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.
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