Hypochondriac Diaries

That feeling of fear...

One fine day as I stood in my kitchen in that golden hue of evening sun and the smell of sauteed onions, I was struck by bliss. I knew instantly it was one of those fleeting moments of perfection and it would soon wane away like the slivery rays sidling down through my kitchen window. But it lingered on longer than usual before it died down.

I knew why I was happy. It was because for the first time in my life there were no sullen worries. Everything was perfect. And that’s why something was amiss. My life was never perfect. If I sensed so, then something was terribly wrong. It was almost ominous. I began to panic. Fear pranced about like a shapeless silhouette trapped inside my body. Scenes of my father dying, my baby nephew getting hurt, began to run over my head like a movie reel. Realizing my breathing had gone heavy, I struggled to stay calm. “Everything is fine.” I reassured myself.

At least I wished it were so.

Having to worry about something that wasn’t even there is a grislier business than having actually something to worry about. A couple of days after, I sought refuge on my tongue. For months, an itsy-bitsy spot on my tongue smarted every now and then I had a spicy treat. I had never spared a moment to acknowledge its existence until now. Suddenly the spot magnified into the size of an alien spaceship and took over my body, my mind, my life!

It was there no matter what I did. Brushing my teeth�"the spot. Cooking dinner�"the spot. Doing laundry�"the spot. Watching movie�"the spot. Facebooking�"the spot. Making out with my spouse�"the spot.

Suddenly my husband began to notice how I sat for an unusual amount of time staring at the mirror with my tongue sticking out. That was my cue. I was on the edge of insanity. My husband wouldn’t notice if I went bald. So if this he came into his radar, something was going on. I googled ‘pain in tongue ‘. The engine returned a lot of medical sites that stated pain in tongue was one of the symptoms of cancer. It was a symptom of other gazillion tongue problems too. But only cancer caught my attention.

                        ***
In the doctor’s room, he pinched, pressed and poked my pink appendage. “Does that hurt?” “How about now?” He maneuvered with the organ like a chunk of meat. After a series of “No” from me, he prescribed me some antibiotics and probiotics.

“It’s not cancer, is it?” I probed wide eyed.

“No,” he gave a one-sided shake of head. Before I could exhale my sigh of relief, he continued in the same breath, “…but if the pain persists after five days after the completion of the course, come back for a biopsy.”

Biopsy. Biopsy. Biopsy. The word rang like a death knoll in my ears. Only a few months ago my uncle was diagnosed with cancer after a biopsy and a tongue biopsy at that. That night I couldn’t sleep. I twisted and turned in my bed. I broke into tears. My husband woke up startled. “What happened?” I tried to explain. He didn’t quite make out in my muffled voice. I tried again. “I tnmmmphk I gmma dee.” ” Sorry what?” “I THINK I AM GOING TO DIE,” I shrieked.
                                                                  ****

It was the longest five days of my life.

Day six. There was no sign of pain. I thanked the heavens. I had almost forgotten about the whole ordeal when one evening, a month later, on a bus in Manali as I was chomping on a packet of Lays and basking in the hangover of an exquisite trip, a familiar sting seared through my tongue on the same spot. It was that god awful taunting tongue sequence all over again.

Next day,it disappeared . I reached Kerala three days later. The time I was there, I wasn’t attacked by that vile sneaky enigma of a pain. Two weeks later I was back in Delhi, so was the insidious pain.

The pain by now has become more than a sensation to me. It assumed a life like form. Not a humanely one but rather like a diabolic spirit lurking in the dark, deriving pleasure from possessing a tiny speck of my tongue, thereby unleashing its terror upon me. It fed on my fear. I became a puppet to its evil game. My life swayed according to its whims and fancies. I felt if I breathed a little too aloud I might provoke it. If I so much as smiled, I could irk it.

I was devastated. There was no lesion, no pigmentation, no nothing. It was like being haunted by a ghost. Only I could feel its presence. I saw half the doctors in the city in the hope they would exorcise the evil thing away. They glared at my tongue. Saw nothing. Assured me it was a measly vitamin deficiency. Send me home with stacks of silver strips of vitamin capsules. I was unconvinced. Miserable. I resorted to long hours of slumber. The stress was too much, I even missed my period for two months.

Two months went by. I spotted a papule stuck like a popcorn kernel at the back of my mouth. I thought this was the next level. I dashed to google. Again, the results insinuated cancer possibility. I tried to drown the papule by drinking gallons of water . It didn’t budge, only my bladder bulged. I confided in my doctor brother-in-law. He advised cetrizine, five days. The papule disappeared.

Next, there was a swelling along my neck muscle. I noticed it on a fine evening not unlike the one I was swept over by a bout of bliss. I stood in the warm halo of the vermicelli streaks of sunlight holding a mirror against me. In that moment, I decided to embrace Death as an inevitable part of my life. I began to weigh the pros and cons. “If I live I get to have some happy times, if I die the bad things die with me. It’s not like I’m going to mope over my death after I die. Till that moment, there is no need to worry.” Not a bad deal, I figured. The swelling subsided over a span of three weeks. Now my back hurts. I am aware of the possibility of schwannoma neurofibrosarcoma thanks to the movie 50/50. But I have resolved to tell every cramp, spasm and pain to “F**k off.” And it helps. Most of the time.

Reviews

[W. C. Forrest]

A fun read. Witty and slick. Like the whole concept of over recreating to pain. The narrative coils and trips a little in the middle but astutely manages to take control towards the end. You have a sound vocabulary which helps in building great syntax. Continue writing.