Hospital Bedside Story
January 16th, 2008 | Published in general | 19 Comments
There are several reasons why this blog has seen a dearth of entries of late; one of them has to do with hospitals. My grandfather was recently and suddenly diagnosed with prostrate cancer in the advanced stages.
This is a man I live with, and have lived with, all my life. The only days I don’t see him are the days when I’m out of the country. To see him go from the sprightly and curious funny old man who always had too many questions to ask and too many things to do, to bedridden and slightly depressed about needing people to help him with the most basic of functions, is really quite shocking. No longer do you see this short, bald man in his Chinese singlet and shorts, torch in hand, shining a light on my face while I’m sleeping while on his rounds; no longer does he venture to annoy me with his pointless but funny questions about anything and everything.
But we learn. We all do.
In the midst of morphine-induced hallucinations, this intensely private man who has seldom spoken about his life as a boy in China — possibly because of the bad memories he associates with the mainland, as an orphan and later as an adopted child — he began ’seeing’ Japanese soldiers in the hallway. Suddenly he was ten, all over again, in 1940, right smack in the middle of the Japanese incursion into China. The Japanese soldiers were there at the door and they were going to take his father away. Somehow knowing his father was about to die, he’d begged his father to come home to see them one last time. He did, and my great grandfather soon numbered among the millions of the Japanese’ bloody Southeast Asian adventure and its shocking body count.
Anpo, in Chaozhou (Teochew), where I’m two generations removed from. His father dead, my grandfather as a boy of ten, was standing by the port one day watching what I imagine must have been pure chaos — the scene of Chinese fleeing in droves, and Japanese soldiers descending upon the town. My family is full of accidental travellers and nomads — hardly surprising then, how I turned out. While watching the chaos of the port before him, a Japanese woman asked him if he’d like to go “somewhere”. My ten year old grandfather said yes, and he claims he was picked up by some adult and shoved into a boat whose destination he was quite unclear of. So it could have been anything, any place. It could have been Indonesia, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand. Malaysia. France. Any African country. We coastal Chinese types have proven ourselves capable of landing ourselves in other peoples’ land, and doing better than we would have back “home”. On my travels through Southeast Asia I was struck by how the Chinese communities that stuck on in Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, were overwhelmingly Teochew — I spoke my language far more often in the Russian Market in Phnom Penh than I do even in Chinatown, Singapore — and they were flourishing, even after having assimilated into Thai, Vietnamese, Cambodian or Lao society. While interrogating an old Teochew couple in Phnom Penh on their journey from China to Southeast Asia, and life under the Khmer Rogue, they called me a gagi nang, “our own people”, and all this talk about my ancestral home whose name I only just learned hit me: what if grandfather was on the boat to Cambodia? Indonesia? Thailand? I could very well have been Cambodian myself. Teochew Chinese Cambodian, but still.
After spending more than sixty years in the nan yang (’south of the ocean’, what the Chinese used to call Southeast Asia then), he’s now lying in a hospital bed in Singapore with not many more years to his name. I suppose he can count on how this family is gathered around his bedside right now, infinitely curious about his story; a wife he still loves, children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who adore him. All of us gathered about his bedside, and important matters are the order of the day’s discussion.
Chinese New Year, and what sort of sea cucumbers and abalone we should purchase for reunion dinner.
“The Chinese make these huge sea cucumbers these days… but if you ask me they look a little plastic,” my aunt volunteers her learned information. “We shouldn’t buy these edible things from China, if you don’t know their origin.. it could be dangerous!”
My grandfather offered his sagely advice. “Buy the sea cucumbers from India. They’re quite good and they cost twenty or thirty dollars. They don’t become too soggy when you cook them too.”
I’m not one for sea cucumbers or abalone. But this year, in what will possibly be my last reunion dinner at home for a while, I won’t complain about sea cucumbers or abalone invading my food, and it will be the first time. Because all I want from 2008 is for this man to be home, not at a hospital, for the Chinese New Year; and for him to remain the sharp, funny and hilariously snarky old man I know, love, and live with, for as long as he can. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
January 16th, 2008 at 3:21 pm (#)
I do hope your Grand-dad gets better - I still miss mine quite badly.
Also, you’ve twittered that you are photographically stuck but to my eye, your writing is in fine shape - this was a wonderfully moving article to read.
January 16th, 2008 at 5:53 pm (#)
thanks for sharing. ive always been afraid to ask my grandparents about it, i guess the memories arent pleasant ones. starting to wish i had learned teochew properly tho, if i had known it would be a lingua franca among the diaspora
January 16th, 2008 at 6:24 pm (#)
This is a lovingly written story. All my grandparents are not around anymore, and I never knew those tales of my roots. I had a language barrier with them to begin with. I wouldn’t have mustered up the courage to find out more even if the language barrier doesn’t exist. I don’t even dare to ask how my parents met, their youth, etc!
Thanks for the courage in sharing this piece. I hope your grandfather gets better.
January 16th, 2008 at 10:09 pm (#)
i’m about to cry now.
January 16th, 2008 at 10:33 pm (#)
I feel your love for him. He’ll be in my prayers.
January 16th, 2008 at 11:56 pm (#)
I have been sitting in front of my laptop hitting the backspace key every other minute. I wish I had some words of encouragement for you but having gone through the pain of losing my grandmother to cancer, I know that nothing quite comes out properly in words. At one of the moments when words do fail us, I just want you to know that I will be there when you need me or any of us soc sci kakis.
January 17th, 2008 at 12:17 am (#)
and if you need me, i’ll be here. as always.
January 17th, 2008 at 11:14 am (#)
Your artist’s eye is as sharp as ever, and I hope your grandfather gets better.
January 17th, 2008 at 6:37 pm (#)
I get reminded of my own beloved late grandfather. I hope he gets better soon, sounds like an amazing man.
January 18th, 2008 at 1:34 am (#)
I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather - my thoughts are with your family.
January 18th, 2008 at 4:59 am (#)
Here’s an e-hug for you, for your hopes and your desires. I too, watched my beloved “ah gong” went from a fine, sprightly “old man”, to one that have to rely on people even to use the bathroom. it was not pleasant, for him and for a young and stupid me.
take care.
January 18th, 2008 at 11:48 am (#)
When I’m lost and feeling lonely
I just look to heaven ….
‘ à ¹âà ¸âà ¹â°Ã ¸¢à ¸´à ¸â¢Ã ¸šà ¹â°Ã ¸²à ¸â¡Ã ¹âà ¸«à ¸¡
à ¹â¬Ã ¸ªà ¸µà ¸¢à ¸â¡Ã ¹â¬Ã ¸â¢Ã ¹â°Ã ¸â¢Ã ¸âà ¸Âà ¸â¡Ã ¸«à ¸±à ¸§à ¹Æà ¸Ëà ¸âà ¸µà ¹Ëà ¹âà ¸«à ¸¢à ¸«à ¸²
à ¸šà ¸Âà ¸Âà ¸£à ¸±à ¸Âà ¸¢à ¸±à ¸â¡Ã ¹â¬Ã ¸â¢Ã ¹â¡Ã ¸¡à ¹Âà ¸â¢Ã ¹Ëà ¸â¢Ã ¹Æà ¸â¢Ã ¸¨à ¸£à ¸±à ¸âà ¸Ëà ¸²
à ¸âà ¸µà ¹Ëà ¹Âà ¸¡à ¹â°Ã ¸«à ¹Ëà ¸²à ¸â¡Ã ¸âà ¸£à ¸¶à ¹Ëà ¸â¡Ã ¸Ÿà ¹â°Ã ¸²à ¸Âà ¹â¡Ã ¸«à ¹Ëà ¸§à ¸â¡Ã ¹Æà ¸¢… ‘
take care.
January 19th, 2008 at 9:48 pm (#)
A beautifully written post.
January 20th, 2008 at 1:47 am (#)
my grandmother in the same situation. only can hope she..will be home, not at a hospital, for the Chinese New Year
January 22nd, 2008 at 5:13 pm (#)
do take care babe
January 23rd, 2008 at 10:40 pm (#)
Hi A., didn’t know you were going thru this - quite moving.. my grandfather died in ‘94 and I still miss him - love his memories though! I wish your grandfather good health and a long life!
Wishes for a happy Chinese New Year to you and your folks! Have fun and bond with the family - thats something I miss a lot when I am away from India and home.
A big hug to you…
January 27th, 2008 at 1:02 pm (#)
Sorry to hear about your granddad, hope he gets well soon.
February 1st, 2008 at 1:44 am (#)
wishing great health for your grand father.
February 2nd, 2008 at 12:39 am (#)
Hey there, I’ve always enjoyed your blog entries and lived vicariously through your travel adventures (well adventures to me anyway). But on this occasion unfortunately I can empathise with what you’re experiencing. My grandmother lost a short fight with cancer a few months ago and I miss her terribly. My thoughts are with your family, and I hope your granddad does get to enjoy reunion comfortably at home and not in a hospital.