No good bones, only funny bones

Main aur meri tanhayi aksar yeh baatein karte hain…

 

The tanhayi in me is the voice in my head, a fiery, filter-less, chatty one. You’d think I am walking alone but I would be talking to that voice.

 

I wonder what is the big deal about a candle-lit dinner. You cannot even see your food, and what if you were eating fish with bones on Valentine’s Day? Maybe they have other sources of light too.  

 

I am seeing someone since the last two weeks. I did not anticipate it this early in life. A burly man with a paunch and the kind of laughter that makes you wonder if he ate a pair of Bose speakers for breakfast. I only knew of one Mody before I met him. I was destined to meet the second Mody the day I woke up and could not move my hips due to stiffness. The sleepy voice in my head wondered if I was already dead and this is rigor mortis setting in with my spirit talking to me.

 

A general physician had asked me to get an MRI before seeing Mody. Mody, a specialist, looked at the MRI reports, prescribed medicines, and asked me to see a physiotherapist who works next door (like literally the door next to his). I noticed that Mody’s name and his spouse’s name have four out of five letters in common. That’s an eighty percent match! Even sunshine and moonshine are not as close.  

 

I waited for a long time in the waiting room. I read about all the medical miracles he can do through the laminated cutouts of printed text he has put all over the walls. Many of them are written in grammatically wrong English. My inner vice scolds me for unconscious colonialism for noticing wrong English when English is neither of our native language. What a hypocrite I am!

 

I see Mody’s picture standing next to a tall, White doctor in scrubs. I see names of cities from Germany and the US printed on those laminated walls. I have no idea what he was doing in those places (getting trained, I suppose). I wonder if he would post a picture of himself standing next to a Black doctor.

 

Mody surely knows how to market himself.  

 

And when you have a lot of time to kill, you think of things that do not concern you.

 

And then the power goes off! It’s dark.

 

A power outage! I haven’t experienced one in a while. Suddenly I hear a lot of footsteps and shuffling around. A lot of hustle. People talking loudly in Gujarati, which, I can understand, not!

 

My eyes adjust to the darkness and I crane my neck from the waiting room to catch a glimpse of what is happening.

 

Mody is attending to his patients as the receptionist holds up the cell phone torch light. You’ve got to be kidding me!

 

I keep hoping that my turn never comes till power is back. And the woman loudly screams something that sounds like my name followed by, “Ben aaucho!” (sister, are you coming?)

 

I enter his room, half hoping that he will send me back. The woman is now holding two thin candles, looking like she is about to sing a haunted song from the 1950s by Lata Mangeshkar. Mody looks scary in the shadow. He asks me to touch my toes. He asks me to arch my back. He asks me to show a Bruce Lee kick in the air while facing away from him. He scribbles down the name of some medicines in illegible writing, prescribes more physiotherapy, and asks me to come back in a month.

 

On hearing that I work where I do, he tells me how impressed he is that I am a faculty at my age. I remind him that young people do not have orthopedic issues (although I want to remind him that being a faculty does not depend on age). He tells me the names of all my colleagues he has treated, possibly his way of making me comfortable through informal small talk. Patient confidentiality (and privacy) be darned! Those are subjective social constructs, some western society bee-ass anyway! I shudder thinking which colleague of mine will now learn about my creaking hips that are threatening to fall apart. Such a hypocrite I am, writing about my health and daily life on the blog but complaining about privacy.

 

G’s decade-old forecast that I may have my childbirth and hip replacement surgery on the same table still makes me shudder. I remember that line every time my hips creak. Mody tells me how intelligent both his sons are (also practicing medicine). He shares that he wanted his sons to study engineering but they did not listen. Good call, I say. Good riddance, I think!   

 

I ask him if he will show me the exercises. He says his physiotherapist will. Who knows, his paunch might have lashed out at me in the dark for asking him such a question.

 

I get up to leave. I tell him that this is my first candlelight consultation (I skip the Valentine’s Day reference). He laughs with an abandon that hurt my eardrums. As a child, I have studied for many an exam in candle light (especially during summers). I think that I have turned out to be fine, so this should be okay too.    

 

I walk up to the receptionist and show her my ID. I write down my name on a receipt book. I pay nothing. My employer and my insurance will sort it out and take care of the bills. I count my blessings. One of the many perks here include never paying for a doctor, medicines, blood work, tests, etc., if I see someone within a quite extensive healthcare network in India. They have my parents covered too. And here I am complaining about lack of patient confidentiality!

 

I walk back to the campus clinic and hand over the prescription. The receptionist makes a copy and notes my secretary’s number. Tomorrow, my secretary will collect the medicines and leave them at my office even before I am there. That was, in a nutshell, my Valentine’s Day this year. January was all about experiencing COVID-19 and February has been about getting orthopedic spas. What else will keep me busy this year, I wonder as I walk back home.   

 

sunshine

Week 2: Subscribe

Other than unsubscribing from a bunch of websites no longer useful to me (Week 1), I have actively subscribed to a number of websites and emails that are either useful or entertaining. The word "active" is the key here. I get daily or weekly updates from them and make sure that I read or watch the content regularly rather than pile them up and hoard them for future binge reading/watching. These are the resources that in Marie Kondo's language, "spark joy." Unlike the stuff I unsubscribed from, these are not deals or advertisements nudging me to buy things.

Professional Development: The National Center for Faculty Development and Diversity has a lot of good videos that train you to manage your time, resources and skills as a faculty. My institution pays for a membership, making it free for me. Every week, I try to watch at least one video and use the worksheets they provide. Academic Coaching & Writing is another website that is useful for me as a scholar.

Health: I have subscribed to daily emails from Livestrong that offers tips for a healthier life. I don’t take everything I read at face value, but they have nice, small articles, sometimes written as lists (for example, 10 daily habits to increase your productivity). I am a big fan of Rujuta Diwekar’s YouTube channel too, not because she has celebrity clients (although that is how I know of her), but because she offers simple, sustainable health solutions focusing on our cultural background rather than asking to drink juice for a detox diet or do a hundred burpees everyday. I especially love her "Fitness Project 2018" where she posts one health video per week.

Hobbies and Entertainment: I am subscribed to Bookbub’s daily update emails for Kindle books on sale, not because I buy them, but because I use the daily lists to get something that looks interesting from my library. Being a traveler and photographer, I often gawk at the amazing travel pictures hosted at Exposure. And my latest addiction is Grandpa Kitchen, a YouTube channel with millions of viewers and 1.35 million subscribers currently. I love that grandpa cooks and feeds others, cooking in the open where you could hear the birds chirping and cows walking around in the fields. I love his accent, and how sometimes, he will take a break when the food is cooking and start singing. And while you are at eat, check out grandma’s cooking too.

Other cool stuff I read include something called “Stat Newsletters.” They publish some thought-provoking articles on science and medicine. I also often check out the cool homes available for buying on Zillow, although that is a relatively newer and more time-consuming addiction. The rest of the resources take defined amounts of time to read or watch. Zillow is where I sometimes lose track of time and end up spending hours because it is so addictive. 

Between professional development videos and book deals, grandpa's cooking and Rujuta's health tips, I have managed to sign up for and only read/view content that speaks to me. It is like coming home to something waiting for you.

Do share any of your absolute favorite resources.

sunshine

Also read: 52 small changes.

Getting high

My world was spinning around as I was trying to word my sentences at work. For the first time, I have been on such strong narcotics. I can see how it has messed up my brain.

For starters, my landlady said that I came out of surgery howling. I had no reason to do that, but anesthesia affects the cry-centers of my brain. She drove me back and brought me home, and as she did that, I passed out on the floor. I lost track of time. I had no energy to get up. I remember wondering what if the bed shrunk and I fell off it? The floor seemed safer. Such were my levels of delusion. She called my insurance (I had no idea where my insurance card was and my speech was a disaster), got me my medication, shoved them down my throat with a glass of water, all the while when I was splayed like a lizard on the floor, only, on my back, my hands and legs stretched out. I heard her come and go and come back. I was conscious that way. But since I had lost my sense of time, it felt a matter of a few minutes. I am glad she has a set of keys to my apartment.

There was utter confusion, lack of sense of time, and blurry speeches after that. I slept for hours, but did not realize how time flew. My emails were no longer coherent, and I kept forgetting words. The next few days have been a blur. I have restricted my activities to mostly the basics- finding food, eating, and getting back to bed. But today, I dragged myself to work. Two minutes into my bus ride, a strong bout of nausea hit me. I was dizzy, the world was spinning around me. The parking department guy takes the same bus (imagine the irony, parking guy takes the bus). I vaguely remember telling him that I am going to throw up. He not only escorted me to my office, but came back to check on me during lunch hours. Soon after, two kind colleagues barged into my office and literally ordered me to leave. The bus ride back was equally terrible.

That brownie I had in Amsterdam, I only felt a fraction of everything I am feeling now, only for a few hours. Saying that it was fun was a stretch, but it was educational. This is not. It's only been three days, and I am sick of these constant bouts of nausea. I cannot imagine how people take these drugs on a regular basis for pain management. It makes you realize how hard life can get when you are no longer healthy.

I am addicted to books on neuroscience and the brain. Reading is something, but experiencing first-hand how narcotics affect the brain is something else. Everything you do without thinking- speaking coherently, walking upright, digesting food without throwing up, being able to have a focused vision, and even a sense of humor, everything is going to be compromised. I have been sleeping 12 hours a day ever since, and I am still tired. I want to go back and reread Jill Bolte Taylor's book. But I can no longer read at a stretch without feeling dizzy. If you haven't read the book, you must at least listen to her TED talk.

sunshine

The day before the surgery

Tomorrow morning 9 am, I will be headed to the dentist's for the big day. I would be starting a series of treatments that would last me all of 2017. I have died a little bit many times the past few months, (p)reliving the anticipated pain even before anything happened.

By the time I got home this evening, I was starving. I was so hungry that I could eat a bus, which is surprising because I am a ravenous breakfast eater but I never feel that hungry for dinner. It could be because I was not supposed to eat or drink after midnight, and by the time the procedure was over, my life would have changed. Or it could be because Thursdays are teaching days and I was just back from teaching and talking continuously for 3 hours, it was 9:30 pm, and my energy levels had depleted alarmingly. Or it could be because starting tomorrow, I would be on a liquid, pureed diet for 3 weeks, eating food with baby-food consistency. Or it could be just because I knew this would be my last pain-free meal for a while.

I was on the phone with my most faithful friend who calls me everyday to ask me how my day was. Even before I could talk about teaching class, my stomach was growling. I had to hang up. I never get this hungry at this hour. Maybe my body was preparing for a stress situation by storing up energy. The brain is pretty smart that way.

What would I eat at this hour? I had not cooked dinner, and as I inspected the fridge, I knew exactly what I was craving. It surprised me even more, way more than this unexpected hunger, because this is the comfort food I never crave. In my ten-plus years of staying away and cooking on my own, I have never once made this. I can imagine craving biryani and kosha mangsho and Chipotle, those are clearly my favorites. But this?

Well, I was not going to fight my cravings at least today. Pregnant women talk about sudden cravings, and I never understood it until today. The analytical me started to wonder what signals my brain was producing as I got a potato and an egg and put it to boil. I boiled some rice too, and as I did, I chopped green chilies and onions. I neither crave rice nor potatoes (I mostly crave meat and sweets), but my body must have been prepping for a fight-or-flight mode and was craving the carbs to store up energy. These were my thoughts as I prepared my dinner of over boiled potato, egg and rice made into a mushy, semi-solid consistency with ghee. I added the chilies and the onions and mixed the mush with some pickle oil. The smell was driving me nuts. I kept wondering how could a person who did not crave any of these ingredients (potato, egg, rice, ghee, chilies, onions, pickle) crave this meal. And suddenly, I had my answer. It wasn't about carbs or hormones or fight-and-flight responses or glycogen storage in the liver or anything. In anticipation of the stressful situation, I was just craving comfort food that I have old and fond associations with. Food is a lot about memories- childhood memories, nostalgic memories, romantic memories, school memories, like the smell of an egg roll always reminding me of penurious college days or the smell of macher kalia (fish curry) reminding me of wedding invitations. Even if this was not my most favorite food in the world, I was craving the comfort of family. This is what we ate when Ma was sick and unable to cook. This is what we ate when we came home from somewhere and Ma did not have the energy to cook (we rarely ate outside without occasion, Ma would simply throw in all these along with some boiled lentils). I was just craving the comfort of childhood memories, Ma's reassurance, and old and familiar smells.

The first spoonful of that piping hot dinner sent me straight to heaven. Tonight, I would not even have looked at fish fry or mutton biryani. There is nothing that could have made me as happy as this meal did. 

Wakefulness eludes me as I write this, and I can already feel my eyelids drooping. It is funny that even an hour ago, I was so anxious that I did not think I will be able to sleep all night. And now, I will soon find it hard to walk back to the bed if I do not leave this recliner. Tomorrow, we shall see tomorrow. Right now, the class has been taught (I am good until next Thursday), the tummy full, the cravings satisfied, and I am just grateful for good health, good appetite, and fantastic food memories. And of course all that ghee-drizzled, mushy dinner. Toothache, we will deal with tomorrow.

sunshine

Teething Troubles

The most horrific thing happened to me this Halloween. While chewing on a piece of Halloween candy flicked from the office kitchen, I bit on a piece of something rock solid. In a split second, I instinctively knew what it was. I was engulfed with a sinking, panicked feeling in my stomach. I'd be less freaked out had I spotted someone staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. I had bitten on a porcelain cap that was guarding one of my upper molars. I had gotten it done in Kolkata last year, amid lying in a pool of blood and tears during a root canal surgery. What is even more horrifying is that I had woken up that same morning in cold sweat after a nightmare where I saw some of my teeth falling off. I could not believe that I was living my nightmare happening for real within a few hours.

I immediately smelled dental cement. Shit! This was not good. I could have swallowed it by mistake and then, they would have to trace my plumbing system to get it out. Worse, I could have choked on it and died in my thirties, even before attaining tenure. Carefully, I spat out the tooth cap, my tongue feeling very raw on the exposed remains of the tooth. I wanted to keel over and throw up.

Last year, I had spent an arm and a leg and a sizable portion of my kidney to get a root canal done from this dentist who claimed that the sophisticated machinery he used meant one would feel no pain. Far from it, I had wept and whimpered, periodically spitting salty mouth wash and coagulated blood. His hands had felt like boxers pummeling fists inside my mouth. I had been sore for days. Even with all this, he had not done a foolproof job. Danger bells had started ringing in my head when I overheard him take a call and brag to someone about an upcoming Dubai trip and plans for buying the new iPhone. I instinctively knew whose wallet would be riddled to pay for it. I have always had a hate-hate relationship with dentists since my milk teeth days.

In a fit of panic, I made a terrible mistake. I somehow managed to put back the cap in its position. I instantly knew it was a mistake because now, I could not eat without fearing that I might swallow it once again. At night, I was afraid to fall sleep lest I swallow it and choke and die in my sleep (I slept on my stomach that night and duct taped my jaw). The next morning, I chewed on another piece of Halloween candy and there, the cap was out again. I was so relieved.

I messaged the Indian dentist on Whatsapp. Rather than sounding apologetic, he admonished me, sounding defensive and telling me how he had taken fresh impressions and gotten me a second cap (yes, this was the second cap that came out, he did such a good job). I wasn't expecting him to miraculously cure me on Whatsapp, but I was not expecting rudeness either. He alluded that the architecture of my teeth must be faulty (blaming the victim, as always). He asked me to find a dentist in the US and ask them to glue it back. As if I did not know that already. I hope that the Dubai trip was worth it. Someday, when dentists in India start getting sued for malpractice, I'll be the one laughing. Perhaps a toothless, gummy laughter by that age, but I'd definitely be having my last laugh.

It's been a nightmare since then. The next few days found me dentist-shopping, and the wide array of options confused me. Some said I need an endodontist, some said an orthodontist, and some, just a dentist. I have never seen a dentist in the US or Germany before (always depended on my Kolkata trips to get my vision and dental issues fixed), don't know how the insurance works here, and the thought of lying in another dentist's room scared the hell out of me. I am suddenly way more troubled at the thought of getting older. I am suddenly repentant for asking grandma more questions and making her talk more on purpose every night after she removed her dentures (and giggling at how funny she sounded). I feel sorry for having thrown grandpa's dentures on the garage roof at the age of five, just for fun. I can sense karma catching up with me big time. Will I ever be able to chew on a mutton bone from my biryani in peace? My Korean dentist friend once told me that most of the patients who visit her do so to fix their dentures since they sometimes come out while kissing with force (why people would be kissing with dentures on is a different story, but who am I to judge anyway?). Would I ever be able to do that without fearing disastrous consequences? Would I be able to fix my tooth without filing for bankruptcy? Would I ever be able to chew on a piece of bone without worrying? Or smile without looking funny? Would I be able to teach three-hour long classes from the next semester without bellowing like a broken harmonium? Or feel less mental about my dental problems? Stay tuned if you have nothing better to do in life and want to know. And if you have secretly suffered from dental problems all your life like I have, let's bond over virtual coffee and share those stories.

sunshine

Day 3: The three ingredients- sunshine, food, and socializing

January 3^rd, 2013

I rarely suffer from jetlag when I go back to India. However, for the last 2 days here in the US, I have been severely jetlagged. On day 1, I fell asleep at noon and woke up at midnight, after 12 straight hours. When I woke up, I seriously thought that I was dead, since I never ever remember getting sleeping uninterrupted for half a day. On day 2, I tried keeping myself awake for a while, went to work, did some grocery, and fell asleep by 7 pm. I woke up exactly at midnight and have been up ever since. On day 1, I did not even have the energy to do grocery, and on day 2, I had no energy to cook. This is surprising, given I faced no such problems in India. I landed in Calcutta in the evening, had a heavy dinner, and went to sleep. I woke up at 5 am, and throughout my stay, I kept waking up at 5 am every day, weekdays and weekends. Mine was a sleep regime I would love to emulate in the US. So what went wrong here? Here is my theory- the three basic ingredients that keep us happy and kicking.

Sunshine

Flying eastward, I was usually in broad daylight most of the time. Whereas when flying westward, I started from Dubai at around midnight, and then saw darkness for 17 hours straight. As I looked at the world map projected on the screen, I realized that the sun chased me almost for the entire duration. Only when I was an hour away from landing in the US did I see some sunshine. Now my body is confused, because whenever I wake up, it is dark outside.

Food

I never had to worry about procuring food in India. Home cooked, nutritious food was always available, and that too, the kind of food I loved. I would have 2 breakfasts everyday (not 2 courses). Since I woke up early, my first breakfast was at 6 am. The second one was when everyone was having their breakfast, around 10 am. I refused to eat anything I ate in the US on purpose. For example, breakfast would never be milk and cereals; it would always be freshly made roti and subzee. I never ate burgers and fries in India, it would always be the food I grew up eating- baingan ka bharta, saag, chicken curry, anything. My body was happy, and so was my mind. I had no issues digesting anything, and despite having my fair share of street food like paani puri and chaat, I never fell ill. But what’s happened here? I barely have the energy to do grocery and cook, and have been mostly living on the peas paranthe mom packed for me, with some fruits and sweets. I can hear my system screaming in pain. Sleep eludes me thus as I struggle to get my eating right.

Socializing

No matter how much I hate nosy neighbors and pesky people in India, there is something valuable to learn about the socialization culture there. With my roommate gone, I end up not speaking to anyone for hours. It is too late to call anyone by the time I wake up at midnight. So I have been calling my mom and chatting up a lot. Even the routine sounds of the newspaper person outside, the vendors selling fruits and vegetables, the maid chitchatting with you, or the next door neighbor visiting with a bowl full of sweets is missing. People are busy here, period. No one had the time to catch up with you unless it is a weekend,. Even in lab, the guy hugged me and wished me a happy new year and went back to work. The only audible sound was the clicking of the keys as we typed furiously on our respective laptops. And then the adviser came and asked me to respond to a dozen emails, another form of silent communication. Suddenly, my daily life has become so quiet, I long to hear a human voice, even if it that annoying neighbor next door wanting to know why I have put on so much weight or am not moving back to India.

So that is my theory about the reasons why I am having difficulty coping with jet lag in the US and am suffering in silence, in darkness, and on an empty stomach. I think I would do much better sleep wise if I was giving myself good food, lots of sunshine, and lots of opportunities to talk and vent my heart out. And that is why I am awake at 4 in the morning, furiously writing blogs. When I was young and inexperienced, I had no qualms about abusing my body, by skipping meals, depending on caffeine, staying up all night and studying, never working out, and so on. Over the years, I realized the importance of nurturing my body with the right ingredients (not just food) so that I could do well in what I was doing, remain calm, and feel happy and emotionally connected with myself. Ironically, I seemed way in shape then than I am now, although now I put more effort into eating and sleeping right, working out, hiking, reading and doing the right stuff, cleansing the mind and body, and staying out of issues that disturb me. Although I am suffering due to this jetlag, I am more conscious of my suffering than I used to be before. And while people in India smirk and scoff about the ease of my life in the US, I realize the immense challenge and responsibility that is associated with living alone and committing yourself to a healthy lifestyle without the support of family, mom’s love, and home cooked meals that appear miraculously and free of cost on the table. It is almost like magic, only if you believe in magic.

On a different note, here is a picture I took during my trip to Qutub Minar this time.

sunshine

Back Calculation

I owe a big thank you to everyone who sent me wishes, emailed me, messaged me, and called me. I was expecting some flowers too, but no hard feelings, really. Nothing has changed much the last few days, but for the fact that I have turned out to be more grumpy and sour than ever. I thought of sharing a few updates with all of you.

1. The doctor asked me to rest and be on medication for the next 2 months. Physiotherapy will start after that. The dollars I will have to shell out of my pocket (even after partial insurance coverage) makes me wish I get well before physiotherapy starts. There is a reason I am not missing popping nine painkillers a day. Yes you heard me right.

2. I could finally afford to watch four movies in a row this Saturday. What else do you do when you are in bed all day? Ek main aur ek tu (thumbs down), Paan Singh Tomar (thumbs up), Midnight in Paris (thumbs down), and Agneepath (thumbs up).

3. I loved Agneepath (my roommate did not). I loved the visuals. I loved the Banyan tree. I loved Hrithik (I am not a big fan of him otherwise). And I loved the music.

4. We did a lot of roommate bonding this weekend. We went for groceries together. She drove me around, helped me with the groceries, and made sure I do not have to lift weights. We spent the entire Saturday chatting and watching movies. She got me medicines, and helped me climb the stairs. Although an illusion, I have been feeling like a princess of late.

5. I have not had to worry about cooking. My friends have visited me and given me food that will last me weeks. Paneer. Chicken. Shrimp. Rajma. Gobi. You just name it.

6. I have started to use my favorite red crutches (bought from Munich) once again. I would not exactly say that I was hoping to use it someday, but well, since all this happened, I thought I might as well get through this with style.

7. My herniated spine came with a flu and a 48 hour sneezing bout for free.

8. My advisor gave me his parking permit for the week. This means I can now drive to school and park on campus.

9. Father said I should move back to India. America is not a place to suffer alone. I have decided to avoid talking to him until my back hurts less and my sanity is restored.

10. Now that I am in bed most of the time I am home, all I do is read and make virtual travel plans. I have already decided to go visit Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Greece, Spain, and Croatia this year. Such random plans help me cope with my pain.

11. I am terrified I will never be able to run around with my camera, dance, or go hiking and backpacking again. I had a long list- Peru, Bolivia, Mexico, Greece, Croatia, Venezuela, and many more.

12. With all the bed rest, I am finally beginning to get some ideas about my thesis. These ideas are nascent and far from being crystallized. However, I am realizing that the best way to get creative ideas is to lie down in bed all day and do nothing.

13. My sense of humor has gone to the dogs. Whenever I am asked, “What happened?”, I am considering coming up with innovative names for my herniated disc- Brokeback Mountain, Qamariya Lachke Re, Langda Tyagi, and so on.

14. I hope I survive the cross-country flight to Seattle in 2 weeks, given that I have been instructed not to sit at a stretch for more than 30 minutes.

15. The doctor refused to write me a doctor’s letter. She was concerned I might use that letter to my advantage and not finish my assignments on time. I am hardly surprised that she is Indian.

16. I watched Kahaani last week. I am puking out of sheer nostalgia. Oh Calcutta, how I miss thee !

17. I have never missed Zumba more. I think I might wail in pity some more and watch Agneepath again, much to the horror of my roommate.

Thank you everyone for your wishes, free food, advice on losing weight and staying fit, paneer, chicken, and shrimp curry, and for keeping me entertained through my suffering.

sunshine

Back Breaking Experience

Last week this time, my life was great. I just did not realize how great it was. I drove, walked, danced, hopped on to the bus, and sprinted down the stairs of my townhome without realizing how blessed one must be to be able to do these without experiencing any pain. Last week this time, the issues ailing me revolved around learning to use logistic versus multinomial regression model, finishing the deadlines for the semester, and planning my Canada itinerary. When my back felt a little stiff, I blamed it on my two-hour long drive to Washington D.C. In the excitement about preparing for my conference presentation, I almost ignored the pain that had started to invade parts of my lower back. That afternoon, I lifted the laundry basket multiple times and loaded and unloaded stuff from my car in a bid to finish off the pending chores before I left for the conference. Something quite did not feel right in my back, and I blamed it on a faulty sleeping position or a sagging mattress and moved on. The bed I sleep on is anything but sagging by the way.

With every passing day, my pain intensified and manifested itself in scary ways. I would go to sleep praying that things would be fine the next day, but come morning, I saw myself unable to spring into action. I would spend quite some time tossing, turning, and wincing in pain. By the time I was presenting at the conference, the pain had shifted to the right side of my body, extending all the way to the back of my knees. I noticed I had started to drag my feet. As I boarded the 7 am flight this morning, I was a mess. The pain had started to make me feverish and nauseated. I had three short flights ahead of me, which meant a lot of boarding, deplaning, lifting heavy luggage, and hurting myself more. The first thing I did after landing back was to call the doctor and make an appointment. I had suffered so much pain during those eight hours of my flight that I could no longer walk without a limp, and was about to faint.

A herniated spinal disc is what they diagnosed, something akin to a slip-disc. The vertebral column gets dislocated, causing immense pressure and pain in the adjoining nerve. I had never associated a herniated spinal disc with a thirty year old woman who between gymming, dancing, driving, and running around, had led a perfectly normal and active life. I can neither go to the gym, nor dance anymore. In fact, every time I walk, I am in so much pain that I consider using my arms and crawling on my belly instead, just like army men under cover do in war movies.

Thankfully, the doctor did not think I would need surgery. She thinks that with rest, medicines, and physiotherapy, I should be fine in a few months. Which brings me to my second worst fear of living alone in the US (the first one being death of any member of my family and me being unable to take a flight back in time to see them). I am not even getting into the student health insurance issues, and the thought of how much I have to cough for my physiotherapy deductible and co-pay alone makes me think of the wisdom someone had put in saying, “If you don’t want to get bankrupt paying medical bills in America, make sure that you are not poor and you never fall sick”. Surely it is a concern that has been plaguing and stoking my worst fears. Living in the US for the last five years has only been possible because I chose the life of an independent person. I cooked my food, did my dishes and laundry, cleaned my home, drove myself to wherever I needed to be at, and never depended on anyone to run my life for me. This mandated that my limbs and my brain functioned properly. I do not live with my parents anymore, and in the unlikely event that I injured myself, there is no one to take care of me.

The demons of your worst fears nudge you and nag you to death when you are confined to the bed, writhing in pain and unable to function well. For the first time, I can genuinely feel the panic of the endless possibilities of unpleasant consequences awaiting me if I ever hurt myself and cannot function properly. I have never craved for my old, seemingly boring but comfortably normal life more, a life where I lifted heavy grocery from Krogers, went Zumba dancing three days a week, drove 500 miles to Rochester without blinking an eyelid, climbed stairs in haste, sometimes two steps at a time, and sat through classes for six hours a day. I can no longer do these seemingly ordinary things anymore.

In a state of helplessness mixed with panic, I asked the doctor if she thought I had bone cancer or arthritis. At some point in life, I developed a deep-seated fear for these two, afraid that I might die of one of these someday. My grandmother suffered through arthritis, and I have seen so many people, some considerably young, losing their lives to cancer. The doctor assured me that it was neither. Suddenly, perspectives have changed and graying hair is not an issue for me anymore. I used to count the number of grey hairs I got first thing in the morning every day, but my spinal cord gave me a perspective that half a dozen hardly visible graying hairs could not. I don’t care if I wake up with a mop of grey hair. I just want this back breaking pain to go away.

My doctor comes with a sense of humor. She said that I will be fine and gymming soon, although, if I was thinking of making a career out of weight lifting, I should probably give up that idea now.

I write this post and dedicate it to the benefits of good health we enjoy, something which we so often overlook and take for granted. Flu and fevers do not scare me. My twisted ligament in Italy did not scare me. But my spine worries me. For this is not a fracture incident borne out of an active lifestyle of running around. It is but the heralding of the disturbing realization that the body is no better than a machine, and with age, wear, and tear, it is deteriorating, and will require more effort in maintenance and servicing than I had anticipated before. At 5:30 in the morning, as I still struggle to fall asleep due to pain, I know that I would give anything to get back to my normal, active, pain-free, and sedative-less life again.

sunshine