In sickness and health...

After a month of raging fever, headaches, and painful blood tests, I sat in the doc’s office, looking expectantly at the man scratching his head and chewing the tip of his pen.

Tapping the report with the side of the pen he just relished (Ewww!!!) he uttered the three words I did not want to hear, “You have typhoid”. My world crashed. After innumerable blood tests and x-rays and other tests that I have left out for the sole virtue of their being extremely complex to spell, this is what the doc had to say. I stupidly repeated, “I have typhoid?”

He nodded gravely and scribbled the names of all medicines that he could remember. “Complete bed rest, no physical or mental strain”, he droned. Dad sniggered at the mention of mental and pointed to his head and signed ‘empty’ with his hands. I rolled my eyes. It was his old joke about how I did not have any brains and therefore the question of mental strain did not arise.

The evil doc did not stop with this. He gave me a graphic description of how my intestines were being eaten by the typhi viruses every minute. I immediately started counting the number of wreaths that would arrive at my house if I died.

For three weeks after that I could only eat food that even the scruffy neighborhood cat rejected. Meanwhile mom devised this intricate diet routine that involved feeding me with fruit juice and tender coconut water at times that did not hinder her daily dose of afternoon soaps. Banished to my room for a month, with only the ceiling fan for company, I watched the blades in fascination as they fused into nothingness when the fan gathered speed. (And I had always thought babies were really stupid to gurgle at a thing as mundane as a ceiling fan.)

On some days I would sleep on for hours together, only waking up to take medicines every six hours. On better days, I would curl up on the living room sofa watching soaps with mom. Sometimes I would throw up dinner as soon as I finished washing the dinner plate. Lunch would follow in a matter of minutes. Dad would retort, “Don’t come out yet. Breakfast is on the way. By the way, don’t throw up the tablet. It is three bucks”, and chuckle at his own joke.

Honestly, though I felt miserable at times and loneliness depressed me to no end, the flurry of ‘get well soon’ messages and calls really made my day. Close friends came home and my boss gave me a month off without thinking twice. Also, the neighborhood cat curled up next to me everyday and we became so close that it started following me around the house. Of course, I also enjoyed all the attention and basked in glory when I finally returned to work.

I mean, how much more lucky can a person get :)