Everything sanitised!

If you think, transplant was the biggest hurdle I crossed in my life, think again. 

Protecting my body against any kind of secondary infection, while on a heavy dose of immuno-suppressants for at least three months, post surgery (Ideally its got to be six months) initially turned out to be a much bigger, non-negotiable challenge. 

Adding to the feeling of forelone-ness was the solitary confinement. Dealing with the fear psychosis of infection, where, it was made to seem that everything around me could be a potential carrier of a deadly disease; there were germs, bacteria and viruses permeating everything I came in contact with, so was specifically instructed to sanitise my hands, after every touch. During the initial few days, post surgery, the face mask, head cap, shoe covers and the heavy hospital, green gown, which was two size too big for me, had to be discarded or put into wash after one use.

"Please don't take that risk, if you don't want to land up back in the hospital," a patient, who had survived the ordeal, 11 months ago, counselled me over phone. "Wear your face mask for as long as you can. That's the cardinal rule," he added for good measure.

Therefore, from my toothbrush to my cell phone, to everything else that comes in between - my clothes, toiletries, utensils, bed sheets, bath linen, laptop, books - is changed daily or sanitised - as to catch any kind of infection, during the next three months of rehabilitation and recovery, after discharge, I was told, could be fatal.

My nephew's room, where I have been shifted to post surgery was fumigated by professional hospital staff and not a spec of dust left - inside the ac ducts, outside the window sill (although the windows and vends are not to be ever opened); the drains cleared, the cupboards cleaned and everything was kept sterile in anticipation of my arrival from Pune, on the seventh day of my surgery.

Even the bed and bath linen, a few set of clothes for me, two pair of flip flops, toiletries were newly-bought, along with a plastic-covered, sealed paper back on Soka Gakai's 'Happiness' gifted by a friend by the bedside table.

My drinking water had to be boiled ("RO water was inadequate"), a practice I shall have to follow for at least a year; my food (thankfully post surgery all my salt and water restrictions are lifted) is freshly prepared and consumed and includes a massive proportion of proteins; my daily newspapers are microwaved; I have to be masked in the presence of others, including family members; and "no handshakes for at least six months" came the doctors' warnings. 

In effect, for a month at least, I am quarantined, in my room.

I can go down for brisk walk, masked, and fully-covered, but at a time when there are the fewest possible visitors at the podium, so its usually 5 am and again 4 pm in the evening. People look at me oddly, but thankfully, don't stare or comment. 

For the first month, I had a day-nurse to give me medicine, take note of my bio-metrics, update my doctors in Pune, empty my drain bag, give me a bath, dress me, and braid my hair, accompany me during my walks and learnt to even take my pictures (for my future book) but as the days rolled, I gradually took over all these chores, until, there was nothing left for her to do, that I couldn't do myself.

One thing I've noticed is that once you start listening closely to your body, all internal changes, even the slightest variation in your blood sugar level, your blood pressure etc gets amplified. You don't need machines to read your biometrics then. You can sense those intuitively and I realise I m now getting good at this practice.

While initially, being confined to a room seemed like a punishment, now I've learnt to take it as an opportunity. Sliding into the slow time; doing my own thing and think; watching all the films I had missed at cinema halls, due to my other commitments; discovering rejuvenation in music; and of course, amidst all this, discovering myself.

My schedule is packed.