Keep your expectations minimal

“I understand you are tense. Sitting here is not productive. Get inside and attend class,” my friend admonished me. I was awaiting the results of our college’s Student Union Election. I had contested for the post of Cultural Secretary. I campaigned class to class, performing a small dance piece while my friend carried the tape recorder. Her job was to rewind the cassette before every class and play it on cue. “I can’t believe you are making me do this!” she said, while I laughed at her plight. That wasn’t all. I had even made her climb trees, sticking posters for my campaign. As the results were to be announced, all my classmates were present telling me they were confident of my victory. My friend was the only one who said, “I am not discouraging you, but I want you to be prepared for defeat too, just in case.” Well, I guess she was right. I got elected as the Assistant Cultural Secretary and not the Cultural Secretary. I walked up to the stage and as I held the mic, I saw my friend give me a thumbs up, while gesturing to me saying, “I’m right here with you.”

She always has her expectations low. She wouldn’t even mention her job offer until she gets it in writing. I would have broadcasted this sort of news right from my first interview. 

And now with Tilotama calling the shots, my friend has been the same. The oncologist suggested a PET Scan be done before her chemo session scheduled for December 9. I was busy shooting right through the first week of December. I was handling an assignment for a web show. I was super excited because it was my first experience working on one. I didn’t know whether it was right to sound excited while talking to my friend, who was all weak in the arms of Tilotama. I couldn’t bring myself to narrate many of those thrilling, challenging and even ill-judged moments worrying I’m not being sensitive to her current state. I kept thinking about what she said when I left for the shoot a week ago, just after her last chemo. “So, you are off again. Leaving me!”

I felt wounded. But I knew she was much worse. 

And when I got back just in time for her PET scan, I was nervous. I’m sure she was too. We both did not speak about it. I knew she was dreading it ten times more. Her entire family was. Her sister had flown down to Bengaluru from the US, just to hold my friend’s hand. I had to know what my friend was thinking.

“Are you all set for the scan?” I asked.

“Let’s see. Whatever. Let’s not keep our expectations too high,” she said.

“Isn’t there space for some hope? Why be negative? I don’t want you to lose hope,” my eyes were welling as I spoke these words. 

She hugged me and said, “You know me. It’s not that. Let’s just keep our expectations low so that we aren’t disappointed.”

I didn’t know whether she was right or wrong. We didn’t sleep well that night. She had her last meal at 2 am because she had to be on an empty stomach until the scan. Well, her meal contained one ‘idli’.

Initially, we were told that she mustn’t drink water as well. But wrong. She had to drink plenty of water so that she could empty her bladder just before the scan. She was given the contrast through the IV and was made to wait in that cold chamber for an hour. We weren’t allowed inside. While I was sipping my hot cup of tea outside, I couldn’t help but wonder whether her jacket was keeping her warm enough. The scan took all of 20 minutes. 

“Please do not give us the report. I want to hear the details from my oncologist,” my friend told the person at the department. 

We were back in the ward. Her chemo session began. The doctor walked in after 3 hours. “The PET is clean, but…”

There is always a ‘but’ right? My friend and I looked at each other. “There is an uptake in two places - one at the pelvis and one near the throat. I am not sure if we need a biopsy. I think it’s mostly due to some infection and the inflammation is the reason for the uptake. Fistula could be the reason for the uptake in the pelvis region. The throat…”

“No biopsy doctor!” my friend cut in. “If you are attributing it to some infection. I have always had a ‘tonsil’ issue,” she added.

There was silence.

The doctor opted for an ultrasound, which would work as a baseline and said that he’d monitor it again after a week. “Do not worry about the uptake yet. It can’t be that the other bad fellows are out, while 2-3 stay back. Either all are out or all are in,” he said. 

Shouldn’t that be reassuring? It wasn’t for me. And I didn’t want to mention this to her. I walked out of the ward and called my parents. “Why do things happen with ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’? Why can’t God give us these small mercies of a ‘clean PET’?” I cried in pain. My parents cried along before trying to comfort me.

“Reason to celebrate,” I told my friend as I wiped my tears and walked back into the ward. Her sister concurred and we planned to buy a cake and raise a toast.

The next day, my friend said, “Now, do you realise why I say we need to keep our expectations low?” I broke down. I couldn’t stop. She just hugged me tight. And we stood there drawing comfort from each other. I don’t know for how long.

An unforgettable birthday

“What do you want for your birthday baby?” my friend asked. “You,” was my prompt answer. Be it Singapore or Chennai, come November 25, she always made sure she was with me. “Wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world,” she always said, and she kept her word each year. 

This time, I kept my word. “Wouldn’t miss your chemo for the world,” I had promised her. 

“I’m so sorry. My chemo falls exactly on your birthday baby,” she said. 

“We can always celebrate it next year!” I said. 

Between the two of us, my birthdays are always a gala affair, while hers is always a quiet day. This reflects our personalities in a lot of ways. I’m the chatty one, while she speaks only where necessary. I sat and bitterly rued the birthdays spent in clubs rather than fighting for causes.

After having been subjected to two chemo cycles with Brentux as part of the 4 medicines, my friend was losing her strength, getting weary without the reprieve of a day where she could just sit up and say, “Well, I can do this.” The doctor was compassionate and considerate. He decided to move her back to the standard protocol with Bleomycin being the chosen drug to replace Brentux.

On November 24, 2021, I was with her as she was getting ready for her fifth chemo session. By now, she was subjected to Bleomycin once. “This interim period has been relatively easy, baby, after the last few strenuous ones. Hope the rest turn out to be as easy on me,” she said. 

She has always made my birthdays special. She would surprise me with gadgets to fidget with or a movie ticket to one featuring my favourite hero. Despite Tilotama’s shadow not leaving her side, my friend wanted to do something special. I knew she was up to something because I thought I heard my mom’s voice on the other end of the line, while she was huddled in the corner of the room with her ears glued to the cell phone.

And I was right!

Her parents walked in with a chocolate cake and began singing, “Happy birthday to you!” 

Wait! I heard the familiar strum of the guitar. My folks joined me on the Whatsapp group call along with my pet cousin. My dad was singing with the guitar in hand. My friend had coordinated all this. It was indeed special. Nothing like a quiet birthday with family, even if it’s virtual. I swallowed my tears as I blew the candle. I had my closest, most treasured folks there wishing me on my birthday eve. Without much effort, this simply overshadowed the other birthdays that I’ve celebrated with booze and dance.

The next day, we were at the hospital. The day always starts with butterflies in the stomach. And as the day progresses, butterflies turn into dinosaurs. I was answering calls as friends, family members and well-wishers rang up to wish me. “How’s the day going? How are you celebrating?” they’d ask. Am I seeming to look all too noble when I say, “I’m at the hospital taking care of my bestie?” Barring a few, I chose to say to others, “Well, too old to celebrate right?” 

I did see my friend’s colour drain as the potent drugs entered her system. I didn’t want her to think that I’m on the phone tending to birthday wishes, while she was dancing to Tilotama’s tunes. Yet, she asked me, “Did you get wished by all those who mean the world to you?” Do I remain normal and rant out the list like I always do? Or do I just smile for now and nod, sparing the details while she is all too weak? I chose the latter.

She was nauseous. She was tired. She was battling to keep the next step forward to enter home after the chemo.

“Our blessings are always there with you. We will never forget your help. A big thank you to you!” her parents said, emotions running high. I hugged them tight. I was speechless. Her mom and I took turns in keeping a watch over her. I dined alone and went to bed. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your birthday. I will never forgive myself for making you eat alone on your birthday,” my friend said, unable to stop those tears. 

As I went close to hug her, she whispered, “I have an iPhone 13 for you. My sister is getting it next week.” 

I looked at her with a frown, “Why would you spend so much? What’s wrong with you?”

“You just need to choose the colour,” she said. I was quiet with a serious impassioned expression on my face. 

Till date, she has chosen the colour of every phone that I’ve owned. She sure knows my taste.