My insides are burning. The anesthesia is not helping. I can feel the tube go inside me. Sliding on my tongue through the throat into my oesophagus. It feels like a slimy creature with thorns making its way down to my stomach. I start to gag. It's a reflex of the tube touching my epiglotis on its way down. I want it to be quick. Lying there, feeling helpless and in pain reminds me of the first time I was in one of these chairs.
A Flash.
I am seven years old. A couple of my milk teeth were having difficulty in falling off. So I have to visit the dentist. He is a stout bearded man with a kind personality and a limping gait. I am relieved when I see that we are not at my Father's friend clinic who is our regular dentist but is not very gentle with teeth. The dentist now masked, tells me to watch the cartoon on TV as he starts to work inside my mouth. I remember feeling disrespected at being told to watch TV. Always being a bit too old for my age, I felt to be treated like a grown-up about the surgery. I feel a sting as the needle punctures my gum and another as the anesthesia starts to flow into the veins. Numbness.
Another flash.
I am 11 years old, playing cricket in the garage. My brother and I are having a one on one match. He bowls to my right. I shift to adjust the ball for a straight drive. The surface is slippery and I am wearing China chappal. Too late for recovery. I slip, raising above the ground a couple of feet before landing on my right ankle. Bees are stinging my arm. My brother is laughing. I am overwhelmed by pain and anger. I massage for a while and continue the rest of my innings with the bat in my left hand. I can't just left him get away with my turn like that. Not after the laugh. Later, at lunch I am using my left hand to eat. My sister inquires and I am sent with father to his clinic. Sure enough, there is a hairline crack in my bone and I come back home with a plaster.
I always dreaded confronting my mother after injuries. She would start scolding me and reminding me of being a sports freak and lunatic. How nothing good comes out of it but we never listen to her and it goes on and on. It's her way of showing how hurt and grieved she is to see us in pain.
Mothers.
The doctor finishes examining my stomach and remarks that he can't see anything abnormal but let's take a biopsy and wait for the sample results. I think 'why not'? I know I should be relieved but I am not. I have been fighting this disease for almost two years now and I am tired of it. I want a diagnosis. I want a solution to it right NOW!
Patience
I am learning to be more patient and more acceptable to failures now. This disease has blessed me with the capacity to look at things differently. It has taught me to do the best and expect the worse. It is teaching me how to leave all matters to Allah. I am not very good at it but I am learning. I am reducing the time of getting back up after each failure. That is what I think is my lesson. I try to be more patient and forgiving. I try to be more understanding and caring. I know how much we humans crave these two things. I want to be able to give it freely and abundantly. And to find peace in knowing that someone, somewhere is happy today because I tried.
Feamanillah.
P. S Smile (its sunnah) and it makes you special.
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