Tuesday, 14 May 2013

One year since surgery...


14 May 2012.
Surgery day.
Aarav Shewale.
Right ear Cochlear implant surgery.


A year has passed. One Complete Year.

How is this even possible? How has it been a year already?

The day drags on forever, but the weekend vanishes in thin air?
And what we consider to be a significantly long time frame, a 'Year', that seems to pass faster than the blink of an eye??

A year ago.

We were in the hospital today.


Why do I still remember this as I do?
Why is it still so difficult to write?

Why do I still remember entering the hospital room and showing Aarav the birds flying outside, trying our level best to get him settled in the foreign environment, playing hide and seek in spite of disapproving looks from other hospital patients who dint know that we had a baby in here. Living through the day in anticipation of the time to come but still pretending normalcy.

How do I still remember the doctors visiting the room. The checking, poking, testing and then playing and helping Aarav to feel good?
Why did I not notice just the smiles that were spread when Aarav played with these ladies but also saw their eyes that spoke the emotions of a mother within?

Why do I still remember preparing for the surgery? Preparing the documents. Running for the medical insurance. Making the documents ready.
Telling family what to do if we are not sane for something important. And yet being perfectly normal when the time came?

Why do I still remember the night before that Kaustubh spent walking the corridors of the hospital trying to sooth Aarav to sleep?
How do I still remember that he had not slept for days before the surgery but the night before, when at my darkest hour, he still conjured up strength when I could not?

Why do I still remember the look Aarav gave me when they took him into surgery?
How do I still remember that he was brave one and was first to wave me bye bye?
Why do I still remember that I dint cry when I felt broken?

How do I remember the expression on every face when Aarav was yet to wake up from the anaesthesia?
The expressions that changed to joy when he did stir after so long and then looked around to take in the room to see everyone present.
The smiles that we saw when he signed to us to tell that his nurse just left the room...

Why do I still remember the pitiful glances of people when they saw tiny little Aarav with the heavy bandage on his head.
And then laughing it off to continue living in denial of how significant a change that has just happened?

Why do I remember every single thing that happened a year ago yet have difficulty telling what I had for breakfast today morning?
Am I not allowed to forget this day? Or to be able to only keep it as a memory and filter out the emotions that the day brought?
To filter out the anger, the pain, the turmoil, the anguish?

Why cant I disentangle these emotions and just write out the day as a 'event'?
Why does every returning memory compel me to relive it again?

How can I write pages of utter nonsense in minutes while it took me five days to write about today?

One year has passed.
But the bandages remain intact. I cant rip them off.
More than the fear of the truth is the fear of remembering the events that we lived through to get to the truth.

Amusing isn't it?
Was the trodden path that I now remember really so excruciating that it still shadows the joy that I have today?
Would remembering the pained tears of yesterday still make them stronger than the tears of joy that I have today?
Maybe I should not be digging up corpses.

Last year I told myself, "One year from today, I will have forgotten this day and I will be happy".
I obviously have not forgotten but I guess I am happy.
Happy enough to want to write about the flames that still eat through my ivory tower.

Flames that will die out eventually.
They will. I know. They have to.

One year from today. I will give them another year to egress away...
One year from today I will have forgotten this pain and I will write this day as just another blog event.
One year from today I will have been healed. Mended. Or dead inside.

One year from today....

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