“Sensations of Doubt Despite a Familiar Sameness” by Thiri Htun, 16

Genesis

February, a month discernible to most as the time for love and awareness, ironically transformed to an honorable recollection of remembrance for my beloved “Pwa-Pwa” on February 15, 2024. One year earlier, my grandmother had slipped while going to the bathroom shortly after midnight. Ringing through the house, the words “Amae, amae!” were screamed repeatedly. “Amae,” meaning mother in Burmese, my mother jolted out of bed. Half-awake, I knew my grandma was in trouble and I quickly followed. Arriving in front of the bathroom door, my blood exemplified each individual heartbeat. Pwa-Pwa, my grandmother, was positioned on the cold, ceramic tiles with a distressed expression painted on her droopy face. My throat tightened as tears dwelled upon the corners of my sclera. My pulse, at rest a few moments beforehand, had suddenly spiked to where it felt as if my heart were beating visibly through my shirt. Instinctively, I grabbed my grandmother and propped her onto a small couch near the bathroom with the help of my mother. Desperate to communicate, my grandma slurred together incoherent words. With reassurance, I accompanied my shaken grandmother by letting her sip water through a straw; waiting for my rushing father to take her to the hospital. Her drool soaked my hands, yet I could only focus on the tears which trickled down her wrinkled cheeks.

The morning after my grandmother was admitted to the hospital, I arrived at school heavy-hearted. I couldn’t focus on my subjects nor gather the energy to socialize with any of my friends; consumed by worry, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. The day flashed by, and I sprinted to my father’s car, bombarding him with questions upon the state of my grandma. With hesitation, he told me my grandmother had suffered a stroke and would be hospitalized. I diminished and sat in my seat in disbelief. The grandmother that had once cared for me and was resilient in the face of adversity had succumbed to this irreversible condition. Days passed until my grandmother was finally discharged from the hospital. Opening the garage, I waited on the driveway wanting to see my grandmother. I wanted the reassurance of knowing that she was fine, that everything was going to be okay. The cool wind hit me as the slate-colored Toyota closed in, roaring as it approached our home. With anticipation, I ran to the backseat where my grandmother was placed, hoping that the same grandmother I had loved was back and ready to recover with us. With anxious excitement, I smiled waiting for Pwa-Pwa to come out. But instead of her familiar warmth, I was greeted with a despondent gaze.

Inclination

Moving forward, home life was never the same again. My grandmother's bed was moved downstairs into the living room, encircled with makeshift curtains around the perimeter to create somewhat of a privacy. A portable toilet near the bedside also brought an odorous stench lingering around in the household. With my uncle only visiting occasionally, our small family of three (excluding my grandma) often meant that I assumed responsibility of helping Pwa-Pwa with whatever was necessary. After school, I often helped her with feeding, changing, and assisting with daily activities. For months, it felt as if she were healing through gaining mobility with the help of the family; I thought that my once-resilient grandmother had come back. Constant physical therapy appointments paired alongside blood-thinning medications, the life she had previously would surely resurge… Right? At the end of the day, caregiving was exhausting– keeping up with demands as well as interrupted sessions of studying caused multiple episodes of fatigue. Still, I knew I loved Pwa-Pwa and the struggles of caregiving couldn’t even compare to the terrifying feelings that she went through.

Then, one evening, Pwa-Pwa’s behavior started to shift. From looking forward to physical therapy and being cooperative, her personality became stubborn and hostile. Her clothes felt “strange” upon her body and, with a consistent doubt, she kept asking me to count and show each of her medications, every individual tablet. I understood that it was her condition– that she

wanted to regain control over her life after durations of being dependent on others. Even though I constantly sympathized… My self-doubt despised the burden. Selfishness embodied through a raging storm came after me; I was only in freshman year of high school and instead of feeling comfort and support, I looked after an adult in my own home. Constant arguments flared between my family whether it was over treatment options or confused priorities, chaos ensued. The fulfillment I found when volunteering for others was absent when giving service to my own grandmother; I felt drained and burned out. From the start, I knew that a stroke could be fatal, that her condition meant she would never be the same abled grandmother that could move mountains. But… I never quite realized what the condition fully meant until the indication of the change.

Ambivalence

During weekends, I often stayed in bed until late afternoons, the only time I had to myself before tending to Pwa-Pwa’s responsibilities. Although I wasn’t the one enduring the stroke, it felt like my whole world had stopped progressing. “Am I selfish? Do I need to put in more effort? Is my grandmother really the problem?” I often expressed at times when thoughts were vulnerably open to myself and myself only. Eventually, my grandma’s condition deteriorated even further. Her daily life became characterized by prolonged periods of sleep and agonizing moans whenever awake; depressed thoughts and statements of not wanting to be alive filled the house. After difficult decision-making, my family opted for a hospice program; she was prescribed morphine and was projected with one week to live. I was conflicted; even though I didn’t want to let her go, I didn’t want her to suffer either.

Solace

During the projected week, I got ready as I was about to go to school. I was running late, yet I kissed my grandmother on the forehead and told her, “Bye-bye, I’ll be back soon!” During school, I thought about the memories that Pwa-Pwa and I had shared all throughout my life, and that during this week, I resolved to accompany her and leave personal guilt in the past. When my dad came to pick me up, I asked him, “Is Pwa-Pwa getting better?”

To which my dad forebodingly replied, “Do you think of her often?”

I exclaimed, “Yes! Everyday. She’s my grandma afterall.”

With no reply afterwards, I assumed the topic must have been sensitive. When I arrived home, I entered and the living room was placed back to “normal”– with all traces of Pwa-Pwa vanished.

I ran upstairs and covered myself in blankets. My grandmother passed away while I was at school. I never got to express the love I had for her one last time; she never truly realized the extent to which I cared for her and I didn’t know about her death until it was too late due to parents not wanting me to cry in school. Ironically, the next day, I broke down in front of my friends. Telling them the situation, my friends comforted me and made me feel heard even though it was all too sudden. In their minds, the girl who always knew what to do, was now sobbing with no answers. It was heartbreaking for everybody involved, but they managed to console me during days that I felt underlying sadness. Their presence helped me to grow and contemplate as a person through my grief.

Epoch

Reflecting on the past, I have realized now that the experience has cast me into the person I am today. My grandmother was still herself, even throughout the condition. Though the symptoms of the stroke clouded her mind with no clear self-expression, her familiar love still remained beneath. Regret no longer guides my memories as time passes. I did what I could with little knowledge, and the experience itself has shaped me to be a more capable person who knows how to better care for others as a result of my past grievances. Chronic conditions never win– they only provide basis as to what you can do to spite it. Although my grandmother has passed away, I cherish her memory and bring her honor constantly. The experience has redirected me to understand the implications of cerebrovascular disease and gave me a profound love for healthcare; a passionate desire to understand the methods of prevention towards this condition as well as managing the issue when it happens. Even if I have traces of regret left, it is that instead of being true to myself with acceptance towards my situation in the past, I let the fear and internal doubts consume me; my own mind using the sensation of vulnerability against me as a weapon. But, with the support of my friends urging me to convey my struggles without being afraid to come off as “selfish,” the accident has taught me so much more– about myself and Pwa-Pwa. Let my story with Pwa-Pwa become a reminder to those battling chronic illnesses, you are not a burden nor are you a stranger to yourself; you are you and nothing can change that, not even doubt. February is no longer a month of hardship, reflecting the difficulties of the past. It has now transformed into an annual memory of the battles that have been fought, of the certainty within ourselves, and of the familiar love that rises above all in the end– trampling even the most vigorous chronic conditions.