Maternal pain

Sometimes, I tend to ask random questions to strangers or to make random comments at a spur just because something says I should. So when I popped in for dinner at my local restaurant, I felt the sudden urge to ask the aunty working there, one whom I have seen for many years but never talked to, the simple question ‘Aunty, how are you?’

The aunty paused in front of me and I suddenly noticed how tired she looked. Without asking, she took a seat at my table and she replied, ‘Aunty not so good.’ Then her gaze clouded over and a look of intense pain registered in her reddening eyes.

‘Not so good’ is usually not the normal reply one would expect. Usually, no matter how ‘not good’ one is, no one wants to hear about it, because no one knows how to respond. After all, it isn’t often when a friend, an acquaintance, much less a stranger decides to really spill. I guess the aunty at the restaurant just needed to be heard and how could I not grant an ear to the story of a mother’s heartache?

So last night was the first time I heard about SLE and how this mother suffers from the disease through her daughter for the past 15 years. I didn’t know about it then, but I returned home to look it up and this was what I found:

Systemic Lupus Erythematosus is an autoimmune disease that occurs when the body's tissues are attacked by its own immune system which causes painful inflammation of the body tissues.

I’ve seen the daughter around. Usually, she sits behind the counter, looking pale and sickly under the white light. But that night, she was nowhere around. That night, she was in the hospital, suffering from kidney failure from all the medication that has taken a toll on her over the years (the damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t syndrome)

Of course, there is no cure for SLE and that makes it worse because no mother should have to go through watching her own flesh and blood break down slowly. ‘Painful’ was the word she used as she pressed her palm to her heart. ‘Painful to see my daughter in so much pain.’ ‘Painful because there is nothing I can do to help her.’

Then she stared into me, into the healthy (or semi-healthy) me in which state her own daughter should be in, and she tells me that I must take care of my body, I must take care of myself.

There was nothing I could say to her but to utter the meaningless word ‘sorry’. I didn’t even know why I said it. Sorry for what? Sorry because I couldn't help her? Sorry because I can only sympathise but i can never empathise? What does one say to a suffering mother?

Nothing does justice.

So we sat there for a moment in silence. And then, with all that was strong in her, she bounced right back up with a smile and said, ‘Ok, enough about that. Now what would you like to eat tonight?’