Mummy - The End of an Era - United States I was in Geneva at the time, and my mother’s passing cast a shadow over my stay there. She had developed a persistent sore throat between March and April of 2010, prompting me to ask my sister to take her for further tests. It turned out that she had an aggressive form of cancer called Anaplastic thyroid cancer, which I had never heard of. At that time, I was on a mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo, when Adjoa called with the diagnosis, so I resorted to googling it and discovered its severity. My sister Adjoa, who was in Fredericksburg, made every effort to provide my mother with the best possible care. By August, my children and I visited her, and her condition appeared to have improved. However, by December, the pain had returned. The devastating news of my mother’s unresponsiveness reached me through a frantic call frommy cousin in the US. Henrietta was incoherent and sounded hysterical, making it impossible to have a coherent conversation. She had contacted the emergency services, and an ambulance had arrived. Henrietta handed over the phone to the paramedics, and when they asked whether they should attempt resuscitation, I, a doctor, knew it was futile. Besides, my mother was seventy-eight, and her health had deteriorated significantly. I instructed them not to resuscitate her. I sat down, overcome by exhaustion, and murmured to myself, “Mummy, it’s only December 17th, why now? If only you could have held on a bit longer.” I had bought tickets for myself and the children to spend Christmas with her. Memories of the beautiful times we had shared flooded my mind, and I wished I could relive them. It was heart-wrenching; my mother had always been proud of my accomplishments, but it would have been even better for her to see all that I had achieved. One of my friends left the meeting upon learning of my mom’s demise and returned with a comforting cup of tea. Soon, everyone in the meeting gathered around me for support. I requested that they call my cousinWilliam, who took me home. When I arrived home, I lay on the floor and cried for hours. It was an outpouring of grief. My daughter Yvette, feeling sympathetic, prepared a special lunch for me when I returned to work three days later. I couldn’t eat it, but out of gratitude for her 28 The Birthday Journal
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