Disturbing identity

“Is it hurting?” my friend asked as she helped me up after my fall on the middle of the road. I was laughing at myself. And there, I saw her face change all of a sudden. “There’s blood. Oh! My God! Let’s get you to the hospital,” she exclaimed. “Calm down. I seem to have scraped my knee. It’s nothing,” I said. She was hyperventilating and I was as cool as ice. She remained so until I got a Tetanus injection and covered the tiny wound with a ‘larger than life’ band-aid. The doctor at the hospital was outraged and I was left embarrassed.

Years later, I found myself stationed outside the operation theatre. My friend was inside undergoing an excision biopsy of the supraclavicular lymph node. The doc decided to extract the entire node so that this surgery doesn’t end up being insufficient and inconclusive. “Will that still guarantee a successful biopsy?“ we asked. “Well, if not, we would excise the lymph node from her left axilla,” said the doc.

I stood there wondering how much blood she’d lose. I stood there wondering if she’d have been as calm as I if I had been inside instead. I stood there wondering, “Why her?”

I don’t remember sitting. I was pacing up and down until the doc came out to say that the pathologist has confirmed the presence of disease cells in the supraclavicular lymph node. This means another excision of the lymph node from her left axilla wouldn’t be required. I thanked the surgeon profusely. But wait! Did he say disease cells?

Tilotama’s identity was confirmed and reconfirmed with a second opinion - Classical Hodgkin Lymphoma (CHL). I was told this is the best among the worst in the cancerous world. How is that a consolation? 

“I kept thinking Tilotama would turn out to be some sort of a chronic infection like TB baby. How naive am I!” she said. I wanted to tell her I was wishing the same. I wanted to tell her this is nothing. I wanted to tell her this is much better than even TB. I just nodded and kissed her forehead. 

We had to get set for her chemotherapy scheduled every alternate Thursday for a duration of 6 months. “Will you be there for every chemo with me? I can’t do this without you by my side,” she said. Her frail voice still echoes in my mind. And each time it does, it wrings my heart thousand times over.

Her already weak veins were not being considered to administer 4 strong chemo medicines - ABVD. “We’ll insert a chemo port on the right chest so that it’s easier to administer the medicines - which will run through IV for at least 6 hours,” the doc explained. Another quick surgery to insert the chemo port now.

When I saw her at the recovery room, she was shuddering involuntarily. I was in dismay. I howled for the nurse, who quickly ran in to insert a tube under her blanket. I realised the tube was blowing in warm air. I saw her body relax. “Mmmm, I’m fine now,” she said, “I was cold!” I just didn’t know how to react. I wanted to hug her and cry my eyes out.

I read a book on chemo, just to be aware of what to look out for. The list is smaller if you were to observe what not to watch out for. ABVD is standard protocol. A stands for doxorubicin (Adriamycin), B – bleomycin, V – vinblastine and D – dacarbazine (DTIC). The doc tried to introduce Brentuximab instead of Bleomycin. 

My friend was suffering from stage 4. The doc said that CHL was lesser of the evils because the stages don’t play a crucial role here. She has a 70% chance of guaranteed cure. Brentux could add another 10%. It was mighty expensive to procure this medicine, but will we say no?

Lady Luck has always turned her back the moment she knows my friend is approaching. And if the lady sees me, she’d flee. So, Brentux was not available during her first chemo. She was on AVD. Her sister and I watched over her like a hawk. She had all the side effects - from nausea to mouth ulcers, and extreme fatigue.

“Oops! I’m sleepy,” she’d say while dragging herself to the bathroom. She’d sleep half way, leaning on my shoulder. And when I wake her up gently, she’d smile and say, “Ha ha! I slept off.” She was like a baby. 

I am never good with babies. But I vowed to take care of this baby for the rest of her chemo sessions. “One down baby, give me a high five!” I said, as we walked home the next day.