Hope

Initially, I started this post on September 12 (the same morning we got back from the hospital) but a lot of bad stuff kept on happening, so I kept on adding to it, until it became this long. So I thought, why post it in parts? Why not wait 'till the whole thing is over and post it then as one, long, whole piece, as such is my style.



I arrived in Kuwait from Cyprus around August 10th (I think). Two days later, shortly after dusk, mom became really sick so my younger bro and I took her to the hospital where she was to start the first of what was to be a very long series of unnecessary yet arduous tests. That day though, they just checked her blood pressure, did an echo, and ended it with some X-rays. We were there for a couple of hours but by morning, mom started feeling better on her own, so as soon as she was discharged, we took her back home, thinking nothing of it.


All througout Ramadan, mom suffered from a severe sharp pain in her abdomen. The pain usually began at night, and subsided during the day, only to start back up again at night. It kept her up. Every. Single. Night. She'd only get to sleep around 8:00 in the morning for an hour or two before KumKum woke her up to ask about something, usually insignificant. Mom's an extremely light sleeper and once she's awake, she can't just go back to sleep again. So once she's awake, that's it. The pain would first come in waves. Then, it evolved into vomiting plus severe abdominal pain. The fasting seriously exasberated her condition.


She went to all kinds of doctors, at several different hospitals, and went through alot, and I mean ALOT of testing, and procedures, and each time she went to a different doctor at a different hospital, we would all get our hopes up, ("This was it! Surely this doctor is going to fix mama for good! She'll be able to sleep again! She'll be able to eat again!") and each time we would all be surely disappointed. Each diagnosis was completely different from the next, and as for the medication? My God! The meds prescibed to her were so much, that they could actually fill a medium-sized bag (not a small bag, not even an oversized clutch, but a medium-sized BAG! As a matter of fact, they did) and that's what mom carried them around in.



One flightly doctor who ran his own private practice said she had ulcerations (تقرحات) and a tear (فتق) in her esophagus (المريء). That was the most direct and useful diagnosis we were going to get, for awhile, but that still didn't explain the pain and the vomiting. Lots of people have ulcers and tears in their esophagus and they live out their life just fine. As for the the rest of the doctors my mother visited, they were very incompetent.



The private hospitals just wanted money, which was fine. Actually, no, it was great! As long as they did their job and fixed my mom, we'd pay them whatever they wanted. Unfortunately, they could not fix her. They didn't even know where to begin. They had no clue what was wrong with my mother but they weren't about to admit it just yet. So, alot of random testing ensued including the ones she'd already had done in other hospitals. One of those procedures was an edoscopy (منظار), where they insert the tube down her throat, and the tube sends live images to a screen, so the doctors can see what's causing the pain. By then, she'd done it 5 times before, at other places, only weeks apart from each other. They took her blood, administered an echo, took some X-rays, administered a colonoscopy, etc... Other private hospital, same thing. Other private hospital, same thing. Other private hospital, same thing.


I was extremely doubtful that these doctors were the "best in thier field". My sister and I begged to take her to London, or Germany, or even the States where she was sure to find better care. We even found out that Mayo Clinic had a diagnostics-only branch in Dubai. "At least she'd be properly diagnosed.", we thought. Sadly, mom refused.

Her condition just got worse to the point that she could not sleep, at all. She managed by pacing. She'd pace 'till she was too tired to stand upright, then she'd collapse on a couch, or a bed in one of our empty guest bedrooms, and go to sleep for an hour, or two. If she was very, very lucky, maybe even three. During the day, when we'd all be gathered in the living room, she'd nod off for a snatched five minutes here, or a stolen ten minutes there.


On the first day of Eid, as soon as I got back from the salon, I found my mom in a terrible state. I begged her to go to the hospital, but she refused at first saying the only doctors that would be available were all خفاره. I had no clue what that meant but apparently she didn't have that much faith in them. Later on, I learned that it meant something close to "on call" doctors. After a bit of coaxing mom agreed to go, and once again, we were rushed to Al-Salaam hospital.



Mom's condition was so bad that she actually started to cry from the pain, (I was like "Oh My God! Mom's cryin'! What do I do? What do I do?" So I started crying alongside her) which was a testament to how much she was suffering because my mother never cries in front of any of us (her kids) for fear that she might upset us. The pain in her abdomen came in waves, accompanied with nausea. Once the pain would start, mom would begin sobbing quietly. I'd hold her hand and start crying with her. Then she'd stop crying and start comforting me even though she's the one who was in pain, because that's just the kind of person my mother is. When the pain stopped, she'd start pacing, only to nod off from the fatigue. Then the pain would start up again, and she'd start sobbing quietly, then I'd start crying, then she'd stop crying, and try to comfort me, and so on. It felt like forever. It also felt like hell. Throughout all this, the nurse checked mom's blood pressure and administered an echo (تخطيط قلب).



When one of the on-call doctors finally decided to grace us with his presence, after administering the usual minor procedures, he proclaimed that she was fine, regardless of the pain and nausea, but she should stay the night at the hospital so that they could monitor her condition. My mother refused saying she didn't want to ruin Eid for "the children" (meaning my younger brother and I, who both happen to be in our early twenties). I tried convincing her that she should stay the night, but she refused. She was adamant.



As soon as the doc left, my older sister, and younger brother arrived. After my insistance that mom needed something for the pain, the nurse inserted an IV drip. The pain only started to subside after the third plastic bag of fluid was almost empty. They also gave her an injection for the pain. Another doctor (Timone) showed up and began to explain what my mom should and should not eat or drink. He was much more attentive then the space case that preceded him and answered all our questions to my satisfaction. Finally, mom was given some sorta' oral anasthetic to drink. It was supposed to numb her throat, and help her keep the food down. On our way out, he also gave her one pill to help her sleep. It was valium. I asked if she could get another one. He cracked up as if that was the funniest thing ever. "We've only got two pills in the whole hospital."



After that episode, mom completely lost her appetite. Because she knew she was just going to throw it all back up, she began to hate eating. At my older sister's instructions, KumKum was to prettify mom's food, in hopes that it might actually get mom to eat. It was completely useless. Even though mom's tummy was empty, she still threw up. She would throw up the digestive juices in her stomache. Every night, without fail, mom would be in the bathroom throwing up and I'd be there holding her hair back, and rubbing her back. Every. Single. Night.



As if that wasn't enough to contend with, something else started hurting her. Her shoulder. Years ago, some dude ran a red light and crashed his car into my mom's car. She was injured but thankfully, has healed beautifully, and her shoulder has never bothered her, 'till now. Apparently, the violent vomiting strained her injured shoulder which caused it to flare up in pain. Between the bouts of sharp abdominal pain, violent vomiting which led to a flared shoulder, plus the ulcerations and tear in her esophogus, all of which kept her up at night, that's not even mentioning the nausea and sleepiness during daytime, mom aged 10 years. She lost 25 kilograms in 2 months!



She still went to several different hospitals and got tested by several different doctors. Ever heard of the expression, the calm before the storm? That's what was going on. For a short while, it seemed mom had gotten better. She'd sleep for 3-4 hours a night. A vast improvement over the 5-10 minutes snatched through-out the day. She'd only vomit once or twice. Her shoulder wouldn't bother her as much. She'd even manage nibbling on an apple during the day. The only thing that wouldn't let up was the pain in her abdomen.



Still, we thought mom was getting better, and so did she, to the point that everyone (excluding me) arranged a weekend tryst to chalet. Remember this post? Where I was complaining about not being left alone? Well in the end, I didn't go, and as usual mom didn't sleep at all that night. The next day, mom came back home, and once again at night we began our (what she reffered to as) party, where she would go back and forth all night either pacing or throwing up (even though she hadn't eaten anything).



We all felt horrible. Morale was seriously down in our household. Think about it. Eating and sleeping. The two most basic human needs, and here my mother was being deprived of them both, simultaneously. I for one, am in a pissy mood all day if I don't get enough sleep, and if I'm hungry, I get cranky. Those are like basic human needs!



One of my mother's idiot friends decided that we should go visit Mr Al-Kharafi. No, not the uber-rich guy, the other one. The really religious one. My mom and sister were really excited about going to see him, even though my mom's already been to him before. I was all like "Okay, have fun you guys, buh-bye!", but unfortunately I had to go too, even though I had like "other plans" because our little trip happened to coincide with Halloween. Mom, sissy, and I all went to Sheikh Al-Kharafi's place. He made mom throw up, which wasn't much of a feat because she was already prone to throwing up. He made sissy throw up as well, though. He tried to make me throw up but I was having none of it. I was very very scared though. For a religious guy, he's pretty mean... Maybe I'll post more about him someday but for now I prefer not to speak of him again. Mom and Sissy felt much better (spiritually) after leaving his place.



Finally, on November 3, mom's illness had peaked. She didn't want to bother anyone so she didn't wake anyone up. She just threw on her A'abaya and shaylah, and had the driver take her to Al-Salaam hospital. I woke up around noon, and had breakfast as if it was any normal day. Because I tend to isolate myself from the rest of my family, I'm usually oblivious to what was going on. When I went downstairs, a couple hours later, I was told that mom was in the hospital.



My older bro took me to the hospital. Whatever we were expecting? It wasn't as bad as what we were about to find. Mom was in this tiny room on the 8th floor, and my aunt was with her. Although she was covered with a blanket, it was obvious that mom was curled into the fetal position on the hospital bed. The pain was not coming in waves anymore. It was consistent, ongoing, and extremely severe. To the point that my mother was half-screaming, half-crying! So my aunt and I star crying with her while holding her hand and stroking her hair. I felt so helpless! It was awful! Imagine seeing your own mother in so much pain, and not being able to do anything about it, and it wasn't like it was normal pain or whatever. Like childbirth for example, you know as soon as soon as she gives birth, that's it. The pain will stop. Nobody knew the cause of this pain, and nobody knew when it would stop, if it would even stop at all. At one point, my mother started reciting the Shahada. (she seriously thought she was going to die)



You know that thing that looks like a coat rack that the IV fluids are hanging off of? Well there where two, not one, but two full ones being injected into my mom's bloodstream, but still she was in inexcrutiable pain. Every once in awhile a different nurse would pop in to check my mom's blood pressure. So I asked one of them if my mom was being given any sort of painkiller. You know what the answer was? A big, fat, no. Apparently, the doctor was supposed to give his consent first. Our lovely doctor would only grace us with his presence around 5:00pm. It was only 3:30pm. What to do in the meantime? Some more lovely tests! So they wheeled her down for a medical ultrosonography (سونار), with me by her side. Diagnosis? Perfectly fine. They wheeled her back up, to the room. My uncle showed up (mom's older brother) who is a total guy's guy (the kind that thinks crying just isn't done by men) took one look at her and teared up.



By God's grace, the meds started working and the pain gradually subsided. My mother, once a light sleeper, fell into a deep sleep brought on by the fatigue and lack of sleep (an hour or two every other day doesn't count as real sleep). I called up my younger brother and we all sorta' hovered over her, in that tiny cramped room, on the 8th floor, in Al-Salaam hospital.



When the lovely doctor decided to finally grace us with his presence, I noted that he was a complete moron. I wasn't being spiteful. It was only the truth. He cemented this fact by actually telling us to get some orange juice for mom to drink. In her condition, it was like prescribing poison. Even I knew that much. Internally, I was seething. I would've gladly strangled him, then and there. I knew it was all my fault. I should've just dragged my mom to Dubai or at least to Saudi, against her will if need be. Anywhere, was better than being here.



But Dana, you're just biased (like so many others) against the doctors in Kuwait! No. I just know my fellow countrymen well. But Dana, that's generalizing! No. For some reason, after a short while, ALL Kuwaity doctors lose their empathy.



I slept over on the retarded couch/bed contraption, and all throughout the night, every two hours or so, the nurses would come in to check my mom's blood pressure, or blood sugar levels. They woke her up each and every time but it's okay. I mean they were just doing their job. Plus, it was the reason she was sleeping over there in the first place. To be monitored. Around dawn she nibbled on an apple and promptly threw it back up, but that was it. It was a definite improvement, as opposed to throwing up the digestive juices and stomache acids and what-have-you.



As soon as it was morning, my mom kicked me out saying that I needed to go home and rest. My aunt showed up and took over for me. They had plans to go to some other hospital to get some more tests done. Yes people, she was admitted in one hospital, doing a whole bunch of tests in other, and repeating those same tests in yet another. At their insistence, I went home. My sister who was sick with the flu, said that she was no longer sick and wanted to go see mom. So we grabbed the usual things that one takes to the hospital when expecting visitors such as coffee, chocolates, etc... A friend of mine (whom I usually meet up with in Cyprus) called me up to ask about my mom. I told her which floor we were on but I also made it very very clear that my mom was not well enough to expect any visitors just yet. She wasn't up to it. Apparently I wasn't clear enough because what my dear friend Israa heard was "Yes PLEASE come on over, and bring your mom and your sisters too. Also please spread the word for me!"



Sure enough, ALOT of people showed up, all at once. My friend with her younger sister, her mom, and her aunt, came together. Arriving with them, at the same time was my uncle's wife, their daughter, their two-year-old son, and his nanny. Even the doctors came at that same exact time. Not one, not two, but three. Everyone was crammed into that tiny room. My aunt shooed the guests so she and my sister could listen to what the doctors could say. I was expected to entertain the guests. Once again, I was furious. I had specifically told my friend NOT to come. As for the women, well, even on a GOOD day I'm not a pleasant person.



I just nodded at the older women, turned my back on everyone, and wedged myself between my aunt and sister to hear what the doctors had said. Apparently, Timone (short, skinny, pleasant) and Pumba (fat, talkative, useless) were Mr. Attitude's sidekicks, while He (Mr. Attitude) was the head honcho. Mr. Attitude looked me up and down, then turned to my aunt and sister and said that he wanted all three of us to be available whenever he had something to say, so that he wouldn't have to repeat himself. That struck a chord with me. I remembered my mom having a second endoscopy with him, and he had given me that same superior-than-thou attitude then. My mom was in his hands. God complex or not, I had to abide by his rules. Plus, he was visibly outraged that a previous doctor had advised that my mother should drink orange juice. My opinion of him rose, a millimeter or so.



As soon as the doctors left, the "visitors" were ushered back in. My sister had to go outside to take a call. My aunt and I were left standing looking at each other. Neither she nor I knew how to properly pour coffee and serve chocolate. My uncle's wife saved us. So we left everything in her capable hands. When everyone left and my aunt was getting ready to leave, my mother told my aunt to drop me home. We both insisted that I should stay but my mother said that she couldn't relax when I was around. With every move she made she was worried that I'd wake up. I assured her that I liked sleeping in the morning (and it's true). The doctors said that we shouldn't stress her out, and apparently my sleeping over was stressing her out. So back home I went.



The next day, I went at night (8-ish) to visit my mom. I found my younger brother there watching over mom, who was in a in a deep drug-induced sleep. I took over for him. My sister had devised a schedule so that my mother would always have one of us by her side. I was on the night-shift because I'm a night-owl. Apparently, that wasn't all that my sister had done. She'd gotten my mom an upgrade. The new room was way more spacious, and had a pleasant view of the Arabian Gulf. Come morning, mom's friends ALL decided to visit, together. Sis showed up and took over. Back at home, I was sorta ecstatic 'cuz Dad was coming back from the States, and I'd missed him terribly.



We were all gathered in the living room. Sissy, her husband, me, my younger, bro, and my older bro. Everyone was there save for mom. Then my dad said something and my world got turned upside down. Keep in mind that morale was already really really down.



Dad had gone to the States to get some tests done. Nothing specific, just general stuff. The result, his eye-sight was getting worse, which was understandable, besides Dad's already got like a billion custom-blah blah blah so it didn't matter. Also, his hearing was getting worse which was also understandable. Supposedly, he needs a hearing aid. My father is 63 years old so all this was nothing new. He knew all that, and he'd told us this before.



"The doctor said that I might have cancer."



The tears started racing each other down my cheeks. I could feel them. I love my father. I know everyone loves their father but I absolutely adore my father. My father is my hero. I really look up to him. We have this bond that only he and I share, and even though he denies it (I love you all equally etc...), it's common knowledge in our household that I'm his favorite just like it's common knowledge in our household that my younger brother is my mother's favorite, even though she denies it as well.



So my father dropped the dread C-word, and my world changed forever. You know what, though? In hindsight, he was also very cavalier about it, which I suspect was more for our sake. He made us promise to keep this from mom because she didn't need this right now, and so we did. After a week of dread, Dad and I went to this place to get a second opinion. Thankfully, they said it wasn't cancerous. Obviously, I was ecstatic, but the whole week of thinking my Dad had cancer kinda' fucked me up, mentally.



Mom was discharged because "there's nothing wrong with her" besides the usual (diabetes plus hyper-tension which is the kuwaity standard). As one doctor put it, مفيهاش حاقه. زي الفل. بلاش دلع.
So she came back home even though she still couldn't eat nor sleep.



She kept on repeating the same tests and procedures, at different hospitals with different doctors. Endoscopy number 1,393 echo number 3,453 X-Rays number 600 etc... Ever the optimists, each time she went to a different doc, we thought he'd be able to cure her, and each time we'd be crestfallen when he appeared to be clueless.



One day, I found mom crying in her bedroom. I thought she was in pain, but she assured me she wasn't. She was just really tired of being sick all the time, of throwing up after taking a single bite, and sometimes without even eating, but mostly she was tired of not being able to sleep. My heart really ached for her.



Then Fahad passed away... allah yir7ama

My mother gave up on the private hospitals. She thought she'd give the public one's a try. The private hospitals wanted money. The public hospitals just wanted to "discover" and "experiment". They also made her go through alot of unnecessary testing and procedures, several times. She was admitted into the Al-Amiri hospital for a week. When she found out that they wanted her to stay for a whole week she started crying because she didn't want "ruin Eid for the kids". My mother was told that she was anemic and needed a blood transfusion, pronto. Apparently, all that poking her with a needle added up to this. They had the right blood type ready ready at Al-Amiri, but they couldn't give it to my mother, unless someone else donated blood. At one point, my mom jokingly said "Can't I donate the blood?". She really didn't wanna stay there. She got the blood, and she got to spend Eid at home with us.

I thought the worst was behind us. I thought this was it. She was going to be able to sleep again, and eat again. Everyone thought so too. Even my mom. She still went to a lot of other public hospitals, in the meantime. It became apparent that my mother was not feeling any better so she agreed to go to Germany.

Everyone noticed a difference in mom's skin tone, but we just thought it was 'cuz she wasn't eating, and has been ill all this time. The thing that scared me though was her eyes. The whites of her eyes weren't white. They were yellow! Mom was admitted into Thunayan Al-Ghanim Center for Gastrointestinal Disorders. They said she had Jaundice, and if left untreated it could turn into something worse. They operated immediately, and she had stenting done. A couple of days later, mom and sissy left for Germany.

It's been 3 weeks since then. I'm very very confident that this time, she'll be properly diagnosed, and cured. It could even be something really simple that the doctors over here have missed. I've got lotsa' faith and hope! Pray for my mother, people.