Belma Snyder RIP
My mother, Belma Arslantas Snyder, passed away on New Year's Eve ~ 2006, in the morning.
She was 57, and her birthday was on Christmas Day. I am her only child. She leaves behind my father and me. Her mother, brother, and father all dead. Her mother, who lived in Türkiye her whole life, passed only 4 years ago, at the age of 75. It's still a little nebulous as to how she died, because we weren't there - but it seems like heart/respiratory failure.
I arrived in Houston, where she and my dad share a house and have lived for 30 years, on Christmas Day. My dad and I went to the hospital that evening to see her and try to trade presents. That wasn't very successful. She didn't really care much about her birthday or Christmas this year.
She was in the ICU at Southwest Memorial Hermann hospital. She was admitted to the hospital on December 1st, diagnosed with Stage IV Sarcomatoid Renal Carcinoma on about December 7th, and dead on December 31st. The reason she was initially admitted, to another hospital, just after Thanksgiving, was a fractured hip that broke while I was home for Thanksgiving. We thought it was nothing.
You see, my mom didn't really have any significant symptoms - no fatigue, significant weight loss, no chronic pain, etc.
Anyway, when they tested her for the hip problem they started finding one thing after another - blood clots in both legs and one arm, fluid in and around her lungs, a malignant tumor in her kidney, and more.
The type of cancer she had was rare, and thus underresearched compared to others, it seems. Only 5% of cancers...
The first night when I arrived, we spoke with a nephrologist who indicated her kidneys & bladder were in bad shape, but he said the conditions were reversible. After that day, however, we heard no more positive indications from any of the countless doctors/specialists. My head was spinning - talking with so many diff. people - doctors/nurses/social workers/concerned friends, etc.
All week, my father and I watched her wither away as her kidneys began to shut down and her lungs filled up making her gasp for air. Her belly swelled.
We watched her go from fighting and struggling to indifferent. She was mentally aware throughout it all. She would not sleep or rest when we were there, and the nurses told us she wouldn't sleep at night either.
I tried to dress pretty for her, and wear things she had given me to cheer her up. I also wore a crescent moon & star ring, and made sure a card with those symbols was in her room. These symbols are supposed to comfort Muslims.
By mid-week, she was no longer allowed to eat anything - only ice chips and water. Inside, she was on fire. She could not drink enough cold water to cool off. She desperately wanted Glucerna, pudding, chocolate, and oranges.
Late in the week, some staff came to us recommending hospice care. I had not previously been familiarized with the concept, but basically it's when you shift the focus from trying to fix what's wrong to keeping someone comfortable. {Comfortable...passing...I hate euphemisms.}
No one wanted her to suffer, but she didn't want to do hospice, she wanted to keep fighting. Later in the week, her doctor came to us and said we were buying time, but for what? They literally could not treat any of her problems because the others were compounding. It was a Catch-22. We re-approached my mom about hospice and told her she could eat and drink whatever she wanted there. I wanted her to taste food and see out a window before she died, all of which she could do in hospice. She began to warm up to the concept, and finally agreed that she wanted to do it. By the end she was begging to leave ICU and go back upstairs to the Cancer Ward she had previously been in so she could start in-patient hospice care.
We had people speak with her about how hospice worked. We also called an Imam - Muslim priest - twice during this ordeal. I am glad she was awake and alert enough to be mentally present when the 2 Imams came to pray with and for her. I wanted to hear these prayers too. I wanted her to have some peace, and I thought the Imam might comfort her. Though she was not devout, she was born a Muslim, and grew up in a Muslim country. She had in recent years spoken of making a pilgrimage to Mecca - something every Muslim is supposed to do at least once in life.
Friends came by to visit her, and called the house. 20 people came by her hospital room on Saturday alone (the day before she passed). She was so well-loved by many groups of friends. Unfortunately, she only has one relative in the US, an uncle, and we can't get ahold of him to inform him, and to let him know about the memorial service. If he is not there, she will have no blood relatives save me, present...
Some of her cousins called in the middle of the night - at about 4 or 5AM the night she died. Türkiye is 8 hours ahead of Houston...They only recently heard she was even sick. And they were shocked and horrified when I, half asleep, told them in broken Turkish she had died.
It all happened so fast. Last week was a blur. I barely saw the sun. Every day at the hospital all day, and then home to answer calls and collapse from exhaustion.
You see me blog about my love for the South. Well, it comforted me again in this situation. There were two figures, one man and one woman (both of whom worked for the Odyssey House Hospice), whose Southern manner comforted me deeply. A slow, calm, patient, and hospitable way about them I shall never forget. Even walking around the hospital, everyone says hi and hello, and is just friendly. Living in New England for 10 years now, forget what a difference these things make, but oh God, do they.
Also, the Turks came out in full force. I got to meet new people - friends of my mom, and their friends.
My parents know lots of people who work in oil and/or in the Middle East. I feel such a kinship with these Middle Easterners. It is my blood rising up and communing with them.
Funny and stereotypical I suppose to be in Texas dealing with folks in oil, and the Middle Eastern thing is so current...
Someone dear to me recommended abstaining from media in order to clear my head, and I did, to the best of my ability. But I still managed to hear about the passing of Ahmet Ertegün, James Brown, Gerald Ford, and Saddam Hussein. I did not listen to music - the thing I love most in this world and my reason for carrying on - for about 4 days+. I didn't feel I deserved to. I love it too much and it makes me too happy. I wouldn't allow anything to comfort me. I broke the silence only yesterday, for I was back in Boston and wanting to get on with life. I mean, I barely even allowed myself to hum any little tunes, which I do alot. I censored myself. That is definitely one way of mourning for me. No music. Only silence to hear the void and feel it descend upon me.
I fasted until sunset on the day my mother died - out of respect. This is common for Muslims, and though I am agnostic, I still feel a connection to the world of Islam, and acknowledge its role in my heritage. At sunset, after talking on the phone with folks and visiting with the ones who stopped by, I realized, My God, this is the last day I'm here, and I haven't really seen a sunset (so beautiful the Texas sky) this whole time, and now the fasting time is over. I felt so saddened at that time being over. Perhaps that's when I most felt an absence. there was nothing more I could do in the immediate...I looked out over the lake behind my parents' home and observed the sun deep in the west. It was obscured by a neighbor's fence. I wished it had been earlier in the magic hour so I could look at it and then East, towards Mecca. Somewhere I am sure an ezan wailed across a city from a minaret...I longed to hear that, as I can in Türkiye, beautifully and mournfully coming out from several mosques simultaneously...the ancient sound of praising Allah...so desperate and so humble. Foreign, beautiful, and exotic, yet familiar in the fabric of my blood. Bridging the distant gap between all oceans from Türkiye to here. Boston. Houston. I longed to hear these sounds ~ Arabic prayers from the Koran in a quavering male voice - so much that I got my laptop and searched desperately for some audio clips. And I found them. I found one that was 7 minutes, and I blasted it, sounding rough through my small computer speakers and being of poor audio quality to begin with. But its gritty nature was just the salve I sought. This whole experience was gritty. Grit grit grit.
And then I heard about the fire at Pan 9 - the space I so dearly loved and in which fell in love, created much music, performed, etc.
A crappy end to 2006 for yours truly, but I still have much hope for 2007. Hope springs infernal.
She was 57, and her birthday was on Christmas Day. I am her only child. She leaves behind my father and me. Her mother, brother, and father all dead. Her mother, who lived in Türkiye her whole life, passed only 4 years ago, at the age of 75. It's still a little nebulous as to how she died, because we weren't there - but it seems like heart/respiratory failure.
I arrived in Houston, where she and my dad share a house and have lived for 30 years, on Christmas Day. My dad and I went to the hospital that evening to see her and try to trade presents. That wasn't very successful. She didn't really care much about her birthday or Christmas this year.
She was in the ICU at Southwest Memorial Hermann hospital. She was admitted to the hospital on December 1st, diagnosed with Stage IV Sarcomatoid Renal Carcinoma on about December 7th, and dead on December 31st. The reason she was initially admitted, to another hospital, just after Thanksgiving, was a fractured hip that broke while I was home for Thanksgiving. We thought it was nothing.
You see, my mom didn't really have any significant symptoms - no fatigue, significant weight loss, no chronic pain, etc.
Anyway, when they tested her for the hip problem they started finding one thing after another - blood clots in both legs and one arm, fluid in and around her lungs, a malignant tumor in her kidney, and more.
The type of cancer she had was rare, and thus underresearched compared to others, it seems. Only 5% of cancers...
The first night when I arrived, we spoke with a nephrologist who indicated her kidneys & bladder were in bad shape, but he said the conditions were reversible. After that day, however, we heard no more positive indications from any of the countless doctors/specialists. My head was spinning - talking with so many diff. people - doctors/nurses/social workers/concerned friends, etc.
All week, my father and I watched her wither away as her kidneys began to shut down and her lungs filled up making her gasp for air. Her belly swelled.
We watched her go from fighting and struggling to indifferent. She was mentally aware throughout it all. She would not sleep or rest when we were there, and the nurses told us she wouldn't sleep at night either.
I tried to dress pretty for her, and wear things she had given me to cheer her up. I also wore a crescent moon & star ring, and made sure a card with those symbols was in her room. These symbols are supposed to comfort Muslims.
By mid-week, she was no longer allowed to eat anything - only ice chips and water. Inside, she was on fire. She could not drink enough cold water to cool off. She desperately wanted Glucerna, pudding, chocolate, and oranges.
Late in the week, some staff came to us recommending hospice care. I had not previously been familiarized with the concept, but basically it's when you shift the focus from trying to fix what's wrong to keeping someone comfortable. {Comfortable...passing...I hate euphemisms.}
No one wanted her to suffer, but she didn't want to do hospice, she wanted to keep fighting. Later in the week, her doctor came to us and said we were buying time, but for what? They literally could not treat any of her problems because the others were compounding. It was a Catch-22. We re-approached my mom about hospice and told her she could eat and drink whatever she wanted there. I wanted her to taste food and see out a window before she died, all of which she could do in hospice. She began to warm up to the concept, and finally agreed that she wanted to do it. By the end she was begging to leave ICU and go back upstairs to the Cancer Ward she had previously been in so she could start in-patient hospice care.
We had people speak with her about how hospice worked. We also called an Imam - Muslim priest - twice during this ordeal. I am glad she was awake and alert enough to be mentally present when the 2 Imams came to pray with and for her. I wanted to hear these prayers too. I wanted her to have some peace, and I thought the Imam might comfort her. Though she was not devout, she was born a Muslim, and grew up in a Muslim country. She had in recent years spoken of making a pilgrimage to Mecca - something every Muslim is supposed to do at least once in life.
Friends came by to visit her, and called the house. 20 people came by her hospital room on Saturday alone (the day before she passed). She was so well-loved by many groups of friends. Unfortunately, she only has one relative in the US, an uncle, and we can't get ahold of him to inform him, and to let him know about the memorial service. If he is not there, she will have no blood relatives save me, present...
Some of her cousins called in the middle of the night - at about 4 or 5AM the night she died. Türkiye is 8 hours ahead of Houston...They only recently heard she was even sick. And they were shocked and horrified when I, half asleep, told them in broken Turkish she had died.
It all happened so fast. Last week was a blur. I barely saw the sun. Every day at the hospital all day, and then home to answer calls and collapse from exhaustion.
You see me blog about my love for the South. Well, it comforted me again in this situation. There were two figures, one man and one woman (both of whom worked for the Odyssey House Hospice), whose Southern manner comforted me deeply. A slow, calm, patient, and hospitable way about them I shall never forget. Even walking around the hospital, everyone says hi and hello, and is just friendly. Living in New England for 10 years now, forget what a difference these things make, but oh God, do they.
Also, the Turks came out in full force. I got to meet new people - friends of my mom, and their friends.
My parents know lots of people who work in oil and/or in the Middle East. I feel such a kinship with these Middle Easterners. It is my blood rising up and communing with them.
Funny and stereotypical I suppose to be in Texas dealing with folks in oil, and the Middle Eastern thing is so current...
Someone dear to me recommended abstaining from media in order to clear my head, and I did, to the best of my ability. But I still managed to hear about the passing of Ahmet Ertegün, James Brown, Gerald Ford, and Saddam Hussein. I did not listen to music - the thing I love most in this world and my reason for carrying on - for about 4 days+. I didn't feel I deserved to. I love it too much and it makes me too happy. I wouldn't allow anything to comfort me. I broke the silence only yesterday, for I was back in Boston and wanting to get on with life. I mean, I barely even allowed myself to hum any little tunes, which I do alot. I censored myself. That is definitely one way of mourning for me. No music. Only silence to hear the void and feel it descend upon me.
I fasted until sunset on the day my mother died - out of respect. This is common for Muslims, and though I am agnostic, I still feel a connection to the world of Islam, and acknowledge its role in my heritage. At sunset, after talking on the phone with folks and visiting with the ones who stopped by, I realized, My God, this is the last day I'm here, and I haven't really seen a sunset (so beautiful the Texas sky) this whole time, and now the fasting time is over. I felt so saddened at that time being over. Perhaps that's when I most felt an absence. there was nothing more I could do in the immediate...I looked out over the lake behind my parents' home and observed the sun deep in the west. It was obscured by a neighbor's fence. I wished it had been earlier in the magic hour so I could look at it and then East, towards Mecca. Somewhere I am sure an ezan wailed across a city from a minaret...I longed to hear that, as I can in Türkiye, beautifully and mournfully coming out from several mosques simultaneously...the ancient sound of praising Allah...so desperate and so humble. Foreign, beautiful, and exotic, yet familiar in the fabric of my blood. Bridging the distant gap between all oceans from Türkiye to here. Boston. Houston. I longed to hear these sounds ~ Arabic prayers from the Koran in a quavering male voice - so much that I got my laptop and searched desperately for some audio clips. And I found them. I found one that was 7 minutes, and I blasted it, sounding rough through my small computer speakers and being of poor audio quality to begin with. But its gritty nature was just the salve I sought. This whole experience was gritty. Grit grit grit.
And then I heard about the fire at Pan 9 - the space I so dearly loved and in which fell in love, created much music, performed, etc.
A crappy end to 2006 for yours truly, but I still have much hope for 2007. Hope springs infernal.
posted by Ajda the Turkish Queen at 8:32 AM
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