These enormous sets of volunteers have really taught us ‘life’ from the days of college to the combat days of Tilotama. And yes, they are here to stay.
I was set to head home a day after her discharge from hospital. “I wanted you to stay for a day at least when I’m not bed-ridden. Let’s just do something fun. Maybe watch a movie?” she asked. I immediately agreed and we started watching Rajinikant starrer Annaathe. The movie had been released much earlier, not just in theatres, but even on OTT. I would have, on any other day, watched it on the first day, first show. This time, I wanted to wait for my friend. “Baby, will you watch it with me?” she asked, eyes lighting up with excitement.
We could watch for just 10 minutes, thanks to her impaired vision. “I’m unable to see,” she complained. “We’ll watch it like a series,” I comforted her. We were wondering when was the last time we watched a movie together. 2.5 years! It was time to look at Tilotama in the eye and tell her, do not disturb us, we are watching a movie. She interrupted my thoughts and said, “Baby, I don’t have cancer technically. It’s a clean PET, remember?”
I woke up the next day and before I could arrange a cab to get to my home, I received a call from my dad. “I have been feeling feverish since last night. You may have to postpone your return,” he panicked. I was stumped. This was the last thing I wanted. Fortunately, our family friend was at home helping my folks with a Rapid Antigen Kit. My dad tested COVID negative.
“It’s better that I get an RTPCR done. You plan your return after that dear,” he said. This was not something I was prepared for. I dreaded this, but I was confident this would remain a hypothesis. I scrambled to find someone to go home and collect the swab on a Sunday. After 10 phone calls, I did. The sample was collected and the result was out the next day. My dad was COVID positive and my mom tested negative.
I was able to reel off instructions, arrange virtual appointments with doctors, while being anxious about his health sitting 30 kms away. Many ‘what ifs’ jumped in different corners of my mind: what if my mom ends up positive, what if my dad develops complications with his comorbidities, what if I’m asymptomatic or will test positive soon, what if I’m exposing my friend to the infection right now…. I couldn’t shove them aside.
My friend’s mom walked up to me the next day and said, “I’m feeling feverish. I’m getting paranoid.” My heart stopped beating for five full seconds. She was isolated in her room the very next day as the thermometer recorded 103 fever. My friend had a persistent cold since her hospital admission the previous week. I had slight throat irritation. “I’m scared,” I told my friend for the first time since our encounter with Tilotama. “I am too,” she murmured.
A grim atmosphere gripped us for a week - both at my place, and my friend’s. My friend’s aunt sent us food, my friend’s dad took care of his wife, while I ensured my friend was looked after. Uncle and I took turns in handling domestic chores. There were so many things to worry about at both places.
I was gulping down paracetamols in the morning and night, preempting any attempt by COVID to enter my system. No matter how foolish, I did it. Was I feeling feverish? This was a nagging thought dragging me into constant distress. This was the last thing that I wanted - battling COVID when my friend was left with just four more chemo sessions.
My friend’s sister and her family in the US were also COVID-hit for the last 15 days. “Once my sister’s isolation period ends and she tests negative, I’ve asked her to come down to India so that you get a break,” she said. Well, I didn’t know how to react. Should we disturb her sister when her little child is also suffering from the virus, or should I heave a sigh of relief because I had to go home to check on my dad?
The week passed by too quickly and it was time for the next chemo. Her mother was still isolated. Her fever was now infrequent, and she wasn’t as fatigued. Yet, the RTPCR test kept us on tenterhooks. I was terrified to open my WhatsApp to check the results. “I have a feeling I’ll test positive,” I mentioned to my friend. “We’ll face it, don’t worry,” she responded.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! We all tested negative. “Are you sure?” My friend’s voice echoed through the other room. We all cried in delight. This was going to be the first chemo without her mother. My friend’s father and I packed the required items and we headed with my friend for her chemo session.
As we entered the hospital, my mind wandered to the time when we walked in alarmed during her emergency admission. She held my hand immediately. I guess she was thinking the same. “I wanted to tell you that I noticed some rashes on my body,” she declared. As we entered the ward, I checked her hands and neck. There were a few red spots. “Is it itchy?” I asked. She said no.
As the doctor stepped in, he asked, “So, how was your break?” My friend answered, “I honestly wanted to tell you that the week had been uneventful. But I noticed a few rashes since this morning.” As the doctor examined her hands, he caught sight of the place where the iron injection that was administered a couple of months ago to up her haemoglobin had left a black mark. “This has been there ever since I got that iron injection, will it go away?” she questioned. “This is a mark to ensure you don’t forget us. It will take time to go,” he quipped. And we laughed together.
The dermatologist walked in later and suggested this could be a viral infection. While she prescribed a moisturiser, she also asked her to run a few blood tests and arrange a video consultation with her over the weekend.
Her blood tests were normal, but her rashes had spread like wildfire. We were horrified to see her completely marked with red spots all over. The dermatologist, over a video consultation, said this is viral and the blood tests prove that this is not drug-induced. She asked us to wait it out, for there was nothing anyone could do.
Meanwhile, my father kept testing himself with the RAT kit at home, each time being swept with a pang of disappointment as the bar always leaned towards the ‘T’ section and not the ‘C’. “I think I’m negative,” he kept saying, wishing for me to come home soon. But the volunteers seemed relentless. My friend’s father was down with a fever right from the day we returned after her chemo.
Finally, her sister arrived. Things were getting better. “Stay for another day so I can enjoy a day with you and my sister,” she requested. “But, what about me?” my father cried. “Fine, you leave. I understand,” my friend unhappily remarked.
I insisted on my mother testing herself once again before I returned home. “How many times will I have to do this?” my mom snapped. I quickly packed, planted a kiss on my friend’s forehead, thanked her sister for landing here and I made my way home.
As I sat in the cab back home, I realised how the volunteers sure know how to take us for a ride!
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