Illness is a worldly test of faith strength and trust. It comes any time and face
it, we must—from childhood to old age. Some are lucky, some not so fortunate.
Some are born without health, physical and mental; they need care respect and
love. Illness strikes from time to time,sometimes mild sometimes serious. It reminds
us of a power, greatest of all, a power who gives us the cure. Illness taught me
to surrender, accept the changes, and be patient.
And so I faced pain fever and bleeding until the body lay in a red pool on a flat table.
The doctor knew better to let me bleed. I lost a child. Three days and three nights, I just lay.
Life was kind to let me stay, engulfed in cold silence. I could not even pray. I knew that In God’s hands was the way.
Bleeding body and pain again. ‘This is normal’, they all said, and stared. I was a child, my mother cared, now I am a mother.
Would my child care? My child helped, but I myself, too, had to be brave. It all has to be a personal affair in the end.
To nature we all must bend.
Lying cross like on the operation table
I could not move. I was only able to
see the eyes, calm quiet concerned,
the face behind the mask.
I try to remember, but I forget—
my body half lifeless, numb and stiff.
I could not speak. I was only able to
breathe. Frightened, I heard my
heart beat and someone’s faint
words audible, some mumbled.
I tried to understand but failed.
Eyes met the eyes as I felt a quick cut,
a part of me slit, incised, painless,
speechless. I remained, while some
talking I heard; my arms now stiff,
I prayed for strength, dropping into
sleepy numbness. I surrendered.
Two unknown human beings—are
they angels from above, hidden behind
gowns and masks? I know not what they
do or how, but they are briskly active.
I shake, I hear a voice, ’15 more minutes’.
I meet the eyes, calm and serene, confident.
I feel secure. ‘It’s done’. I hear talking,
‘twenty minutes’, ‘ suction’, ,stitch’, ‘suction, stitch’.
Then I do not see the eyes anymore, nor
the angel figure. Legs, heavy, start tingling.
Shivering takes over, I tremble with cold.
More talking I hear,
‘blankets’ please; another one,
”I am feeling cold’; an electric heater
throws welcome heat on my face.
I cross my arms as if in embrace.
The shivering stops—I feel empty.
More eyes, I see, more talking I hear—
why is this room so warm?
Hustle bustle around,
my bed pushed, rolled, turned.
I feel nausea—I see personnel in green.
Am I smiling? Yes, for others, for I am brave.
Inside, my heart cries. I wish to keep looking
in those eyes so calm, so serene, so loving,
giving hope of life and saying, ‘all will be Ok’.
It is a matter of time
All will be Ok.
Two months later:
As I was leaving the doctor’s room after showing her the test and physical examination reports, she looked at me directly in my eye and said, ‘you won’t be able to sit on the floor anymore’.
© 2020, Anjum Wasim Dar