Preposterous...

Bala mentioned a very valid point.

If I discontinue Musings and move everything to the new Posterous service, it will mean that my favourite 'Musings' will become preposterous!!

So, taking his advice seriously, I am going to continue Musings also. In fact, if I post something in Posterous, they say it will become auto-posted in Blogger also. I will try this option also.

In short, you can just visit Musings also to get everything that I want to share through these blog posts...

Manoharan, the Monk

For the 2nd round of chemotherapy, when I got admitted in CMC, I realised that I had been elevated to the level of a Monk! As Sundar was keen to know if I have already become mottai, here is a photograph taken five days ago in Vellore by Stan.

First I thought, it was just a spelling mistake that they had written it as Monc. (Only later, when the chemo drugs wore off, did I realise that it was the short form of Medical Oncology, rather than any spiritual title!) Anyway, I thought it is a really good thing to classify all the cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy as Monks, as there are many similarities.

First and foremost is that their lack of interest in keeping any sort of shrubbery in their head and face etc. Though the photograph above shows me with some hair, I am losing them all in rapid pace and I am sure, next time when we meet you will agree that I am a qualified Monk as far as hair goes. (There is one persistent hair inside my right nostril which was bothering me for more than 20 years; I hope the chemo drugs will take care of that stubbon hair too). Bed after bed in the Monc ward was occupied by people with clean shaven heads - men, women and kids too.

Next is our total renunciation of food - even aversion to it. We just eat something to keep the body and soul together - often after getting shouted by the near and dear! Anita had enquired about the taste buds. All I can say is that I would eat anything cooked by Anita without any complaints now! There is only one taste in the world now and that is very close to chewing a denim cloth. Sometimes, the dosa may taste like a fine cotton, but otherwise, almost everything tastes like jeans or jute, depending on the texture.

But, there is one advantage. Someone suggested that fresh Aloe Vera juice is a very good nutritious drink, but it is bitter and tastes horribly! I said, 'ha! bring it in' and gulped it - without my tongue raising any objection whatsoever. So, if any of you want to feed me with any of your new experiments, this is the time. Rush in the supplies, please!

I am Young!

Yes, it is official! I am Young. The doctors pronounced it. Friends told. All and sundry, in fact...

In 2006 or so, when Sajan interacted with the Business world - financial sector, investment portfolio etc -, he gave me a shocking news! That he is old already to make a major career change. He was 30 years that time, I think. If he is old at 30, what was I at 40 then??!!

Then, we had the technology changes; people using emails were called old people - dinosaurs. According to that definition, only people in 17-25 age group were young and people over that are called Old. This impression was strengthened by the next generation of boys and girls visiting Gudalur- MSW students, new recruits in TST, visitors - everyone calling me Uncle!

But, then things changed dramatically during the last one month. The cancer diagnosis seems to have put a new perspective in everyone else's mind. First, the St.John's doctor told, 'you are young; so we can try this procedure'. Then, the oncologist in CMC said as much, 'in old people, it may be difficult; but, in your case, we can go ahead with this. As you are young, the body can cope with it' etc.
So, in all, the world seems to have voted unanimously that I am young after all!!

An over-enthusiastic Minion

All of you must be under the wrong impression that I am bravely fighting cancer, aptly described as the Emperor of all Maladies, in my stomcah/liver. No Sir. For the last three days, my fight is limited to an overenthusiastic minion called Diaphragm. He is hyperactive and getting on my nerves.

Like all clerks in government offices, he selectively interprets the rules and suddenly decides to strictly adhere by some of them. In their usual ways, they pick up routine, seemingly harmless blocks to make you uncomfortable and uncertain. This diaphragm has taken up the strategy of using the 'minor hiccup' (literally) to put things off gear - though slowly I realised hiccups are anything but minor!! Three things I am not able to do because of these hiccups is to sleep, to walk and to sit. As this pretty much sums all the activities that I am hoping to do here, he has been very successful in getting my whole, complete and undivided attention.

When we deal with IAS officers or any government official of reasonable repute, things look so fine and rosy, till you meet our over-enthusiasitic minion just outside. 'He will say all that, but finally, I only have to make sure that everything is in order'. Left unsaid is, "you can go wherever you want, but finally you have to come to me only!". My diaphragm has also been behaving like that. Jealously it has taken the responsibility of getting agitated and protecting all the internal organs; my job is to be cautious, not to break precedents and follow the rules.

Medicines from the oncologist didn't bribe him. 'Special favours' like hot milk and cold juice didn't encourage him to budge a bit. Fresh fruits, sugar under the tongue, pranayama and other breathing exercises did not entice him to leave the rule book even slightly. Nikhilesh in his usual scientific way remarked, after observing me for hours, "if you lie down 42 degrees to the east and suddenly turn to your left, the hiccups are increasing". He has not managed to find out angles and directions to decrease them, of course.

And, finally, in our usual pragmatic way, I am also getting used to live with this clerical minion. Take him as part of the system, don't confront, but don't pamper too; acknowledge that after all he is doing his job and somehow get going.

In all these busy handling of paper-pushing weasly measly hiccup causing minion, I have almost forgetten the cancer cells. In our life too, most of the time, we are handling the pujari and not really the God. Same here. Hopefully, the big emperor is being taken care of by the chemo drugs silently.

Manoharan, your output is LOW!!

Two days ago, I got this harshest criticism! As I try to be efficient and always want to do things as per deadline etc., this accusation that my output is low was rather disturbing.

She looked at the chart and gravely nodding her head, "just 150 ml of urine in one day, no, it is not done". You must buck up and improve your output! As soon as possible. Drink as much water as possible. But, output should be better.

In the usual NGO defence, I was about to argue, "what about quality? I may achieve the output in quantitative terms, but will the objective be fulfilled unless quality is assured. And, I don't believe in mere numbers"blah blah. Fortunately, controlled myself in the last minute, and just said, ók, will try.

So, after that, it is a free flow of water, milk and juices. And, each drop of output is measured and neatly recorded in a piece of paper. Morning 4 PM, 350 ml etc. Next week when I go to the Medical Oncology department, let me see if the nurse is satisfied or will again disapprove of poor outputs. If we go to Gudalur, drinking pots of water should not be a problem - much sweeter and pleasant. Shikha's slogan is "5 litres of water a day keeps the doctor away".