GUEST BLOG: My story of surviving stomach cancer in Turkiye – PART VII

Guest Blog 7 – PART VII

By Mehtap Savaş

January 2025

Ankara, Turkiye

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This guest blog consists of seven parts – hyperlinks will be added as they are published in order:

PART I – INTRODUCTION (please see here)

PART II – LIFE WITH CANCER AND TREATMENT (please see here)

PART III – LIFE WITHOUT A STOMACH (please see here)

PART IV – RETURN TO WORK AND IMPACT OF CANCER (please see here)

PART V – FOLLOW UP: GOOD DOCTORS, BAD DOCTORS (please see here)

PART VI – CURRENT STATE & FINAL WORDS (please see here)

PART VII –  SILENCE OF THE MOTHERS

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PART VII: SILENCE OF THE MOTHERS

As I mentioned earlier, I am the older sister of Sevtap Savas and I wanted to write separately about my mom.

I shared my stomach cancer story with you.

Now I would like to introduce you to my mother, who has always been by my side and taken care of me throughout her life and throughout my treatment.

MY MOTHER AS A CAREGIVER

My mother’s name is Nimet. She was my Nimet Sultan.

Unfortunately, we lost my mother, with whom I lived together in the same household for 31 years, due to cancer in 2021. My mother was the most valuable person in my life. My mother was a lively woman who always supported her children, gave us morale, and generously offered her never-ending love. When I was diagnosed with cancer, she showed such a strong stance that it gave me strength, too. She never showed her pain or cried.

While my beloved mother’s life was going on normally, she suddenly found herself in hospitals in 2009. We were both caught off guard by this. During the majority of my difficult and very long treatment, which started with my surgery eight days after my diagnosis, she had to stand strong without a supporter and keep up with everything without the luxury of getting tired.

She accompanied me for 11 days during my surgery and for 14 days when we returned to the hospital due to anesthesia pneumonia that occurred two days after my discharge. Even though my brother was with us for most of this long period, my mom never had the opportunity to go home and get some rest. My mom could neither sleep nor eat properly for 25 days. Every morning at seven, doctors visited the rooms and at that time all the attendants were removed from the section where we were sleeping. These rounds were the only time my mother left me alone in the hospital.

I must admit that I was a difficult patient. My mother never whined or said she was tired, and she tried her best to feed me. I am used to be a picky eater.

Cancer treatment is a treatment that requires constant hospitalization. My first chemotherapy was a short procedure consisted of going to the hospital at appointment time for five days and given by injection into the vein on my hand. However, before this, I had to go to the hospital and give blood to determine whether my blood values were suitable for chemotherapy, have my chemotherapy drugs prescribed according to the results, and deliver the drugs to be prepared at the hospital pharmacy the day before.

My mother came to the hospital with me and was with me throughout all these procedures. I was taking care of the hospital paperwork. After the chemotherapy session, I had to get an injection in my abdomen for ten days to increase my blood values. For this, we were going to a private hospital close to my home. During the three weeks after the session, we did not go to the hospital for just a few days.

And at the same time, before the next chemotherapy session, I had to make a CT appointment for my monthly check-up, have my medication prescribed, and have other requested tests done. Before the CT scan, I had to drink 1.5 liters of medicated water within an hour. As I explained in my cancer story, drinking water was torture for me. My mother was making me drink by saying, “Come on, daughter, one more sip.” Then I had to show the test results to my oncologist.

Just thinking about going to and from this hospital non-stop gives me a headache. I can’t even imagine how tiring it was for my mother.

In this busy schedule, she had to do the grocery shopping, clean the house, prepare the meals I could eat, and welcome and host the visitors who came to the house. Many of my friends from out of town were coming to visit me.

My mother was giving hand sanitizer to visitors when they first entered the house. She wouldn’t let them sit close to me.

I used to be sensitive to scents. With chemotherapy, this increased to very high levels. When my mother prepared something for me to eat, I would reject it before even entering the living room, saying I could not eat it because I was nauseated. There were many times when she would prepare 3-4 types of food in a row and I would reject them. She then would tirelessly prepare another meal.

I lost 5 kilograms after my surgery and only 10 kilograms during my chemotherapy. This was the most important indicator of how well she took care of her daughter, who had no stomach, but could only eat a bite or two, and whose esophagus was irritated due to chemotherapy.

My mother was a very conscious and intelligent woman. She would never warm up the food I had eaten and bring it back to me because it might produce bacteria. She rather would cook again. She removed from my life everything that would not be good for me – food, drink, clothing, and everything else.

During my radiotherapy treatment, she used to come to the hospital with me five days a week, and on the fifth day, we used to go to Hacettepe Oncology Hospital together to renew the medicine in the chemotherapy pump attached to my port.

My mother used a cane to walk more easily, but she got tired after standing on feet for too long. Not once did she say “I’m tired.” When my sister Sevtap came to visit us in the middle of my radiotherapy, she had a chance to rest a little.

My new chemotherapy, which was changed after my radiotherapy and consisted of very heavy drugs, was very difficult. It took 5.5 hours to administer the medications.  My mom would wait patiently next to me. Considering the time she dressed me for the chemotherapy session, the taxi ride to the hospital and back, it took seven hours.

This chemotherapy was so severe that I was writhing in pain. When I used the bathroom, my mom held me so I wouldn’t fall.

When I made the slightest noise at night, she would instantly wake up and come to me. One night I called my mother and said, “Don’t leave me.” My mother said, “I will never leave you, you are a part of my life,” and I fell asleep again.

My mother only showed her sadness when I shaved my head. This was her way of showing the pain she was experiencing.

I was taking my mother out to dinner during the three-week break after chemotherapy session so that she wouldn’t feel like she was imprisoned between home and hospital.

It was a great responsibility to care for a cancer patient and be there for me wherever she could. My mother had tremendous willpower. It was a handicap for my brother to live in another city. It wasn’t easy to face everything alone.

My mother had the biggest struggle during my diagnosis and treatment phase, which lasted nearly a year. My mother’s extraordinary care did not end with the end of treatment. Until her death, she continued to take the best care of me, as she did before my illness. My mother was someone who loved her children very much, was happy to be with us, and put her love into everything.

After my treatment was completed, she was with me during all my follow ups. If my friend, with whom I always went to my oncologist appointments, was not available, my mother would accompany me. My mother was always there for me when my friend moved to another city.

My oncologist loved teasing both me and my mom. My mother was around 1.50 cm tall. He used to joke with my mother that he would make her taller. One day, while I was waiting for my turn with my mother in the waiting room, my oncologist came out of his room and when he saw me, he said, “Ooooo, the patient who is most wondered about in and around Balkans and Europe and her mother have arrived.” Naturally, all the attention of the other waiting patients and their relatives was directed to me. In a sense, I was my doctor’s success story.

I loved buying gifts for my mother. She would be very happy to receive gifts. We would go to restaurants, bakeries, and shopping together. Sometimes I would make her upset. When I realized that she was upset with me, I would go and hug her, make jokes and make her laugh. We would travel together whenever we got the chance. In the years before and after my treatment, when I realized she didn’t want to cook, I would order her favorite meals.

These photos were taken when we went to another city for a friend’s wedding in 2015. I arranged a taxi and we stayed for 3 days, visiting almost every part of this city famous for its food and tasting its food.

After my treatment was over, I went on a vacation with my mother, my sister and my nephew and had a lot of fun. We had other holiday getaways. I’m so sorry I didn’t take her to more trips.

In cancer, the attention is generally on the patient. Little emphasis is placed on the person caring for the patient.

While we, the patients, experience the side effects of the treatment, the storms and pains that the caregiver goes through, the weight of having to stand strong and the responsibilities placed on him/her are a long process that is very difficult to bear. Can the caregiver’s lack of support, physical fatigue, and most importantly, the psychology that has taken a big blow while the patient is receiving treatment be ignored?

What was my place in this question I asked myself? What could I do? I can’t find my answer. ☹

One day, while having dinner with my mother, I was looking at something on my mobile phone. When there was silence, I looked at my mother, her head was leaning against the wall and she had fainted. I panicked so much that I started doing the Heimlich maneuver, completely unconsciously. I don’t remember how hard I tried. At the same time, I was shouting “mom, mom.” Then my mother coughed and coughed up bits of food stuck in her throat. My hands and feet were shaking with panic and fear.

How could I know that after about 3 years, I would experience the greatest pain and lose her.

When I retired 5.5 years ago, I made a promise to my mother. I told her that I had more time now, that we would have better days and that we would travel together and do the things we wanted. But I could not fulfill this promise.

MY MOTHER’S DEATH BECAUSE OF CANCER

I retired in the summer of 2019. My brother took us to the summer house in the middle of summer. My mother loved the bougainvillea flower very much. We bought a sapling and planted it together. The sapling, which was around 50 cm tall, has now grown up to the 2nd floor. I look carefully at this souvenir I inherited from my mother.

We would go out to the front of the house in the evenings. My mother would take a light walk and we would watch the sunset.

Then we received sad news. My mother’s brother was diagnosed with cancer. This was very sad for my mother. We called and asked for his treatment to be done in the city where I live. It was not possible for my uncle to receive good treatment in our hometown. Unfortunately, we lost my uncle within a year.

It was very hot in the summer house we went to with my mother in the middle of summer 2021. My mother had lost her appetite. Since I lost my appetite, I attributed this to the heat.

One day, we went to the market for shopping with my mother. I bought lots of my mother’s favorite foods. The driver of the taxi we always take said he was busy and would send us another taxi. After waiting for a long time, my mother said that since she could not stand for long, she would sit on the wall 3-4 meters behind us and wait.

While I was waiting for the taxi, I heard a sound. When I looked back, I saw that my mother had fallen. I can’t remember how I ran to her. I was screaming in panic. People came and tried to help. I remember saying call an ambulance.

My mother had a semi-loss of consciousness. Over time, she started making eye contact only with me. The tumor had metastasized to the part of his brain where her motor system is located. The neurosurgeon said that surgery could not be performed in that area. I thought there were other treatment methods. We were looking for solutions.

We lost my mother within 2 months. She spent the last month in intensive care. I always believed that she would get better. Meanwhile, Sevtap came to Turkiye. Doctors said my mom’s condition was not getting better. We had the opportunity to visit my mom as one person only and for 5 minutes only, three days a week. Doctors said she was unconscious, but I didn’t believe him. The last time I was near her, my mother shook my hand even though her eyes were closed.

When I visited her, I was telling my mother that she would get better, that we would go home again, that my brother and I were waiting for her outside because the doctors did not allow us to go inside, and that she should not worry. I was telling her that I loved her very much and kissing her hands.

My mother used to get anxious when I wasn’t around. When I left her after my visits in the hospital, I would cry in an empty place on the stairs because I would think that my mother would be afraid without me.

I had my first panic attack while waiting for Sevtap with my brother at the airport when she arrived from Canada. It was the pandemic period, and they were not letting in people waiting for passengers. My heart started to pound; I couldn’t breathe. I sat on the floor because I felt like I was going to faint. My brother was confused about what to do. One of the people waiting for passengers came to us. He said he was a doctor and examined me. He said, “You are fine, you can call me if you need.”

I wasn’t in a position to care about myself. Hopes for my mother were diminishing and the rebellion inside me was growing like a mountain. We felt very helpless. They said we were losing my mom.

My nephew came to see his grandmother. We went out to buy something. While I was going to the car with my sister and nephew, I sat down again when the same symptoms occurred. We went to the emergency room. I didn’t know it was a panic attack at the time.

And one morning my phone rang.

The light in my mother’s eyes was now extinguished.

We went to our hometown for her funeral. We were in deep silence and pain. The next day at the funeral, I was talking to my mother as I hugged her coffin and cried.

About ten days later, we returned to Ankara to send my sister Sevtap back to Canada. My brother said he couldn’t leave me here alone and took me back to our hometown.

How could I not understand that my mother had cancer when I was a cancer patient for years? I was thinking and couldn’t find any signs. What did I do wrong, what did I skip? I felt like I was going crazy.

While we took my mother for a health check every year, we did not go to crowded hospitals during the pandemic to avoid catching Covid. My mother had no obvious illness. Did I make a mistake?

I had cancer, we recently lost my uncle to cancer. Did my mother have to be too? I was asking why, why… Why my mother!

I had never rebelled in my own illness. For my mother, my rebellion was endless…

I would visit my mother’s grave a few days a week, talk to her and cry. At my brother’s house, I kept my screams inside and cried silently. 

Then the panic attacks started again. We went to a psychiatrist. He made adjustments to my medications.

I stayed with my brother for about three months because he did not let me be alone. Meanwhile, the psychiatrist had stopped some of my medications. When I didn’t want to stay any longer, my brother took me home and right after my brother returned, I had another attack one after another. Because my home meant my mother.

I went to the psychiatrist and my attacks stopped with another medication he gave me. I still have attacks from time to time, but not as often as before.

Every night I was crying and apologizing, saying, “Mom, forgive me, I couldn’t keep you alive.” I was wondering why she had to go. My mother deserved good days to live. I was asking what my mother was doing in the grave. My mother would be afraid without me. I needed my mother back.

After she died, I could not look at where she lay down to watch television after finishing her house chores. I still can’t look at where she first fell in the summer house.

I used to watch Korean dramas to clear my mind. When I laughed at a funny scene, my mother would say “laugh, my daughter, laugh more.” She would love it if I laughed, as I had almost forgotten how to laugh due to my depression.

I neither listened to music nor watched TV series for a long time. With my sister’s encouragement, I started receiving therapy. I went to therapy except for the summers for nearly two years.

I started watching TV series again. When I start laughing at a funny scene, my laughter turns into crying because my mother’s words would come to my mind.

My psychiatrist asked me this question one day. “You had cancer and recovered.  You lost your mother to cancer. What kind of feelings does this create in you?”

That was the crucial question. I felt guilty. I lived, but my mother did not have this chance. I felt like I had committed a crime against her by being alive. When I told my therapist about this, he said let’s focus on this, but I could not make any progress on this issue.

We three siblings could not get over the loss of our mother. This great pain we are experiencing is still a deep wound within us.

The above photo of my mother is one of my favorites. The sparkle in her eyes, the joy of life, the happiness…

Monica in her arms was 4 months old when she came to us from the street. My mother raised her. There was great love between them. Monica would sleep hugging my mother’s legs. My mother wouldn’t get up even though she had to, so that Monica wouldn’t wake up.

My mother was a very selfless, loving woman.  Some mornings I woke up with joy because I think I will see my mother. I think that perhaps she already had her breakfast. But, no…. Big disappointment….

The external memory attached to my mobile phone broke down and nearly 30 GB of my photos were deleted. I even went to programmers who could recover deleted files, but I couldn’t get any results. Gone are photos from at least the last six or seven years, including videos of my mother. I am so very sorry.

TO MY MOTHER

My dear mother, I miss you so much. Rest in peace. Don’t worry about us. We are fine. Monica and Mia (my cat) are good too. Monica continues her mischief. We will come to visit you when Sevtap comes to Turkiye. You are our everything. We love you very much. You are in our minds and hearts every day. And you will always be there.

Mehtap Savas, Ankara, Turkiye January 2025