Love Cuts

I had watched Love Cuts at Ang Mo Kio Hub, and it certainly was a film that struck more than a few chords. There were numerous similarities and though the movie did not go into details, it brought back detailed memories of my late mother's battle with cancer.

Battle does seem a misnomer, for it implies a possibility of a triumph, or at least, a truce. That does not exist for cancers at Stage 5, which would have metastasised, or spread to other organs or throughout the body. There was a brief reference made in the film about metastasis. But of course, I knew the ending; Zoe Tay would die, for how else did so many of my colleagues end up in tears after watching it?

I could understand. The film was moving, and it was easy to empathise with the character, whether you were a mother, a son, a husband or simply, a friend of the female protagonist. It was tragic, beyond a doubt, and sad.

The sadness that I felt was largely because I re-experienced the emotions that I went through when my mother was dying of Stage 5 stomach cancer. The diagnosis hit Zoe's character hard, but that was too easy for her. I remember how we could not pinpoint the cancer source. The doctors had guessed at one point, that it was ovarian cancer, and that was really a guess.

My mother was a seamstress too. She mediated between me and the father. She cared about the family, like most mothers would. Like Zoe's character, she deteriorated very quickly. Such is the speed of cancer metastasis and cell formation. And there was a scene where she sat on the toilet bowl. I recall she had to do that because of the morphine she had to take, which slowed down bowel movements. All the Senna, and Lactulose could not help. At that time, I did not understand that such palliative care was destined for an inevitable end. I busied myself trying to help where I can.

And there was that line, which Zoe uttered to the model. That her life was not merely hers. And how that resonated.