From Tigress to Amoeba

An amoeba is a single cell organism that has featured in the 1st chapter of nearly all life science and basic biology books since high school. I don’t feel nearly as powerful and significant as the amoeba but I do feel like its size, shape and visibility aka all 0. To the mother and father I am the single cell organism that changed their lives and appeared as the 1st chapter of their progeny life. So I’m toggling multiple identities here.

I would like to think of myself as the tigress given how moments ago, whilst checking if Abeer had made some connection on his phone, I stumbled upon his instagram comments. Well I was looking for comfort in his pics and comments, but couldn’t help noticing that while his feline love was battling emotions and upcoming significant pain, 95% of the comments, praises and batting eyelids on his instagram account were ladies (in the appropriate words of Abeer – Skanks). But even that tigress retreated into an emotional black hole when an attending came in to draw blood from her arm. I can never get used to needles and neither do I want to. The blood didn’t make me queasy as much as the size of the needle did.

Present moment: 9pm in room # 85 of the 11th floor of KDA Hospital. I checked in today as an inpatient for my knee surgery. I expected the ‘general’ ward to remind me of all Indian general wards. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise. Clean, air-conditioned, private, a cosy nook and cupboard equipped with a digitized safe and straight out of A class design. Mrs. Tina Anil Ambani sure watches Grey’s Anatomy cuz it was a replica of their rooms. I was instantly relieved as I had just spent an hour at the insurance help desk. It was all touch and go. They admit you and then work on costs. It’s like they feed you and then force you into anorexia cuz you couldn’t afford them. This was top class at a (need to add) very reasonable cost. I was quiet and didn’t wanna talk. Was a tad bit rude to mum whom I had vehemently asked not to accompany me. Truth is without her I wouldn’t have made it to my bed even after 2hrs. But the abandoned girl in me craved for her boy.

Once on my bed, the nurses and on-call staff poured in on me. Height, weight, x-ray and basic blood work were in order. But all it took was step 1 to reduce me to tears – the patient tag on my wrist. Reality and nostalgia hit so hard. Mum didn’t ask or cajole me. Just held me and asked me not to be scared. I was scared shitless. How could this happen to me? How did 2013 turn into a year of hospital visits, needles, meds and large medical bills? How did my health plunge and then come back up and then show me it could dive deeper? I needed Abeer. He has the answers in his madness. Not the real ones. Just answers I would like to hear.

The nurse kept checking my BP and insisted I eat cuz it kept dropping. The last weight recorded showed a shocking 4.5kgs lower (in a month’s time). There was a sadistic unhealthy smile in my mind – at least I wasn’t fattening up and my customized workout had done its work. An unhealthy celebration. I surveyed my room. Curious patients and their relatives all examined me from a distance or whenever the curtains parted. Mum made conversation with them – like all Indian mothers do. 5 different women in 3hrs had lectured me about Capoeira vs doing dance and yoga and what not. I desperately needed some quiet and I needed to meet my friends rather than adults. Yes, a few laughs and familiar faces would have done me good but the ‘visitor pass’ system made it not so possible for them to come. My head ached but my heart ached more. I knew Abeer couldn’t reach me but I was hoping somehow, somewhere, another stray phone on the road – another message. Love.

The doc made a round and stared at me for 5mins to gauge how much of the fear and anguish had set in before he proceeded to comfort me and go over the details and instructions. 2.5+hrs of surgery starting 8am next morning. I ordered the parents home and said I didn’t want anyone for the night. It was them or Abeer. Since Abeer wasn’t around, I was settling for no one. I imagined if he was here he could sleep on the make shift bed and we could chat all night and giggle. He would probably steal some Wi-Fi from somewhere and then show me more apps. We would kiss and be a tad bit inappropriate – without breaking any rules. Instead its sickeningly quiet with the periodic coughs and sounds from other patients in my ward. All terminal, old and very severe in their health. Heart patient with a doting and beautiful wife to a multi-organ failing stubborn fella who was earlier scolded by docs to live up to his med cycle. Collapsed lung is what I heard last. Tomorrow I would be in an intense state as them. But hopefully recovering faster.

How am I to sleep? My insurance partially cleared thus giving me some peace. But what about everything else. I missed Elsa. Imagined him trying to purr like a baby and tug at a cold quilt instead of a warm me who held him and cradled him to sleep every night.  All that I loved had left the area. It’s just me and my thoughts now. Sleep evades me. But tomorrow I will be asleep for 10+hrs before consciousness to a repaired me who will have to start putting herself back altogether – for Elsa and Abeer.

Spiral Cycle

…or so I am avoiding. Poorly.

Last week was a difficult 1 for me. Maybe 1 of my worst. Nearly all of Eid was spent in hospital and doctor visits. This accounted for the commute, the wait and the final darshan of the doc almighty so to speak. The end was fruitful or so I am made to think of the visit but not of the circumstances overall.

A week ago during a rehearsal for a TV show, my left leg decided to do a horrible remake of my right leg’s episode. The remake was much like Bollywood movies, a crass copy that did not do justice to the original piece. The scene involved me tackling 4 ‘ruffians’ (read my fellow capoeirista boys) with Capoeira manoeuvres: throws and takedowns. It was conceived by my teacher in a matter of minutes as we practiced. At 1^st I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it look authentic enough. But after a bunch of takes I liked being the kick-ass gal. I enjoyed it and loved that THIS would mark my spot. Was gonna bring Abeer to the show. So I savoured the moves and practiced. It was late but we had the studio so we just jumped about and practiced set after set. The last and final take I gave it a lil more than just a practice run and there is where the dislodge and familiar sound defined the next 6 months for me.

I teared up and tried to fight the panic that caught my windpipe almost not letting me breathe. Batizado. Instructorship. Rehab. Restart. Rewind. At the time only 1 thought ran through my mind – I need Abeer. He was in Pune and potentially in a bar or a party. I too was ironically headed to F-Bar post this practice. But the ‘pop’ changed everything. I held up my signature thumbs up (a habit I am trying to break) to my teacher and assured him it was just a sprain and I would be back next day full form for the show. We all left to go home. I got off my station and as an afterthought, headed to the ER of Ambani hospital. Not the wisest thing to do alone but panic wouldn’t let me sleep. I was dismissed with a “The ortho won’t be available today” while another cited a long wait. Exactly how that ER and trauma works, I don’t know.

I didn’t sleep a wink. I was desperate to call Abeer. But I knew that I didn’t wanna trouble him mid-night. It was 1am and yet I contemplated if I should call my boyfriend. The next morning thankfully he contacted me with the best news ever – he was already home and back in town contrary to the earlier planned late evening. He came with me to the ER and the multiple visits after an X-ray and MRI scan. Who better than him to understand me – a sportsman himself and having injured himself. He pushed me around in a wheelchair and played in the hospital. Eased my nerves and was the ultimate of what I expected of him. I was safe.

Nothing prepared me for Dr. Dinshaw Pardiwala’s appointment (reknowned sports medicine and Ortho surgeon). Mum stubbornly refused any other surgeon to work on me. I say power of the mother as she managed to slide me into Dr. P’s schedule and get him to look at me. The consultancy was an eye opener. Mum went into her barrage of bad diet, stress, being a woman, age and that subtle way in which she wanted to blame Capoeira. I picked up on the cue and asked the doc when will I be back in full form. 6 months. Pat came the reply. I sunk in my chair. Same ol’ answer. Surgery was the only option for me given the extent of damage. Then he went on to bust certain practices of women athletes practicing during their menstrual cycle. The surging hormones, which wreck havoc on not just the tear-tap but the muscles making us sore and painful to touch. The muscles are vulnerable to wear and tear at a higher risk and intensity. Hence, thinking you are a tough cookie and working out against the pain is not the wisest habit to keep. Another one was about the structure of the bone base. A narrow base is usually seen in women and high impact workouts or movement cause the narrowness to wear out the ligament or a new graft. Hence, a reconstruction of the bone base was in order. Manufacturing defect is what I thought.

We left and I was tired. The leg hurt and the 4hr wait didn’t help. I wanted a hug. From Abeer. That place in his shoulder where I would bury my anger, anguish and had even celebrated some good moments. I missed meeting his mum for Eid; something I really wanted to prioritize that day and it not happening added to my list of upsets. I only called and messaged him. Updated him on every detail. Even though I was with family, I behaved like I was with guardians and was contacting my real family. He promised to return the next day and that eased me. The surgery date was fixed and costs were worked out. Mum and dad were quiet almost afraid that anything they would say wouldn’t sit well with me. I hadn’t said much all day and they wished I made some sound. I signed the OR like 1 books a hall for a wedding. The costs made a tight knot in my stomach. I had just quit and had no income. I had so many plans and surprises lined up. Now I couldn’t consider them. I had plans with Abeer too. And some would have to wait.

But above all concerns was the fear the surgery had set in my head. I remember the cold OR last time and the strangers around me and the needles and the scalpels. I remember the fear and last ounce of consciousness before they sliced into me. Fix me. Nothing could fix the fear Round II. And nothing prepares you for the post-operative pain. I can’t forget even though I try to. It was terrifying and excruciating. Abeer could get me through it. He had a knack for making a joke out of everything (some of those times were NOT funny). I knew hospitals made him queasy and brought back some haunting memories. So I figured that as I parallelly lay in the comfort of knowing he would be there, I was also contemplating sending him off for the duration of this hospital stint. I guess THIS was the way my mother would get to meet him. I just had the work week left to look forward to.

We will get through it. He said. I believed. He made me feel it. I felt it. What was constant pain suddenly turned into pulses of pain; like he had let in a saline of painkiller. Then it eased as I spent a lazy afternoon in his arms, in my favourite place.