On Wednesday, I had returned from Kuala Lumpur,where my maternal grandma(only surviving grandparent) is fighting for her life in an ICU ward.
Her lungs were flooded, her kidney had virtually failed and her heart had to be supported with three types of drugs, including Dopamine.
Heavily sedated, she has only demonstrated superficial success at opening her eyes.
Nonetheless, each of her children(all financially successful to different degrees)bowed their heads close to her ear, and whispered whatever words of comfort or instruction("don't struggle"," move towards the light") they could.
Last Saturday, I shed my first tears of my life for her as she railed against the discomfort of multiple tubes and needles that pierced her body, ironically meant to save her life, or at least prolong it.
An obituary was hastily written up, handed around for those whose names were etched in it to modify as required.
Doctors had vacillated between hope and hopelessness throughout the entire episode and virtually all of us, guided by human(and inhuman) logic had prepared ourself for her passing.
On Wednesday, doctors had successfully drained the fluid from her clogged lungs and discovered pneumonia.
The power of prayer, bandied around by several friends, colleagues and relatives was to be sorely tested during this trying period.Two daughters and a son prayed out to the Lord at her side, and several group prayers were also carried out.
It went over a little to the tacky side when my aunt put a glass block containing an etching of Jesus' visage at the bedside, lit up with mini coloured lights reminiscent of a disco.
I was myself on the brink of capitulation to faithlessness as the pillars of my life were rapidly crumbling around me.
As I gazed on the old lady's pale visage the first time I had arrived at the hospital, I sensed that financially, I was in the same condition- near death,as I had purchased many securities that kept tumbling, and some that were due for payment.
However, on Friday last, as the first batches of stocks were coming due for payment, I put the market out of my mind in an eerily calm and nonchalant manner, more or less resigning myself to more debilitating losses.
As the electronic clock on the heart machine display ticked past 3:30 and then towards 4:00, I knew I had to make the excruciating journey to the phone to call my broker to cut my position, which in all perceptible probability would be in the red.
So, after silently acknowledging to God(despite my absence of faith) that my financial condition was as critical as my grandmother's and asking for the revival of both, I trudged towards the phone.
The market was strong! My position had improved considerably since the day before, and I gladly sold whatever I could dispose of, especially those due earlier.
I had cut my outstanding losses by a rather small but significant amount, and my weekend would be indescribably more peaceful.
Fast forward to today, and I received the almost miraculous( an adjective constantly attached to my grandma's chances of survival) news that the ventilator tube had been removed.
But I'm still keeping my fingers crossed as the old lady's condition had deteriorated from seemingly bouncy health to near death in less than a day.
I have taken another leap of faith that the market will continue its rebound by taking up new positions that will come due next week.
Will my faith in my own analysis finally be rewarded in a big way as it was in the heydays of 1998/99?
Nothing to lose sleep over but not insubstantial either.
This is my swansong for the next two weeks and whether I am successful this round or not, I will retire from the market till November.
Meanwhile, a 89-year-old woman hangs on gamely.
