Disclaimer: This is a very personal post. More personal than usual. For the general, I-don’t-want-to-involve-myself-in-another-person’s-life version, read Post in a nutshell.
The gossip mongers and friends and lovers can dive into the long-ah-ah version.
I spent my entire day at the hospital today. No matter how much granite or marble they use; no matter how soothing they paint the walls; no matter how friendly the staff, hospitals can never disguise the smell of bloody births and cold deaths.
Since I was there for the longest time, I saw humanity stripped clean of most of its dignity despite the efforts of the hospital staff to lend suffering basic dignity.
And even in these tragic surroundings, lust reared its head.
While I was sitting at the hospital waiting for my X-Ray to be taken, I had a married man give me the eye. What made it thoroughly despicable was the fact that his wife was sitting next to him and instructing, presumably their child, on the phone to eat the toast kept on the table while his sick brother was stretched out on a strectcher and the brother’s wife was valiantly trying to hold her tears in.
When I finally met the doctor (Oh, how lucky you are, ma! Sir himself said he will meet you! The waiting list to meet Sir is till September 26, you know. You are very, very lucky, ma.) the verdict was even more depressing.
My mother always complains that I am not in the least bit like her. I do not look like her; I don’t deal with things like the way she does; I’m not good at Math; I’m not the quiet type; I’m not passionate about cooking, or looking good, or keeping fit.
In so many ways, I am not like my mother. I’m not even much like my father.
A fact that led my mom to conclude that I am an exchanged baby. So we decided that I could now call her Aunty as well as Amma and she is not to mind. As I grew older, and we became more friends than bitchy adversaries, I’ve taken to calling my mom by her name. I feel it makes us close.
Today’s health verdict completely shut my mom up and turned our exchanged baby theory on its head.
I’ve inherited her health condition. I’m as arthritic as she is.
When my dad announced he’d retire from work years earlier than originally planned, my mom worried herself sick about finances and life post-retirement. And before she knew it, she couldn’t walk, or cook, or take care of the house as she used to. The doctors declared her to be arthritic.
A few bad doctors, a lot of stress later, my mom finally decided to be brave and put all the worry behind her. By then she’d found herself a support group (other friends who had the same condition as she did) and we’d finally convinced her to hire a maid.
Now with a good doctor, and a lot of positivity, my mom has successfully managed to get her rheumatoid arthritis under control.
I, on the other hand (pun unintended), feel utterly incapable of dealing with so much pain.
(If I tell you I cannot hold a glass of water without hurting; or that I will scream in agony were you to shake my hand; and that I have to turn my whole body to be able to look at you if you stood by my side, you can understand the kind of pain I have in my arms and neck.)
And because it’s me and I need so much more drama in life, I have all these other health complications to deal with as well. And it doesn’t help to know that I wrought all this upon myself by feeling too much and worrying that much more.
You see, the man I was then seeing came back from a family vacation and unexpectedly and unceremoniously dumped me. I’d been ill for sometime before he left for the vacation and when he returned he cited my ill-health as his reason for ending our relationship. It didn’t stop there. He went on to accuse me of being incapable of having children were we to start a family later on. (Don’t ask me how he arrived at that beautiful conclusion.) Apparently, being with his family had made him realise that he needs to procreate with someone who is more evidently fertile.
Did he ever apologise to me for making such crass statements?
Of course not.
And did I say, “Oh fuck you, you don’t deserve me anyway?”
Not convincingly anyway.
Ergo, here I am.
I hope somebody is happy.
Post in a nutshell:
Hospitals are not fun places even if some sick people visit hospitals to flirt with strange, ill women.
Some doctors themselves are miracles (if they agree to see you, that is).
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree or all women turn into their mothers or at least end up with the same ailments as their mothers. (Even so-assumed exchanged daughters).
Stress can lead to hormone imbalances, fibromyalgia, sleepless nights and rheumatoid arthritis.
Men usually are the reason why women stress as much as they do.
Never be a ball-less man and falsely accuse a woman of being barren.
Never pay attention to and stress about statements made by a ball-less man.