“Last week I tested positive for rheumatoid arthritis.” I
repeated this line over and over again to different people as my mother and I
went around the administrative block, seeking attendance relaxation on medical
grounds.
“It is a peculiar case. Diseases like malaria or typhoid, we
understand. But arthritis is something which is not as severe so we really don’t
know what to say.”
It is not as severe,
but it is here to stay and worsen if not controlled immediately, we explained.
After 5 hours of doing this, we got some relief on that front and the next day
we took the train home. At around 3 in the morning, I woke up in the train out
of thirst. As I flexed my fingers to grab the water bottle, I felt the pain
again. The pain killer was wearing off and the entire nightmare would start
again in the morning. The struggle of standing, walking, grasping, knocking...the
struggle of moving.
Out of habit I reflected on the week that was. I had been
irritated by my inability to even hold my toothbrush properly and thus finally
went to the doctor to get checked. I smiled when he said I need to get my RA
Factor tested, sure he was off predicting the worst case scenario again. On
being pushed by my father I got the test done anyway and after seeing the
result, it was a while before I smiled again. My mother came to visit me after
that and once the follow up tests confirmed the original report, it was decided
that I must go back home to start my treatment properly. Soon some people in
college got to know about it and they came to offer me comfort...at least in
most cases.
“Hey, I heard you’re about to die.” I looked up at the boy
who had called out to me like that. “Well, you know my FATHER has arthritis. He’s
60. You’re an oldie. Aren’t you embarrassed?,” he continued. “Is this how you
feel good about yourself, by making such jokes? I understand it must be hard
living with yourself when you waste Rs. 20,000 a month on trivialities while the
sole earning member in your family is a retired man suffering from severe joint
pain. We are not close enough for your joke to not be taken as offensive, mind
you” (and a glare) is how I replied, mentally. “What!?!” in shrieky voice is
all that I actually managed.
We reached home in the morning and the appointment with the
specialist was scheduled for the noon. In the meantime my grandmother drilled
into me the importance of not revealing to anyone that I have arthritis or that I am sick in any other way. One look at my mother’s exasperated
expression confirmed my doubt- my grandma was worried about the negative marks
this defect brings to me in the marriage market.
The doctor was consulted, medicines were bought and pitiful looks
were exchanged. All this while I waited. I waited for it to hit me that now at
the age of 23 I had two chronic disorders which are seldom seen in people my
age and my entire life would feature a multitude of pills and tests. And
eventually it did. It hit me when every night my mother would say things like
how sad it was, especially at this age. And how people will not accept me
easily. It hit me when my father suggested I stop trying for a job now because
he wishes to spend some time with me at home for a few months. And blame it on
the hormones, but for the next couple of days, I was not the easiest person to
live with.
It has been 20 days now since I first tested positive. I
returned to college today and the pain has more or less subsided as my body is
adjusting to the medicines. (God bless science!) A healthier lifestyle is my
mantra for now and honestly I feel...okay.
My day was quiet (all my friends are out for a couple of
days). I went about my usual routine and I feel healthy as I prepare to turn in
for the day. The breakdown of the previous days at this point seems like a pretty
childish overreaction. The fear, the
sense of hopelessness, the frustration – all an unnecessary burden that I was
not obligated to take in the first place. Our reaction in a given situation tends to get influenced
by how others expect us to react. We get pressured to feel emotions which are expected to be felt normally. But would we, when isolated, when lying alone
in the bed, be the same person? Would we feel the same way?
Last week I felt like a race horse facing just another
hurdle, just another given, in her run for her variable victory. Last week,
between all the people, all the ‘get well soon’ messages and all the health
tips, I felt burdened despite the intended love. Right now, in the quiet of a
breezy night, alone in my room, I feel the lightness of a peaceful mind and I for once mean it when I say I am okay.
