I’m Glad You’re Alive
“Where is the goddamn ‘T’ on this thing” he muttered, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Amala watched him as he peered at his computer screen through thick glass spectacles. It reminded her of something from her childhood. “Soda-buddi” or soda-bottle spectacles was the word they used. God save the kid on the playground who wore them for they would immediately be passed from hand to hand, thrown in the air and tossed around like a football while he would scrabble about pitifully trying to get them back.“Soda-buddi, soda-buddi!” would ring the chant intermingled with shouts of laughter.
She wondered whether this doctor would have been bullied on the playground too. If he was, then he sure could lord over those bullies today. A senior neurosurgeon was quite the title to bear and at one of the top hospitals in the city to boot.
The doctor gave an exasperated sigh and glanced up at Amala and her parents who were patiently seated in front of his desk.
“This online consultation of patients during the pandemic has been such a pain in the ass, I can tell you.”
His eyes rested on Amala for a second and they brightened. “Could you handle this patient online? I already told him what tablets to take, all you have to do is finish up the conversation with small talk. Here.”
He got up from his seat in front of his computer and pushed it towards her. Amused, she sat down and proceeded to type “Thank you” to a poor guy on the other side who was effusively giving his thanks for the consultation. Behind her, the doctor had already started talking to her parents. They had come for her but apparently, she was reduced to a typewriter rather than a patient.
“I really should hire someone just to do my online appointments. When you’re done, just press that green button to end the thing. If not, that fellow will just keep on talking.”
Feeling sorry for the said fellow, she typed a last “Take care” to him and shut the tiny window on the screen. Turning around, she observed the doctor. He was an elderly man with a smartly trimmed mustache and silvery-grey hair. A bit like a walrus, really. Behind him, his many certificates and degrees hung like wallpaper. There was also a crudely drawn caricature of him, seemingly done by a child, and a faded poster of the band Queen. She stared at the poster, the corners of her lip quirking. Interesting.
“Are you laughing at me?”
She started and looked at the doctor, shaking her head. His eyebrow was raised comically.
“Good. Then can we get back to treating you?”
“Yes, doctor.”
He listened carefully to her latest symptoms and nodded looking at her reports. Making quips about keeping the MRI department busy, he glanced through her many, many scans.
He asked with a straight face whether her oncologist still had long hair or had his wife pulled them all out yet. She laughed while he proceeded to call the oncologist to speak with him about her next course of treatment. Satisfied with what he heard, he ended the call but before he could explain what they would do next, his phone started vibrating. The oncologist’s name flashed on the screen, disappearing when the doctor swiped the green button.
“Hello? Did I miss anything, Dr. Sudhakar? What…oh okay sorry I must have called you back by mistake. Anyway, it’s good to know that you’re still alive. Goodbye!” With a flourish, he tapped the red button and looked at her with twinkling eyes behind those soda buddi spectacles.
“You know, in our profession, you can’t survive without a dark sense of humor.”
She giggled again. This doctor somehow made it feel that there was nothing wrong with her like she didn’t have something growing in her brain, like her weight wasn’t constantly fluctuating with her medications, like her hair wasn’t slowly falling out, like every week didn’t bring new trials and tribulations and every month didn’t leave her wondering whether she would live to see the next new moon.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re still alive, my dear,” he said and gave her a thumbs up.
**
“I’ll need surgery? Again?” She stared at the doctor, dumbfounded. “But I just had my head cut open last year. Isn’t there another way?”
He looked back at her steadily.
“I’m afraid there isn’t. See, I will only tell you the truth and the facts, you know that. The tumor is growing again and your speech is already slurring, your coordination slowing down. Medication will only go so far. This is the most viable option.”
She buried her face in her hands.
“What are the risks?”
“Contamination, infection, your neurological problems might worsen post-surgery, and we have no way of knowing whether the tumor will come back. In most cases, it does.”
Her shoulders slumped and she started to tremble. She heard the sound of a chair being scraped back and his presence next to her. A warm hand placed itself on her head.
“There are positives. You’re still young, there’s no reason the surgery won’t be a success. You can improve your lifestyle and possibly even live as long as the average person.”
She looked up to meet his twinkling eyes and was suddenly thrown back to when was five years old and on a road trip with her family. They were passing through a tunnel and she had shut her eyes tight, scared of all the darkness, the chilly whistle of the wind, and the sudden damp that licked at her skin. “Look Amala, look!” she heard her brother calling and cracked one eye open, fearful but unwilling to miss out on whatever he was so excited about. The end of the tunnel loomed bright and hazy, a pinpoint of light that they seemed to be hurtling towards. As the pinpoint grew bigger and bigger, her fear melted away to be replaced by relief and she felt a burst of warmth once they emerged onto the sun-drenched highway again.
The doctor’s eyes behind that soda buddi, reminded her of that tunnel. Dark and vast but with an inextinguishable twinkle at the end. She felt a knot loosen somewhere in her chest as she looked at him, his head seeming to bob in slow motion as he continued to talk to her.
“I don’t think coronavirus will get me yet so I’ll be there to make sure everything goes well. Think about it, if you’re gone, how will I continue those online consultations with my abysmal typing skills? So let’s just focus on today.” He gave her a thumbs up. “For now, I’m glad you’re still alive, my dear.”
She grinned, feeling lighter.
**
A kaleidoscope of colors danced in front of her eyes. The edges of her vision blurred and there were occasional bursts of white and blue and yellow. She felt like her brain had been stuffed with cotton and couldn’t for her life figure out whether her eyes were open or closed.
A murmur of voices seemed to blend in to a low, continuous hum as she felt flutters of movement happening all around. Her head lolled from side to side and she could feel drool slipping out of her lips. She tried to lift up a hand to brush it away but it seemed like her entire body was weighed down with lead. She heard something like wheels squealing on a polished floor. After a few minutes, another sound came into her ears. A male voice, faintly familiar. A warm pressure on her hand, again faintly familiar. Who was it and why did she suddenly get visions of soda bottles and tunnels?
Before she could finish the thought, Amala blacked out into an endless, cozy world.
**
She opened her eyes and saw white. Everything was white. She was lying on a bed and there were contraptions clicking around her. An oxygen mask was strapped to her face and her head felt like it was wrapped in a million layers of bandages. On one side, a nurse was scrabbling about with some tubes while on the other side, all dressed up in surgical gear, was the doctor smiling down at her. She saw his thumb rise up and felt it gently poke her nose.
“Well, I’m glad you’re still alive, my dear.” He winked at her. If she could roll her eyes, she would have. Only he could say something like that at a time like this. She felt absolutely carefree. There was only hope ahead, it was tangible. All would be well from now.
**
Amala walked through the ruins of the once busy street with its lively shops and crowds. There was dust all around. Buildings were reduced to rubble and smoke rose in plumes from every corner imaginable. Shattered glass lined the sidewalks and there were occasional splashes of blood on broken surfaces. The wail of a baby pierced the air along with cries of people trying to find their loved ones. A man lay propped up against a lone wall nearby, his eyes glazed as he stared at nothing. A small knot of people sat around a makeshift fire warming themselves. A little way ahead, there were three bodies covered with a sheet.
According to the news reports, it was a harmless-looking black bag that had been thrown into a dustbin, and the next second, there had been a resounding blast destroying everything within a three-kilometer radius. The entire area of the city had been enveloped in smoke for hours and countless people had been injured. The dustbin was right in front of one of the top hospitals in the city.
So many patients, so many doctors in one place. She wondered if everyone was okay. She wondered if the doctor was okay
For hours after the blast, Amala had been an active participant in providing aid relief to the victims. With a mask on and sanitizer bottles stocked in her bag, she had driven around with blankets, clothes, face masks, medicines, and food parcels. Seeing the extent of damage, she was horrified.
The past few months had been like something out of someone else’s life. Her surgery had been successful and she had responded so well to the follow-up treatment that the doctors were hopeful that she could go into complete remission. It was the first time in a long time that she felt nothing wrong with her body, the first time she could go a day without feeling the pangs of hopelessness or a week without any sort of pain.
But today, she felt again the same feelings of despair and sadness. It seemed that while she had gotten better, the world around her continued to see disasters happening. Suppose the world also had a doctor who could inject goodness and hope into it, who could laugh and make jokes with it, who could cure it just like her. How lovely would that be?
She walked along the street, stopping occasionally to comfort those in distress and distribute relief items. Her feet moved of their own accord and after a while, she found herself in front of the hospital. On entering the grounds, she was relieved to see that the buildings were still standing. There were deep cracks everywhere and many of the windows were missing, their glass shattered. The hospital had suffered major smoke damage and a few of its wards had been struck with the full force of the blast. One building had its entire roof blown off. The front lawn was unrecognizable with debris, the remains of extinguished fires, and scores of people, many of whom were injured. She saw nurses and doctors scurrying around and on the far end, she saw more sheets covering what looked like more bodies.
Her eyes passed over a knot of people who seemed to be gathered around something. Through the gap, she thought she saw a glint of light which became more pronounced as she went closer. It was a man in the middle, sitting with a child in his lap. The child’s ears were bleeding and he was cleaning the wound, dressing it, all the while reassuring the family who was around him.
“See, he’s all okay now, just a little wound to the head. Nothing to worry about, he’ll be good as new in a few days. Now, my nurse there will just give you some medicines for him and instructions on how to take them. Cheer up, everything will be fine!”
The glint Amala had seen was from the man’s spectacles which were large, shining, and thick, and with a jolt, she realized it was the doctor.
The once immaculate silvery-grey hair was in a disarray and there was a deep slash on his left cheek. One of his soda buddi lenses was cracked. His trousers looked like they had seen better days and he was wearing a surgical coat that had numerous stains, many of which looked like blood. He was smiling though. As if it was just another day in his office.
She went up to him as he finished patching up the child. He saw her and she watched as shock turned to a pleasant surprise in eyes that were bloodshot with dark bags under them. His hands seemed to tremble, just slightly, but she noticed. Saying nothing, she sat down next to him on the grass, passing out a bottle of fruit juice from her bag. He accepted it and drank deeply for a few seconds. Wiping his lips, he turned to her and opened his mouth to say something but she beat him to it.
“I’m glad you’re still alive, doctor.”
A few moments passed and the world went silent around them. His eyes filled with tears and he hastily took off his spectacles to wipe them away. Looking up at her again, smile back in place, he let out a watery chuckle and placed a warm hand on her head.
“As am I, my dear, as am I.”
