Can you send me the number of Dr X?” The text landed in my inbox while I was blithely watching a movie. I simply copy-pasted the number from my address book and texted her back before turning back to my movie. Ten minutes later, I got another text. “Can you send me the number of Dr Y?” Wait a second. Both the numbers were for cancer specialists. My inner alarm started buzzing. “Why do you need the numbers?” I texted back. “I am getting concerned.” I knew my friend had been having some health issues and had in fact been undergoing a battery of tests. There was no response and then a cryptic, “talk later.”
Later, turned out to be late at night, when she finally called me. They had diagnosed cancer and she needed to see the specialists. My world crumbled. Not only was I speechless, I was devastated.
And thus started the beginning of a long and arduous journey. Not for me, but for her. My role was simple. I would be there for her. As much as I could. I did not want to mope or bemoan what happened. It is as it is. The only way ahead was to fight this disease and keep up her morale.
Like a shaker for a martini, her life was shaken up. Not stirred. Shaken. Stirred is a gentle breaking in. Instead she plunged headlong into a series of tests and prognosis. Unfortunately, the disease had been detected at Stage Three. It meant chemo and surgery. A regular illness is debilitating and can take a mental and physical toll. Cancer is a different ballgame altogether.
Suddenly this friend of mine, this woman of substance, this intelligent and intellectual person, simply crumpled.
How can it be another way? Why would the state of the world, the city, the community matter when your life is at stake? At every visit, I tried to keep the semblance of normality. Why dwell on the disease that was slowly killing her. Why not instead take her mind off things? May be I did her a disservice because I brought to her bed a life she could no longer lead. But may be also I was helping take her mind off the illness when everyone else around were woe-mongers. And at that early stage, there was still hope she would be cured. Hope she would fight this. Hope for a better tomorrow.
Day after day we chatted, we spoke, we clung to this hope. She plugged on. First it was three rounds of chemo. She started losing her hair. Her designer niece designed these funky turbans. She wore them and sailed out into town. She did not cower. She had a renewed pledge to herself. And all of us around her rallied to the cause. Then the surgery. They had to scrape clean a whole part of her uterus and abdominal covering like rolling a carpet off her belly. She went through the entire operation with a stoicism I would not have had. And three more rounds of chemo later, she was in remission.
She was cancer-free and life suddenly took on a rosy hue.
She settled into a different routine. She had learnt her lesson. It was no more going to focus on the outside. She made herself her priority. Isn’t this a common mistake we all make? In this hectic life we lead, we forget to take care of ourselves. She decided to focus on herself. Her work, her passion took a back seat. Life chugged along. She wrote her experience in a book. A heart-wrenching, tell-it-all, book. She read it out to me and I teared up. It was time to get the book published. It would give cancer survivors and cancer battlers a window of hope. And then suddenly one day. A routine checkup. And it was back.
With a vengeance.
Now she lies in a hospital bed. She seems to have lost her will. Her zest. And how can anyone blame her? She fought and emerged victorious and then suddenly this setback. The book has been discarded. How can it give hope when she has lost hope? How can she claim back a life when the disease insists on taking over?
She cannot even hold a phone. When we spoke she was weeping. There was no outlet for joy anymore. She sounded resigned, hopeless, cheerless
Why this? Is it all a bizarre joke? Who is pulling the strings to make this dynamic woman a shell of herself?
As she lies in her hospital bed, we look on helpless. Miles away I am even more lost, bereft thinking of her lying on a hospital bed. I take assurance in that she is surrounded by family and friends. Even an ex-husband who has proven to be the best support system.She has some lucid moments but is largely delirious.
What could she be thinking of as she battles life, if at all she has the ability in between all that pain? Is she reflecting on a life well lived? Is she thinking of where she went wrong? Is she thinking how she could have done things differently? Or is she thinking how well she did?
No matter what she thinks, she has left a legacy. She has left generations of young people to carry forward her vision. She has influenced and empowered a generation of young Indians to lead this country into a new era.
Now as she lies adrift in her hospital bed, the D-word hanging like a noose over the bed, it is up to all of us. Her friends, her students, her family to sally forth into the world and take forward this wonderful woman’s body of work. Change that C for cancer to C for commitment.
And ironies of all ironies. I wrote this on a flight to India. When I landed I got the news: She passed away. At last her pain is at bay. At last she can rest in peace.
Long live her legacy.
Monika Patel – Monique to her friends – is now based in New York, though she frequents Pune. Starting tomorrow (Friday, June 3), she will write a weekly despatch for Pune365.
- Your Legacy Will Live Forever, Wendell My Friend - February 18, 2020
- What I Enjoyed Reading In 2017 – Part Two - January 13, 2018
- What I Enjoyed Reading In 2017 – Part One - January 11, 2018
