Going Home.

She is from a neighbouring country.
This was her second relapse.
Her body didn't react well to the Chemotherapy.
She was immediately shifted to the ICU.
Complete renal failure.
17 dialysis in 10 days.
The Doctors decided to withdraw.
Her body was collapsing.
She wasn't going to make it.
Barely a week left.
Her parents decided to take her back home to her own country.
To spend her last few days with her family and friends.

She was unaware.
She was just happee when all the tubes were removed.
When she was told she could go out in the sun after 2 weeks in a wheelchair.
When she heard she was going home.
All she knew is that the days of Chemotherapy were over.

Her parents knew.
The doctors had told them.
I wonder how that discussion went.
The Mother smiled in front of her daughter and cried in the distance.
The Father had accepted Fate.

She.
She sat in the wheelchair on the terrace basking in the sun.
In spite of my heart thumping, I took up the courage to go and sit with her.

"This feels nice after so long," she smiled.
"The sun?" I asked.
"Yes. And the view. When I first came here, I loved this view. So calm and beautiful. I am going home. Did you hear?"
"Yes. I did. Are you happee?"
"Very." She grinned.

I looked at her face and wondered.
She was conscious. Aware. Her mind was working fine.
And yet, inside, Every organ was slowly shutting down.
I always Believed that when a person was positive in mind and spirit, he/she could overcome anything. That if you could control you mind, your body would react that way. It was always mind over matter. That no matter what the disease, even Cancer, if the mind was positive, the body would respond positively also.

And yet, she sat in the wheelchair. Positive.
Positive about going home. About being okay.
And even then, her body was not responding accordingly.

I was broken out of my trance when I heard her mumble something.
I asked her to repeat what she said.
It took her a lot of strength and she repeated, "Please dont forget me when I leave."
I gulped.
"Never," I replied.

I looked away for a while to hide my watery eyes.
In the distance I saw her mother looking in the vastness.
I looked back at her and saw her eyes closed, with a small hint of smile on her lips, breathing lightly.

I was with her for an hour. Sitting with her on the terrace and chatting.
About her life back at home. Her family. Siblings. School. What she wants to become when she grows up.
"I want to become a teacher. I want to teach English," she said.

I left to go to the Playroom to look after the other kids.
When I came back to the terrace, she wasn't there.
I saw her sleeping, tired, back in her bed.
Nestled under blankets, her face only visible.
Her body going up and down with her light breathing.
I closed the door lightly and left.

Thats the last I saw of her.
She is leaving for home tomorrow.

Paradox

In the Hospital, I've managed to develop bonds with these kids very fast.
Bonds that run deep.
And sometimes scary.

In the ward there is this young boy who recently turned 7 who had grown very close to my heart. Every morning when I arrived, he would wish me "Good Morning" with a perky smile and would stay in the Playroom till I left. He listened to me and loved me as much I loved him. Well mannered and affectionate, he was one of those kids who seemed to be able to spread a smile with his meek ways.
He was doing well and was given permission by the Doctors to go home for 3 days (27th-29th December).

Before I was leaving to go home on 24th December, I went to meet him and say bye.
He looked at me with big eyes and asked me whether I was going to meet him next day for Christmas. I had an off day on 25th December for Christmas. I told him that. He looked alarmed and told his mother, "That means I won't meet her for 5 days?!"
His mother smiled and replied, "No. You'll meet her on 26th."
He looked down and told me, "But Doctor Aunty told me that if my blood reports are fine, I might go home tomorrow itself for Christmas."
So I patted his back and reassured him, "Its okay. I'll meet you directly on 30th then."

He thought for a while and looked at his mother and said, "Ma. I don't want my blood reports to be okay today. I want to stay back in the Hospital for one more day, meet her on 26th and then go home."

There was silence.
His mother gasped and I stopped breathing for a second.

One word. Innocence.
While his mother thought he has uttered something ominous (no mother wanted a blood report to have negative results), he seemed oblivious. All he wanted was to meet me for another day before he was sent of home. It struck me how innocent this little boy was. How blissfully ignorant of the situation. And the bond that we both had developed in a span of just 3.5 weeks.

I hugged him tight and assured him I'll be back on Christmas to meet him. That both his mother and I wanted his reports to be perfect. That, that it was important. He understood and apologized. He looked at me and then looked down.
He sighed and with immense maturity told me, "Its okay. I'll meet you on 26th and if not on 30th."

I hugged him again and left.

On 26th when I went back, his bed was empty.
The reports were good.
He was sent home a day early.
Though that news made me extremely happee, somewhere I was missing him also.
The paradox of feeling happee when the beds in the Paediatric Ward are empty and the emptiness inside for missing those smiling happee faces in the Playroom.

I think I'll give him a call now. See what he is upto. :)

Grant A Wish

I heard a story today.

'She got a call from one of her Volunteers as she was in the car. It was sometime around 8:00pm.

"Hello?"
"I just spoke to the Doctor. He doesn't have much time."
"How much time?"
The Volunteer sighed and replied, "The Doctor said around 2 days."
The Volunteer updated her. The kid was not doing well at all. Not only was he not eating, he was not responding to the Chemotherapy well at all. His body was giving up. He Might not make it.

She slowed the car down.
"Okay. What is his wish?" she inquired.
"He wants to meet Salman Khan," the Volunteer replied in a rush.
"Whaaaaa-?!"She exclaimed.
"Yea. Can you arrange it?"
She stopped the car near the pavement and thought Hard and Fast.
After few seconds, she replied, "Okay. Give me some time. I'll get back to you."

Salman Khan is one the the biggest Bollywood stars. Getting in touch with him and more importantly for him to agree to meet - that also within two days. It seemed next to impossible.

Yet. She Had to grant this wish.
It could be the kid's last one.

She used her smartphone and looked up Google. Searched for Salman Khan's office number.
Crossing her fingers, she dialled. She thanked her lucky stars when the receptionist took the call and having understood the situation asked her to call the office back within half an hour.
However, within ten minutes, the receptionist called back.

She couldn't believe it.
Salman Khan had agreed to meet the kid the very next day itself.
She had to get everything organized as soon as possible. It was already quite late at night.

She reached home.
She realized she couldn't just take the kid alone. With the mother and the doctor and others, there would be a total of 5 people who would have to travel with the kid. That needed funding.
She called her friend at the Airlines. Explained the situation.
He called back and told her that the Airlines had agreed to sponsor the journey fare (both ways) for them.

Next day, they travelled.
Salman Khan met the kid.
And.
She was able to grant the kid his wish.

But interestingly, thats not what the story is about.
What this story is about is what happened After they came back.

Having met the superstar and being granted his wish, the health of the kid started improving radically.
He started eating slowly and positively responding to his medicines.

So much so that the Doctors assured his parents that he could be called a Cancer-free child in the next 2-3 months.'

This is True Story.
One that talks about what a simple granting of a Wish can do.
And that, Cancer Is Not invincible.

Rudolf

Yesterday we celebrated a Christmas party for the kids at the Hospital.
All the kids from the Ward and OPD and others who were sent home but still under observation was invited.
But 2:30pm, the terrace was filled up colourful kids, Christmas decorations, the X'Mas tree, food and of course, gifts.
Yesterday what touched my heart was not only the performances by these amazing kids themselves, but more importantly the gestures of some parents who inspite of losing their kid, had come out on this special occasion to make it merry for the other kids who are still fighting Cancer.

A Mother who had lost her son (3 years and 3 months old) 3.5 months back came yesterday and clapped and cheered all the other kids who sang and danced to "I Have A Dream." For her, it must not be easy. To watch these other kids, fighting but still alive.I salute her will power and strength of heart to accept her loss and move on with Life, and more importantly to be able to cheer the others.

A Father who has lost his son to this disease came yesterday and not only provided the young kids with healthy fruits and other treats, but also donated money for the improvement of the kids in the Playroom. When asked to say a few words, all he managed to say was, "I hope Each and Every one of you recover and grow to be beautiful and strong individuals. I pray to the almighty everyday for your health." His loss has been recent too and yet, he was there supporting the other kids.

A husband who had lost his wife barely 4 months back returned to the Hospital yesterday for the first time after he had left the place with his wife's dead body. She had fought for 1.5 years and finally succumbed. It was not easy for him. With bouts of tears, he drove into the gates of the Hospital and made his way to the party. He didn't come alone. He came with goody bags for more than 60 kids. Each goody bag filled with treats and X'mas caps and more importantly with warmth, love and good wishes. He packed each and every one of them on his own. I salute his gesture. It must have been very difficult. The goody bag was loved by each and every kid.

Sitting between the kids, as they performed, I looked around. I saw some mothers with watery eyes with Hope in their heart. I saw mothers holding on more tightly to their kids as the child giggled when Santa entered. They sang along to the Christmas Carols and rushed to meet Santa and get their gifts.

I was Santa's Rudolf. With antlers on my head and a red nose, I went with him to the ICU to spread the cheer to a girl who was not doing so well. I doubt she'll ever be able to play with the gifts, or whether any of the festive cheer meant anything to her anymore, but in my heart, I felt I Tried. I tried to get that hint of smile on her face.

There were kids attending the party who were wheeled in - IV's sticking out. From the distance the Irony was evident. At the foreground I could see the IV hanging from the pole and at the background, the star on top of the Christmas tree was visible. But. Yesterday it wasn't about Chemotherapy or Radiation or platelet counts of bone marrow transplants. It was about the spreading of Love, warmth, festive cheer and mostly Hope. It was the Hospitals endeavour not only to add to the festive spirit and therefore cheer the kids up, but also to make Life as normal for each one of them. Kids from the age of 1 year to the age of 16 were there. And to Me, each one of them seemed a Fighter.

Cold Christmas

I had a bad feeling on my way to the Hospital.

My worst fears were confirmed the minute I entered the Playroom. 

Little Miss Sunshine had not made it. 

Her body had finally given up the fight.

The Mother had lost her Universe the night before. 

I was not teary eyed. But I kind of lost track of my actions for a while.

Other kids demanded attention and I very mechanically responded. 

Her beady eyes and toothy grin kept flashing back. 

It was difficult to come to terms with her not being there. 

I went for a walk to the Ward to meet the kids. 

And in Her bed was another kid who was being fed by his mother. 

Life's cycle.

Ones place taken up the next. 

Time and Life doesn't wait for anyone. 

It was a harsh realisation.
Yet, here was another Mother and another kid. 

Fighting the same battle. 

Sunshine's death had its consequences. 

Walking out of the Playroom, I noticed another kid's mother crying in the corridor. 

Sunshine and her son both are AML patients and was in a bed directly opposite theirs. 

Being a Mother, she had become attached to Sunshine too. 

If Sunshine couldn't make it, would her son manage?

Or would he too succumb to the ravages of Cancer?

What answer would she give her son when he questioned why that little sister in the opposite bed wasn't there anymore? 

Sunshine not being there had brought in an atmosphere of gloom in the Ward. 

If she couldn't survive, would the other kids manage?

But Sunshine is the 4th patient the Paediatric Ward had lost in the last 3 months. 

It was a reality that we all had to accept.

Looking at someone ticking on the box that said 'expired' on Sunshine's medical form sent shivers down my spine. 

Yet I had to accept the harsh truth and go back to my work.

I had to move on and go attend a performance by my college Choir and listen to Christmas Carols. 

Sitting in the auditorium listening to "Jingle Bells" I sighed at the Irony of Life.

What Just One Day can encompass for one individual.

From accepting Death to consoling a terrified mother to attending a performance that heralds Christmas and all the goodness that it stands for.
Amidst all that Sunshine's face is something I can't forget. Even though I have known her for barely 2.5 weeks, it was enough to form a bond. 

My heart goes out to her Mother. 

And inspite of having no words to comfort, I wish I could simply go give her a hug. 

For her, this Christmas is not going to be about the warmth and comfort it brings. 

Its going to be Cold and harsh. 

I guess once we can accept this basic reality of Life and Death - of this continuous vicious cycle, we'll be able to deal with situations better. 

I'm still learning. 

RIP Sunshine. 

Secrets

First thing I must say is that, she is a demanding child.
A Really demanding child.

I don't blame her.
Second relapse of Leukemia.
There is just a 50% match for the transplant.
She has spent too much time in Hospital beds to have any amount of patience whatsoever.

She is merely 6 years old.
Loss of hair due to Chemotherapy has made her bald.
She talks like she owns the World.
She dominates over the nurses like they are her minions.
Her Mother and Uncle have quite naturally given into her demands.

She fell sick at such a age, when she hadn't even started writing properly.
So she isn't even adept at holding the pencil the right way.
So she isn't particularly fond of drawing or coloring. Simply because she can't maintain straight lines.
But she loves glitter. She loves sparkly things.
And she loves watching me do craft in the Playroom.

A late riser, I have to go get her out of her Ward bed everyday to go have a bath and finish her breakfast.
She listens to me (somewhat) because she finds me equal to her age.
I dont force her to have her juice or eat her egg. I don't her the 'this is going to give you strength' talk.
She has heard enough of that.
I Dare her to drink her juice and eat her egg. And the kind of person she is, she won't pass on a dare.
You hit at her ego and she'll rise to the occasion.
And That creates the difference.

She is aware that she is sick. Doesn't know the extent to which she isn't well.
She is from a neighbouring country and speaks the same language. Simply a different dialect.
She talks about her home and going back to her elder sister and family.
She talks about getting cured and going back to school (she hasn't been to school for the last 3 years).

Sitting in the Playroom one day, she turns around, puts on a serious face and asks me, "Do you want to know a secret?"
I leave my work, and turn to face her. Looking excited I answer, "Yes please!"
"But you have to Promise not to tell anyone! Its a Secret. Between You and Me."
"I Promise," I tell her.
She gets up from her chair and walks towards me and whispers in my ear, "I have a boyfriend."
"A boyfriend?!" I ask genuinely surprised. (She is 6 years old, remember?)
"Yes! Didnt you hear what I said?"
"Oh yes! Sorry. A boyfriend," I repeat after her.
She looks at me, probing me to ask her more questions.
I oblige. "What is his name?" I ask.
"Prince. Prince Charles," she replies.
"Oh wow! Really? So. You like him?"
"Yea. I think," she says rolling her eyes and continues, "but he isn't the problem."
"What do you mean?" I ask curiously.
"Well. There is this other guy. William. He likes me too. But him - him I don't like," she sighs.
"Oh!" I exclaim.
She turns around without saying one more word and goes back to finishing her puzzle.
And I know better not to question.

Few minutes later, she turns around again and tells me, "I'm willing to tell you a secret that Nobody knows of. You have to Promise to keep this simply between us."
Really curious to know what This secret might turn out to be, I Promise her my word.
She plays with her dress and looks at me with a big grin and confesses, "Actually, I am a Fashion Designer. And not many people know that."
Very seriously I ask, "And why don't people know? Its a great thing!"
She sighs and explains, "'Coz if I did all the people, they would be rushing to me for a design or an autograph. And with this Hospital business and me not being well, honestly I don't have the time."
I nodded in full agreement. She smiled.
"So, who do you design clothes for?" I asked her.
Her answer left me speechless.
"For the street dogs back home," she replied.

Her secrets left me wondering about the beauty of our mind.
The way it works and fights.
The way it helps create a separate world for each one of us in a manner that we want to manage our daily struggles.

Should I call it escapism?
But for a 6 year old girl fighting Cancer, if escaping into her fantasy world helps, so be it.

Atleast through this parallel world, her smile helps to bring a Ray of Hope to her friends and family back home and her new Family in the Playroom.

Sunshine

Imagine two sparkly eyes.
An extremely tiny body.
Frail hands. A toothy grin.

Curly hair.
And tubes sticking out from all over the body. 

She is barely 1 year and 3 months old.
And she is fighting Cancer.
I look at her and from her, I gain my strength to go through the whole day.

On days she is better, she smiles that seems to light up the entire Ward.
Her five teeth - two on top and three at the bottom stick out when she smiles.

She is oblivious to the monitor beeping away and the IVz attached to her hands and tubes sticking out from her belly. 

She is demanding. 

Her Mother has to slyly slip away when she is sleeping for a quick bath.

Incase she wakes up and doesn't find her Mother, she'll show her anger by refusing to go to her. 

Yet, when she does, this little Sunshine clutches onto her Mother's tee, digging her face into her mother's bosom - as if her Whole world resides in her Mother's arm. 

She has those bright black beady eyes.
Ones that sparkle. Ones that speak. Ones that penetrate deep into your soul, making you question your own existence and your being.

For my Birthday, while I gave the older kids some chocolates, I handed over to this beauty a Sunflower soft toy. One that she could hold and play with. 

Lying on her bed, she grasped the stem of the Sunflower and for the first time, she smiled at me.
Then she looked at her Mother and smiled again. She played a little with her gift, and then got tired and stretched out her arms, searching again for her Mother's breasts.

Her health and well being dictated her Mother's expressions, mood and talking. 

I knew how this baby was doing simply by looking at her Mother.
She smiled when her daughter was better.

She seemed devastated when her daughter's health was failing.

The little Sunshine found her Whole world in her mother's arms.
The Mother found her Life - her Universe in the smile and well being of her daughter. 

A beautiful symbiotic relationship.  

Today, this ball of Sunshine was rolled from the General ward to the ICU.

There is a limit to how much such a tiny body can take.

Standing by the bay, I saw this small rolled up baby lying on a stretcher - being directed by 4 nurses into the elevator. IV stands and tubes sticking out and Sunshine struggling to breathe. Her tiny belly moving up and down - breathing slowly, her body trying to push to survive as much as it can.
All her toys and clothes were reduced to bundles of plastic packets lying at the base of the stretcher.

Holding one plastic packet in her hand, devastated, the Mother followed.
Her face looked downwards.

Her body slumping. Resigning to whatever was to happen afterwards.
Her feet dragged and she lagged behind for about 10 feet.

I stood there watching as the stretcher was rolled into the elevator and the door shut as the Mother entered.
I have been told the situation isn't good.
That I might not even see her tomorrow morning when I go.

But I Dont want to lose Faith.

I Cant. 

I dont want a situation when the Mother loses her Universe.

When We lose Our Sunshine.

I dont know where exactly I'm headed here with this post.
Is it the relationship between a Mother and daughter that I've observed?
The Universality of it?
Or is it about gaining strength from such a tiny fighting spirit?
Or is it about me Not willing to resign to Fate but to watch her Fight and Win this war?

Or maybe its about All of it. 

Minor Guardian

He is a sharp and intelligent chap. 13 years old.
He came to the Hospital with his mother.
Not as a child, but more as guardian.
His mother has been diagnosed with stomach Cancer and she came with him 2.5 weeks back.
His father walked out of their lives when he was told his wife was a cancer patient.
The mother was left with a 13 year old boy, a 2.5 year old girl and an ailing old mother-in-law.

She came into the Hospital with a bag in one hand and her son clutching on tightly to the other.
She was admitted, but there was no one to sign the admission form.
Nobody from her family came up to help.
For moral, emotional, mental or more importantly, financial support.

The Boy had no home and made the waiting room outside the ICU his home.
He sat there whole day, watching the people pass by and the TV which was turned on to a news channel.
At the appropriate times, a nurse or a Doctor would come and take him to the canteen for his breakfast, lunch and dinner. He slept at the waiting room, making the bag his pillow and a blanket to cover him which the Hospital provided. He had his bath in the patient family washroom and dried his clothes out in the Hospital terrace.

Once his mother was out of immediate danger, she was shifted to the General Ward and the Boy went from sleeping at the waiting room to the Ward floor, lying a thick mattress and a blanket to cover him. And that is when, he started spending time in the Playroom.

When he came in, he was a timid, well mannered docile child.
But like all kids his age, he was immediately drawn to the PSP and the computer games and soon, he became addicted to it. He started spending the whole day at the Playroom.
Due to the situation, we couldn't help but allow him staying on for hours in there.
But after a while, he started dominating over the younger kids who wanted to play on the PSP too.
If he was rebuked and asked to give the younger child to play, he would hesitantly allow and go back to "teaching" the child how to play and continue to control the PSP joystick.
So much so, he went back to his sick mother and complained of not having a computer back at home.

They don't come from a well off family.
There is no support system. No family to come and share the crisis.
If (*touchwood*), anything happens to the mother, there is no one to hand over the body to.
You can't hand over a body to a minor, can you?

The situation is serious.
The stigma of Cancer is now inherent in our society.
Where the husband walks out of a marriage and neighbours treat the family as a pariah - walking past the house keeping a distance of 20 feet. To avoid catching the Cancer. To avoid this fatal disease even touching their lives.

Today the mother, after a operation is better.
But, What IF something happens?
With this disease, you can never tell.

What happens to the Boy?
What happens to the 2.5 year old daughter back home?
Will the ailing old mother-in-law really be able to take care of two kids, when she can't take care of herself? When she couldn't even take the train to come see her grandson, literally living in the Hospital and her daughter-in-law fighting the disease?

Does the Boy understand the situation? I'm sure not.
But can we blame him? I doubt.
Do we blame the mother for wanting to keep him in the Hospital, close to her - inspite of knowing fully well that a 13 year old child should actually be back home, going to school?
Or do we blame this non existent family?

If you ask me, I'd blame the society.
For pushing this whole situation to a corner.
I'd blame the father, who calls himself a "man". Is he a man?

This is when you have to let Time take its course and reveal what the Future has in store for this mother and son.
All, I can do is keep a watch on his young chap and Hope for the best.

Ke Sera Sera

We were supposed to celebrate my Birthday in the Playroom today. With the kids. Part of me was really looking forward to it. But when I went, I heard She was in the ICU.

All my excitement just kinda went away. 

Then someone told me, "Life goes on. Besides, for one, you can't disappoint so many. The others are looking forward to the party."
That made sense to me and so I smiled and went back to the celebrations. 

She always had a bright smile. One of those that brightens your day.
A tumor in the bone of both her hand and leg. Though the leg had healed, the relapse of the tumor in her hand had led the Doctors to ampute it.
However, when you look at her, you won't realize that a 12 year old underwent so much of pain and trouble.
She will happeely sit with you and watch you work. She'll help the other little kids in the Playroom, teaching them to operate a game on the Computer. Or simply sit with you and help make Christmas cards for all the Departments in the Hospital. Well mannered and soft spoken, she always seemed positive about Life and getting cured.

So I went to meet her in the ICU.
What amazed me was even there, with tubes sticking out from All over her body, with a cotton in her nose to prevent bleeding, with the shivers in her body due to high fever - she smiled and apologized for not being able to attend my Birthday party downstairs.

Last week, when she was starting to feel unwell, I had gone to sit with her for a while near her bed. Her mother had come up to me and expressed her concern for her daughter's health. I yet again reassured the mother which made her finally smile, pat me on my shoulder, laugh and say, "Tumko dekh kar, maan ko shakti milti hain (When I see you, I feel more positive)". 

Back in the ICU, She explained the shivers she was continuously getting from the repeated fevers. The nurse explained how there was complete renal failure. She was already undergoing dialysis. She was Not doing well.

When I came back downstairs, inspite of all the kids in the Playroom also wanting a cheerful attention from me, at the back of my mind, She was there. Her smile and then her weak body lying on the ICU bed - the monitors beeping away, with blood spots all over her blanket and tubes everywhere. What was her mother thinking now? And if I had to face her mother again, what words would I have left with me to comfort her This time?
None.

In the Playroom, we sat and decorated the Christmas trees for the ward and I was left wondering what Christmas meant for the little girl lying upstairs. What did any of the festive cheer along with bells and holly leaves hold for her and her family? Inspite of her positive spirit, I was aware of her failing body - and yet I held onto Hope and refused to give up on her. 

While she lay upstairs fighting, I went back to tending the other kids in the Playroom - drowning myself in her squeaky laughter and their fights over who would play next on the PSP.
Though at the subconscious level I was constantly thinking of her, I did not let it show.
I realized that for her, the other 20 kids need not suffer my anxiety.
Cruel on one hand to push her at the back of my mind when she needed me most, and yet, I had no choice. I stand helpless in this fight.
As my friend says, I am only there to comfort. The rest, is not in my hands.

Life has to go on.
All one can do is stay positive and hold onto that smile. 

All I can do is that Believe that she will recover to join us again in the Playroom and Hope that my Belief is not broken.

Ke sera sera.
What will be, will be.

The Other Side

Since the time I have been going to the Playroom, I have stood as a Ray of Hope, for both the parents and the kids.
A hope that each kid getting treated at the paediatric ward will be fine. That each one of them like me, will be able to jump back to normalcy and lead a healthy, active and happee Life.

When a mother asks me if her son will be fine, my instant reaction is to smile, hold her hand and comfort her.
To tell her, "Look at me. Am I not fine? Trust this Institution and trust the Doctors. Your son will also recover. He too will be fine". She smiles back, holds my hand tighter and tells me, "Looking at you, I feel there is a Ray of Hope. That there is god who will cure him". Though I don't believe in god anymore, I acknowledge her believe, faith and trust and assure her of her son's good health.
This brings a reassured smile on her face.

Next day I notice a father standing in the corridor, worried. He informs me his daughter's platelet count is falling.
Yet again, I am able to reassure this parent. I tell him that during Chemotherapy, this is normal. That there is nothing to worry about. That mine fell drastically at times too and that the count will again soon rise.
This news makes him smile and feel reassured.
He blesses me and prays for my good health and tells me, "Now that you tell me your platelet count fell too and you are alright Now, I feel better".

Each time, I have managed to reassure a parent. They watch me, healthy and jumping around and feel reassured of the fact that their child too will be able to fight the Cancer cells in their tiny bodies and come back to leading a normal Life.

They use me to reassure their children too. To point at me and tell the wailing child that, "Look Didi also had to have this injection! She is fine! Even you will be!" For me to pat the child and tell him/her that I Know how it feels, having been through it myself.
This in a way also helps reassure the child - that he/she is not the only one to undergo this amount of pain.
That he/she is not alone in this.

But.

What kind of Ray of Hope do I send to that mother who lost her 3 years and 3 month old son to Cancer? What assurance do I give her after her own lost battle for 1 whole year? What do I explain to her and what do I do to comfort her?

Facing The Other Side is not easy.

The question that arises then is that what do I stand for her?
Does my playful nature remind her of her own child playing in the very same Playroom even 5 months back? Or does it make her realize that Time and Life doesn't wait for anyone and that she too needs to move on? Or is it too disrespectful and rude for me to even think that So soon?
Isn't me telling her to be strong and have the will to move on simply stupid on my part?
What then, do I tell her?

Its different comforting a parent whose child, even though struggling, is still alive.
And its a different ball game altogether to even converse with a parent, a mother especially, who recently lost her son.

For the 1st time, I didn't know what to do.
And very meanly enough, I didn't want her around.
Her lost battle would not help the other parents in the Playroom.
Her story would only hamper the positive atmosphere I had managed to build around the Playroom.

Is it to mean of me to think that?
I dont know.

All I know is that, Cancer will teach you a lot about Life.
And Death.

Cycle Countdown Circle

I was staying at Didinz at that time.
She stays in Ballygunge and I was there for two reasons.
Firstly, Ballygunge is at the heart of the city and secondly, Ballygunge was closer to the Hospital than Salt Lake.

For the 10 odd months I was there, I had taken over Didinz bedroom.
The view from her bedroom was superb.
From the window by the bed, you could see all the way to the tall South City Towers and from the other window, you could get a glimpse of not only the Kalighat Temple but also the Howrah Bridge. The window by the bed has a window sill which is wide enough for me to even lie down. And for me, that window sill still remains the favorite spot in the whole house.
When I stayed there, I loved curling up on top of it and looking out into the vastness. As poetic as it may sound, it helped to ease my mind and watch Life as it went on as my family and I struggled with my health.

Didinz bedroom walls were white. Being a stickler for cleanliness, her walls were kept extra white. Between the bed and the cupboard lay an empty wall space.
I remember the day I was informed about the number of chemotherapy sessions I had to take (6 cycles - 2 in each cycle and therefore 12 sessions in total), I came back to Didinz and drew a huge Circle on that white wall space with an Apsara Extra Dark pencil.
Inside that Circle, I wrote the numbers 1 to 12.
Beside each number that represented each chemotherapy session, I wrote what it was leading to.
So the circle basically encapsulated something like the following (its not the exact replicate):

1 - One down already! Just a few more to go!
2 - Excellent! One Cycle Over. That wasn't so difficult!
3 - Already in the 2nd Cycle! Thats going fast!
(and so and so forth till...)
10 - Just One more Cycle left and then back to school!
11 - Just One more session to go! C'mon I can do this!!
12 - Over! Done and Over with! Hurray!!

And quite naturally, this Countdown gave me a small and yet a great impetus to go to the Hospital and sit through around round of pure boredom, nausea, weakness and pain.
It was small compared to the greater understanding that I simply had to go to AMRI to get well. However, it was great because each time I got back from the Hospital, simply being able to strike off yet another number from that Circle gave me a mental boost and an euphoric spirit. In doing this small act, it just helped me gain a positive outlook towards the whole situation and thereby gain more strength in myself to be able to complete the whole treatment. By the time I reached the 11th Cycle it was not getting any easier, but the want or the desire to get better was far greater than the pain.

The mind in such situations is continuously at war with the body. No matter how much the body wants to give up, Man's greatest impulse is the desire to Survive and the mind always helps to achieve just that.
This Circle might have appeared insignificant in the greater scheme of things, but in reality it remained a crucial part to give a greater push to my mind to keep fighting and carry on.

The walls today have been repainted.
If you walk into that bedroom today, you won't realize that an 18 year old girl had drawn a Cycle Countdown Circle there. You would walk past that area today, you won't even realize it.
Didin repainted it because she said it remindes her of days which doesn't necessarily want to recollect.

However, If I had my way, I would keep that drawing. Always.
Like I Always want to keep my operation scar.
For a reminder of what I have been through, of what I have overcome and thereby derive strength from it - both mentally and emotionally.
And to thus help me overcome any situation in Life.