she had to become someone different. A brief fainting spell, whether real or willed allowed her to recast herself into a little girl who has lost her recent memory. This allowed the poised and rational lady to throw tantrums and make ludicrous demands. She could run out of an MRI scan and not be derided; she could refuse any form of treatment without having to give a logical reason; she did not have to win battles as there would be none. But what was it that she was so petrified of: chemotherapy of course. And it was not the fear of losing her hair as though, she was a little vain, she would not have insulted her intelligence by proffering such lame excuse. Her fear was visceral and intuitive. She needed a battlefield that was to her advantage and she found one. We played the game by her rules and she won her last battle with her dignity intact.

Mama knew she did not have the arguments she needed to convince her cartesian husband and daughter. She was right. In 1989 there was very little information about alternative therapies and options. The information revolution had not taken place. Internet did not exist. Where would she have found the arguments to convince us.

Even today, with all the information I have, I was unable to stop chemotherapy from entering my life. It is a very powerful opponent with astute proponents who are masters at seduction. The best I could do was provide additional support. I was even unable to answer why I was so much against chemotherapy with conviction. Such is the power of modern medicine.

The best I could do yesterday was tell the doctor that should I fall prey to the big C, I would prove to him that options that worked existed. That is the only turf where I know I can and will have my way! I am my mother's daughter.