Sunday, May 14, 2017

No French films in the dialysis room.

'... yes, it is scary but, also, I feel like I am a burden to my daugh-'
'... I know this perhaps weighs heavily inside your head. I know you have never had any savings and no sprawling flat near coffee house. But you have brought up two great people. They are your investments.'
He smiled. Then they took him off for a fourth round of dialysis. Blood was pumped out of his body, filtered inside a machine, and pumped back into him. For four hours. Through his catheter. This would happen three times, every week, till his heart gives up. As a Hindi soap opera plays in the dialysis room television. No French films in the dialysis room. They pick their films for a broader audience.

'... you have a big heart, you know?'
'... yes, it is a condition called dilated cardiomyopathy.'
'...umm... I mean you have been kind to people and are brave at heart'
'.. no, I am tired of living, and afraid to die'

We all are. Sometimes.
Tomorrow we go for a fifth round of dialysis. I say we, because it feels like we. Like blood is pumped out of my body everytime, filtered inside a machine, and pumped back into me.

I can't let his enlarged heart stop beating. But sometimes you don't have a choice, so they say.

'...if he dies, he won't die of cancer or renal failure or a cardiac arrest. He will die of old age.'
'...but he has to see more, I had thought, when he had beaten cancer 3 years ago. I guess I was wrong. Like so many other things.'

'...you should get him tea from First Flush, and creamcrackers and pineapple jam'
'...yes... that sounds wonderful.'

It hurts too much. It hurts too much to be in Kolkata. I promise I will never return here for memories.

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