ISAIAH PHILIPS

It's been a long month, and my mum is presently fighting the biggest battle of her life with this treatment. She's getting weaker, and I have to stay by her side constantly, barely getting much sleep.

As I help her sit up to eat, the doctor enters the room. My mum's situation has been fluctuating so much over the past month, with her getting from better to worse, better to worse. The hope I have is slowly starting to diminish and I can just tell that with every day that passes, my mum is slowly giving up.

"I need to talk to you," he says. It's never a good thing when he says that. I follow him into the hallway and he tells me the treatment isn't working. "No, no, I didn't travel here with my mum and spend so much money only for you to tell me that this treatment is not working. It has to work. This is her last chance at getting better, this is supposed to be the treatment she needs to recover." I tell him, holding back tears. "I am extremely sorry, we have done everything we can, but her body isn't responding well to the treatment. If we continue it, I'm afraid her body won't be strong enough to take it." He explains. "So you're telling me that this so-called treatment that is supposed to be helping her is actually harming her? How the hell is that supposed to work?" I say in utter disbelief. "I'm afraid it appears that way. She's lucky to have fought this for so long." He continues. I cover my mouth with my hands, no longer able to hold back any of my tears. "How long?" I ask. He doesn't reply. "How long more does she have?" I shout out. I need a time frame, I need some form of mental preparation. "I would give her a year at most." He finally says.

A year.

Hearing it from a doctor, made reality so much clearer. It made the clock on my mother's life more apparent, more visible, more real. The feeling of pain washes over me as I am faced with the fact that this is indeed the end. It broke me inside. It shattered me. I walk back into the room and my mother immediately reads my face and the situation.

"Go ahead. How much time do I have left?" She asks weakly, her voice coming out more of a whisper.

I shake my head and sit next to her. I don't have the heart to tell her that she only has a year left, that her time is limited. She embraces me in a warm hug, which makes me completely let go knowing that this will be something I will sorely miss, something I will long for when she leaves eventually. I still couldn't accept the fact that I will lose her indefinitely. I thought that this time, there would be a miracle. However, I realised that life has already predetermined that she will be gone too soon. I realised that I will never get my mother back, I will never get the woman who loved me with everything she had despite the pain and betrayal of her husband back.

"I want to go back to London," She tells him. With the news that the treatment is already useless, I agree to bring her back to London when her condition is more stable and when she's feeling better.

"I promise I'll bring you back home mum," I gave her my word.