Some things seem perplexing in the beginning, and appear a bitter pill to swallow, but reveal their true meaning and pertinence in due time.
The contents of this piece refer to the time I was admitted to the intensive care units (ICUs) of different hospitals in Pune and Mumbai.
ICUs are terrible places. You are jacked up with sedatives and lose control of any/all aspects of your life. Most of the while you don’t know what is going to happen to you, or if you are going to get better at all. Without the cold baths and the essential cups of (lemon) tea, I had become extremely downbeat.
All seemed bleak.
Days crawled slowly into the next, till seven of them constituted the first week of my purgatory. The set repeated itself over the next seven moons. After about twenty days I had broken down completely.
It was getting impossible for me to hold on. Real life seemed so so distant. There seemed no end to this dark saga. I was losing my mind.
Family and friends were allowed to visit me after 6 PM (till 7 PM). One day Daddy came and told me I was sufficiently strong and could take it. It’s something you say to people in pain. It is supposed to be a self-fulfilling prophesy. Think positive and the results will follow.
It did not work though. I let him know I didn’t feel strong at all. On the contrary, I felt like a spiritless wimpy chicken-shit. I had reached and breached my breaking point.
Another day, when Moni Phua came to see me, she noted I had to be tough, and I needed to be ready for all possibilities, even for an escalation in my troubles. I really didn’t like her premonitions. Would matters get even worse?
One after another I received a stream of setbacks. Circumstances remained unpleasant, but at least I was not blindsided.
At one point I was ready for ANYTHING,
and that was whiter than white.
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