New Delhi, New Year, New Chapter

I am convinced the embryonic stem cells are tickling my tear ducts. Yesterday I had a severe case of the weepies. Yes, I can blame it partially on being homesick.....hungry for my own spaghetti.....getting used to some extra medication.....and being a little sleepy from listening to a determined rat try to break into my room at night; but nothing justifies the magnitude of the mascara sabotaging mess that has been going on. The nurses in the infusion room had a look of terror on their faces when I couldn’t stop crying in physio and my mom had to ask them for a box of tissues. Chavi, automatically assuming I was in pain or discouraged, became an instant verbal cheerleader during my exercises. Other patients stared at me. I couldn’t even successfully finish my deep breathing without waterworks. I tried to think of nothing at all, but that made me cry too.

I feel like my emotional wires are all crisscrossed and my reactions don’t accurately match the trigger. I didn’t cry when a man with virtually no lips begged me for money while I was out, but had a meltdown and called my dad a jerk when he paid 10 rupees (about 25 cents) more than I wanted to for a taxi ride to a market.

Since coming back from the Taj Mahal trip, I realize I’ve been anchored to the hospital and maybe that is part of the problem. I recently started on IV antibiotics and struggle more with the balancing act of being a patient without becoming one. The medicine is one I’ve taken in shot form before, but since my butt is still recovering from all those months of self-injecting and I’m in a hospital anyway, IV is the best way to go. The downside of this quick route to absorption is the inconvenience of two infusions a day on top of oral antibiotics (to keep the Lyme from doing any more damage while we rev up my immune system) and my daily stem cell injections or IV’s. It’s all adding up to a lot of “stuck” time. I think the Miss I’m-independent-and-don’t-want-to-be-sick side is not adjusting well to the steady commotion of nurses and needles. So, I finally put a halt to the homebody-ness and hit the streets with my adventurous parents who have decided to stay here longer. I’m uncertain whether they extended their trip because they have fallen in love with India (in all its craziness), or because they don’t want to leave me. Either way, I’m thrilled I have the support and the buddies for some extra time. By the way dad, you are not a jerk and I’m sorry about the rupee riot. Forgive me?

Venturing off to explore a new part of town is always something to write home about (literally). Sometimes when you are sick and tired of being sick and tired, you need to get away from it all. Luckily, Delhi just happens to be one giant distraction making it the perfect remedy. There is no way to not be enthralled, entertained, saddened, hopeful and inspired -- and that can all happen just in the tuk-tuk ride to your destination.

Isn't "stop" obvious when you are this close??

National Museum

The outdoor market we went to looked from afar like a crowd full of Crayola colored jumping beans. People busily shop, children hustle beaded necklaces draped from their arm, men sell unidentifiable roasted food from big tin bins, and women decked out in jewelry look me up and down smiling (probably pitying my plainness).

The vendors (or shall I say pushers?) call me into their stalls to offer things I’d never even want if they were free. As annoying as it is, I have to admit I’m entertained when one man insists I need a flute. Do I look musical? Several people attempt to sell me identical wooden snakes that are popular here. Another man tries with all his might to convince me I should get an embroidered shirt in the wrong size that looks like it's designed for a grandma. I kindly say “no thank you,” what feels like 400 times. After he brings the price down to almost nothing, I tell him “no thank you” again and explain that it’s just not my style. He is confused and asks me why I don’t like it, as if he will be able to resolve the problem on the spot and make the sale. A woman and her baby follow us for blocks and blocks asking for money. There is a joke here that for every one you give to, a thousand more will appear. And, although an exaggeration, it feels close to the truth when you see it. If you need a visual analogy, think the popular Verizon commercial where “the network” is coming down from the trees, lowering themselves off of buildings, and appearing from every angle to surround the subject. Picture that many people all telling you at once that they need food for their baby, mother, brother, dog or whatever excuse they have rehearsed. They must have a secret code for “Hey, come quick because we’ve got a foreigner sucker on our hands.” My dad, with his obnoxiously huge professional camera lens, is a walking target.

The scariest looking Buddha ever seen

You can look and buy from the outside only here

After coming back from the outing with a couple of long sleeve shirts for the deal of a century, I get my IV drip, take my meds and head off to the empty room next door to sleep. The rat that had taken up residency in my room has now been boarded out and is determined to get back in -- so she (I’m assuming only a she would be so adamant) scratches from the time it turns quiet at night until the time I start making noise in the morning. I look forward to a good night’s sleep in the surrogate room next door. My high hopes are shattered at 12:23 a.m. when I am awakened to the piercing sounds of construction. I cannot imagine what is going on at this hour, with a full crew screaming back and forth to each other. I pray it will go away, both for me and my baby stem cells which desperately need the rest. By 7 a.m., the hammering and clanging of poles has me nearing insanity. So, I go back to my room, peer out the window with my squinty swollen eyes, and see the construction is for the hospital. There will be a party later -- one that was announced a week ago and I’m thinking will most likely have a lot of grumpy patients now. Only in another country can you watch ten guys in a work crew get absolutely nothing done all day, but then see a whole series of tents, a stage and party area unfold with gusto overnight.

While getting ready for physio and then the big bash, I realize the rat must have broken through in the night when I see it's eaten through tin foil into some chapati (bread) I've left on the counter. I know, it was my own fault. I'll have to tell the powers that be later. When I leave the room to head downstairs, the nurses comment on how "smart" I look in my new top from the market. I'm flattered more when I take their comment literally but not as impressed when I find out later it means pretty. It seems I'm automatically considered pretty in this country because of my white skin.

The celebration is for Christmas and New Year’s with a classical dance form called Bharatanatyam, prevalent in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu. It’s colorful, energetic and booming loud. When Indians do something, they do it big! The patients, staff and their guests all attend and the hospital is packed. Even the sleepless faces from the night before seem happy with the overabundance of food, dance and chatter. Dr. Geeta Shroff had a special lunch designated as “non-spicy” for the wimps (that would be everyone not Indian). I brave it and try a little bit from both areas and it’s delicious. What a treat to have the entertainment and food come to us, instead of us having to leave for it. My mom and I sit with Dr. Ashish toward the end of the party, as I suck up and try to memorize every bit of information he gives. He’s agreed to let me interview him for my blog. I’m ecstatic for myself, but also for my readers. A list of questions is ready to roll for this week. It’s long enough to scare any ordinary doctor, but so far my curiosity hasn’t shaken him a bit and I have a good feeling this won’t either.

Dance performers

Look at that jewelry!

Crowd waiting for dancing to start

Barbeque choices

I made it through physio today with zero tears, good balance and despite the added antibiotics (which usually causes my symptoms to flare), less pain than usual. My joints are hurting but my overall deep aching nagging pain is slightly less. I’ll happily take it for as long as it lasts. Things feel like they are changing. A mother once told me that when you are pregnant, it feels like someone is hugging you from the inside. I’ve never forgotten that and think of it often lately. No else can feel this something going on within me and I can't seem to put it into words -- the well of emotion, the alternate of chaos and calm, and the feeling of movement that is running through my core. But I know it’s there.

I glanced over to my stash of my medicine for inventory after dinner a couple of nights ago and realized I haven’t had to take the as needed prescription for my heart palpitations. My racing heart usually awakens me from a deep sleep and bothers me several times a day. I’ve now gone five days without an episode. It’s disturbing how health problems become so routine after awhile that you don’t even notice if they improve.

Tonight, my emotions seem to have settled, and hopefully effective rat traps are finally in place. Last week, a cardboard mat with enough glue to stop a man in their tracks was set, but the rodent still runs free. It was unsuccessful at catching the critter, but my left foot and adorable slipper became a quick casualty when I wasn’t paying attention.

As the last weekend of 2007 is quickly passing, I realize there isn’t ever going to be any time in my life quite like this again. An unknown world is staring me in the face and I am naturally and totally comfortable with it. I feel like I am living in the “in betweens” of life -- when you are soaking up exactly where you are, but can’t wait to see where you’ll be next. I know the new year will bring things I could never imagine (every year always does). But as of today, if this is as good as it gets, I could never say my life is anything less than absolutely spectacular.

Happy New Year. May it be filled with whatever is meant to be -- and may you have the courage, grace and inspiration to make the story your next chapter holds, the very best you can.

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About Amy B. Scher

A passionate author, pioneering patient, and sassy spirit with just enough sweetness to get me by, I live by my self-created motto: when life kicks your ass, kick back.Amy B. Scher's profile Amy B. Scher's blog