Jaundice
First the status update: So I’ve got jaundice - Hepatitis E virus, apparently it takes longer than usual to recover from. And I need to be extremely cautious about what I eat and drink for about six months, I am told. Was hospitalized in a severely dehydrated and almost unconscious condition for a week and am recuperating at home now. Am doing better, thank you.
Now to clarify some things to the world, particularly if you intend to come and visit me:
a) Yes, I am a journalist. And unfortunately, journalists too get jaundice sometimes. We already have jaundiced views. See, it’s only a matter of time before the disease affects the rest of the body as well, right?
b) In fact I’d call jaundice a job hazard. Sooner or later, I had to pay for all that eating out (not to mention, ahem, drinking). I already know this. God’s punishing me for having too much fun. Now let it be. Don’t go about mentioning it in a semi-jocular manner to my over-anxious parents. If you have to make small talk, talk about the weather.
c) Yes, I do write on health issues. But (OMG!) by some unforeseen twist of fate, it does not - I repeat - it does not make me immune to diseases. They have something called vaccines for that purpose. And unfortunately one simply cannot be vaccinated against every single disease on earth.
d) I don’t see the connection between being a grown up and being brave in a hospital. Yes, I realize I am an adult, and I go to hospitals all the time and I should be used to the sights and sounds. But I am still scared of needles. So sue me!
e) When you see a nurse poking a syringe into my arm, trying to draw blood, or injecting a litre of yellow and bright violet-coloured medicines into my arm, do not tell me that it’s just gonna feel like a “mosquito bite.” It’s not. Just shut up and get more people to hold me down.
f) Yes, losing weight is a constant battle for all women. No one knows this more than me. But when you see me so weak that I’m not able to get off the bed, just pretend to be concerned about my health first. Reserve all mention in an envious tone about the weight I might probably lose for later. I’d rather be fat and healthy (is that an oxymoron?) than weak and thin.
g) Also, I don’t believe in miracle cures. So stop talking about homeopathy, ayurveda, yajurveda, rigveda or whatever bag of tricks some tantrik near paanch rasta can pull out of his sleeve. My medicines, syrups, injections leave plenty of bitter taste in my mouth, thank you. I don’t need any more 'jadi-boootis.'
h) No more anecdotes or suggestions please. My milkman, newspaperman, watchman, flower-seller, have all come up with suggestions that make me retch. It’s not the jaundice - it’s the thought of breaking out in bright yellow spots after consuming three unknown golis thrice a day just after sunrise.
i) Also when you come to visit me, please try to remember that you are here to cheer me up, not bring me down. So try to keep your earth-shattering troubles to yourself for just an hour. I will get better and give you a patient ear, I promise. But for now, I just don't have the energy to listen to your woes. Am terribly sorry about it...
j) Lastly, I am grateful for your concern. I appreciate it. I really do. But express it to me telepathically. Thanks.
PS: As you may or may not have guessed due to the fact that I have so considerately masked my abrasive tone in this journal entry, I am really cranky. So be nice to me and I won't bite your head off.
Now to clarify some things to the world, particularly if you intend to come and visit me:
a) Yes, I am a journalist. And unfortunately, journalists too get jaundice sometimes. We already have jaundiced views. See, it’s only a matter of time before the disease affects the rest of the body as well, right?
b) In fact I’d call jaundice a job hazard. Sooner or later, I had to pay for all that eating out (not to mention, ahem, drinking). I already know this. God’s punishing me for having too much fun. Now let it be. Don’t go about mentioning it in a semi-jocular manner to my over-anxious parents. If you have to make small talk, talk about the weather.
c) Yes, I do write on health issues. But (OMG!) by some unforeseen twist of fate, it does not - I repeat - it does not make me immune to diseases. They have something called vaccines for that purpose. And unfortunately one simply cannot be vaccinated against every single disease on earth.
d) I don’t see the connection between being a grown up and being brave in a hospital. Yes, I realize I am an adult, and I go to hospitals all the time and I should be used to the sights and sounds. But I am still scared of needles. So sue me!
e) When you see a nurse poking a syringe into my arm, trying to draw blood, or injecting a litre of yellow and bright violet-coloured medicines into my arm, do not tell me that it’s just gonna feel like a “mosquito bite.” It’s not. Just shut up and get more people to hold me down.
f) Yes, losing weight is a constant battle for all women. No one knows this more than me. But when you see me so weak that I’m not able to get off the bed, just pretend to be concerned about my health first. Reserve all mention in an envious tone about the weight I might probably lose for later. I’d rather be fat and healthy (is that an oxymoron?) than weak and thin.
g) Also, I don’t believe in miracle cures. So stop talking about homeopathy, ayurveda, yajurveda, rigveda or whatever bag of tricks some tantrik near paanch rasta can pull out of his sleeve. My medicines, syrups, injections leave plenty of bitter taste in my mouth, thank you. I don’t need any more 'jadi-boootis.'
h) No more anecdotes or suggestions please. My milkman, newspaperman, watchman, flower-seller, have all come up with suggestions that make me retch. It’s not the jaundice - it’s the thought of breaking out in bright yellow spots after consuming three unknown golis thrice a day just after sunrise.
i) Also when you come to visit me, please try to remember that you are here to cheer me up, not bring me down. So try to keep your earth-shattering troubles to yourself for just an hour. I will get better and give you a patient ear, I promise. But for now, I just don't have the energy to listen to your woes. Am terribly sorry about it...
j) Lastly, I am grateful for your concern. I appreciate it. I really do. But express it to me telepathically. Thanks.
PS: As you may or may not have guessed due to the fact that I have so considerately masked my abrasive tone in this journal entry, I am really cranky. So be nice to me and I won't bite your head off.