Aunty Oun

Aunty Oun’s husband died last week. He was 44 years old and father to two teenage girls, when he finally lost his year long battle with cancer.

He had been sick for some time but had only been diagnosed with mouth cancer early last year. A smoker, he quickly gave up his addiction. He opted for chemotherapy and radiation therapy that was kindly paid for by Oun’s boss – Christian missionaries.

But it was too little too late. The lumps and pain returned.

In fear of deadly “iron germs” from the scalpel, he delayed critical months to have an operation that would remove half his tongue. Instead, he sought out traditional healers, “kroo Khmai”, who gave him various natural medicines made from plants and herbs. They worked… for the first week, anyhow. He finally agreed to have the recommended operation.

But it was too little too late. The lumps and pain returned, and he was getting terribly skinny.

No one was coping well. Oun was prescribed medication for her panic attacks, and missed many days of work to care for her husband. His family were telling her that she should take him to Vietnam for treatment… but she had no money, no house to sell, only two daughters whom she was determined would finish their schooling before entering the work force.

Fearing death, Oun’s husband plunged his family into debt to pay for the “last hope” chemotherapy recommended by an opportunistic doctor. Each shot cost 4 times Oun’s monthly salary – a salary that normally only just covered their living expenses.

Despite ongoing help from Oun’s boss, it simply wasn’t enough. Oun began stealing – she was desperate. She was caught and warned. Only weeks later, she was caught again and fired.

That was three months ago.

Previously Oun had told me that she will be relieved when he goes. She was already being treated like a widow by her neighbours who were trying to make life difficult for her when she tried to build a fence to secure her house. Sick or gone wouldn’t make any difference. In fact, without the demands and expenses, it would be easier. Her only fear was for the physical security of her girls with no man about the house.

Oun had a faith of sorts, but it seemed more based on material benefits than relationship with God. It did not give her courage in the face of uncertainty, love that drives out all fear, or hope in the face of death. These are a total mystery to her.

I wonder how she feels about life, faith and hope in a developing country.

I‘m sorry, Oun. I am so sorry.