I would never be able to understand or come to terms with the coincidence of it all. Or be grateful enough for it, for that matter, I suppose. I had just accompanied my husband to the hospital because he needed to get expert opinion on a CT scan he was put through after suffering a stomach-ache.
Opposite where we were sitting was a room labeled ‘Mammogram’. Well, why not get it done since I was here< I thought, and went for it.
When the image came in, the doctor, mounted the film on the lit screen. It meant nothing to me. I was, as usual, expecting her to tell me, “Okay, it’s all normal, ma’am”. Leaving you feel a little bad about the money spent on the test. But she looked at me and said, “There’s a lesion”. I looked at her in disbelief. “Could it be malignant?” I heard myself asking. You know how it is; everyone thinks, “That couldn’t happen to me.”
“To be honest, it looks nasty. We need to do an Ultrasound,” she said. I shifted to the other room and lay down, confused but still optimistic. She was at it for almost an hour. “Is it done?” I eventually asked, a little impatiently. “Actually, we need to do a biopsy to confirm if the lesion is malignant,” she answered.
‘This can’t be happening’, I thought. “No,” I replied, a little bit too hastily. “I need to talk to my family about this first, doctor.” “Don’t be silly, nobody gets cancer just like that,” my son back home. Life was normal again. Or was it?
“No harm in getting the test done,” said my husband after about a week. Once a bureaucrat, always a bureaucrat: He knows that no matter what others think or say, his word is final. I knew he’ll have his way. And he did.
“We definitely need to do a biopsy of this lesion,” the doctor at the clinic declared after a glance at the film. “Don’t be afraid, this is ‘fine needle aspiration’. It is virtually painless,” the doctor insisted. I almost believed him, but it was one of the most painful experiences of my life, and I screamed and screamed… A couple of days later, the test results came in: ‘Lesion should be surgically removed to rule out carcinoma (cancer)’. I was now obliged to visit the much-dreaded Oncology department of a hospital for the very first time of my life. The surgeon we met with was pleasant enough, and said while the surgery seemed inevitable, further tests were in order. But it turned out I was suffering from breast cancer. “Thank God it’s just a stage one cancer,” the doctor said. By now, everything was happening in a blur. The doctors in oncology wing are all courteous, they perhaps want to make up for what discomfort the patient is going through. It does not help though!
The dreaded day arrived when I was to report for surgery. Before I was wheeled into the Operation Theater I had a look at my family standing around me, looking concerned. I smiled and said, “Go plan for a holiday, they can’t keep me for long.”
My primary sensation was of feeling reallycold. And then I slipped into oblivion.
When I began to come around, I spotted my family – my husband, my sons – gathered over my bed, tense and concerned. “How are you?” they asked. It was a relief to hear familiar voices again! I wanted to get up, sing and dance. But I was still numb from the anesthesia, and even my fingers refused to obey my commands. And the pain, the pain was unbearabl.
Sister Tiesta, assigned to watch over me, said: “Don’t worry, all will be okay”. “Water, give me water,” I whispered, my throat parched and painful. “It is 6.30 PM now, you can have water at 8.30,” she said in her Malayalam accent.
“Now, please,” I begged. “Okay, open your mouth,” she said, and poured half a spoonful of water that just wet my tongue. ‘This was unfair,’ I thought to myself, helpless to do anything. She then left, entrusting me to my family. My throat hurt like hell. If only somebody would give me water. “Water,” I begged.
“Just wait for two hours ma, please have patience,” I heard in response. “Water,” I tried to shout. But they gave me just half a spoonful. I couldn’t believe it. I was at their mercy even for a little water. I could see drops of medicine falling at regular intervals from an IV bottle Drop by drop, they entered my body. But I was dying for water.
“Water,” I cried hoarsely again. Again a few drops were poured onto my tongue. I tried to carry them to my throat, to no avail. I shut my eyes, my mind wandering to the images of waterfalls in the mountains. We would stop the car and collect cold water in cupped hands. The gushing streams of pure water were so powerful and beautiful. Then I was back in the present. “Water,” I said. Again a few drops. ‘I will die of thirst today,’ I thought to myself, lying there helplessly in a strange metallic bed.
“Water please,” I intoned. “Just half an hour to go ma,” I heard. ‘Were these the people I had fed with the best food all my life,’ I thought. “No,” I shouted as loudly as I could. “Give me water, now, and also I want tea.
” My elder son finally had enough. “It is 8 pm, enough,” he said, and poured half a tumbler of water into my mouth. I looked at him gratefully. In fact I shall always be grateful. He sat near my bed all night without a wink of sleep!
Looking back…
The experience of that day lives with me, refusing to go away. The uncertainty of all we see and take as forever has left a permanent mark on my mind. I feel free of the bondage of ‘yeh dil maange more’. What is the point of wanting to own the oceans when one fine day we may find ourselves begging for just one drop of water?
(Edited excerpts from the book ‘A Mother’s Journey’, published by Heritage Publishers; ISBN: 978-81-7026-579-5)
