My journey from one-day-motherhood to job crafting

I am sharing a story. My story. A story about a medical complication I faced and lessons learned from it. I wrote it in two parts. First part, when I faced it all and second during and after recovery.

But why am I sharing it on Linkedin? LinkedIN is a professional network after all and not a place to share stories.

But who and what decides a profession?

Because profession has an inherent 'skill' component to it. What if a personal experience impacted my profession in ways beyond imagination, what if a personal experience taught me a 'new way to use my skill.'

Isn't LinkedIn the best place to share it?

(First Part-When I faced it all Section #1 to #6)

1#??Secret love affair with pen

"Purviiiiiiiiii! What are you doing here? Hawwwww!!!! You are writing with pen??!!"

All my?-hoods were filled with many 'ear-pulled-by-parents-and-the- eye-next-to-the-ear-getting-semi-closed' instances. And this one in particular is from my childHOOD. That day, I was in my room(Well, that's a lie! I did not have separate room back then), sitting beside a gigantic Godrej almirah made of real iron (true,?those were made of real-real iron) when my mother got wind of my secret love affair with the 'Pen'. My love affair with pen began at the age of 6.The childhood was fabulous and it came with a clause 'Third class se pehle pen nahi varna writing kharaab ho jayegi' (If you use pen before 3rd standard, you will end up having a bad handwriting) School and home, both kept a vigil on what the child was using for writing.The stages in the universally accepted doctrine of 'What-to-use-for-writing' was:

Nursery to 3rd??-------Pencil

3rd to 7th-----------------Nib Pen/Fountain Pen

8th onwards-------------Go! Conquer the World my child! You free! Pen Allowed!

?And this last stage was so eagerly awaited that, we could not believe the freedom and kept pissing off our teacher, "Ma'am, may we use ball pen as well?"

With such curfew like situation I developed a strange fascination towards pen. The secret love affair continued and whenever I got hold of pen and paper, I would scribble, draw, write, pierce paper with pen point and do tricks with them.But that day, Bang! I was caught!

My mother continued,"Pen kahan se mili?" (Where from you got this pen?)

?I replied, "Papa ki hai" (It is Papa's pen)

Mumma: "Vapas karo aur dikhao kya likha hai? Dikhao"

(Give that back to me and show me what you have written)

And VOILA !!!! Mumma loved that stuff written by me and showed it to Papa. I was abundantly appreciated by both of them. That was my first known piece of writing. My mother preserved it. That pat on back by the parents did wonders. Since then, I have always been in love with writing and journaling became an integral part of life.

?That piece of writing is still there in my treasure trove. It is fun to read it now. Whenever, I am at my Mumma’s place, I dig into that trove and merrily go down the memory lane. This is more like a ritual. I am sure many of you must be doing this; digging out old photographs, memories while at hometown. I will share the pictures of my childhood writings once I reach my native place.

?Currently, I am in Hubli. How I came to Hubli? The reason for this is an ectopic pregnancy that I had or should I say, that was diagonsed of late.

?2#??Perfection-o-mania

In first chapter I talked about how I was hooked to journaling. But up to few days back it was quite a private business for me. Jotting things around, making notes of the new things, scribbling, writing about life experiences; everything I did was limited to me. Only ME. And why only writing. In fact everything that I was upto in life was quite limited. Limited friends, limited number of seniors whom I interacted with, limited number of subordinates whom I delegated to, limited everything. And ironically the model worked fine for my personality type. Rather it was pretty successful because I would use all the time at my disposal for my 'goals'. I always lived by milestones. But while doing this, I forgot to live in present. I was always living in future. The next goal, the next chore, the next task, the next deadline. I expected too much from me. Even a task as simple as 'doing laundry' had to conform to the strict standards set by 'ME for ME'. I had all the symptoms of what I now call 'Perfection-o-mania'. I always wanted best out of me. It all worked fine. Fine until I was diaganosed with a medical complication. A complication called Eccesyis. A complication in which fertilised egg implants itself in a wrong place. A medical condition which could lead to death of the patient if not diagnosed timely.More commonly known as ectopic pregnancy.

3#??The Shock!

"Honey! Food is ready. Shall we now go to terrace?"

We were in Gangavathi, Karnataka. My husband was posted there. I was on leave and was with him. It was just like any other day. The dinner was ready and we had this routine of taking a moon stroll before dinner.(I know. I know. Entire universe does it post meal). My husband and I then went to terrace to have some moonshine. We were talking about our work, plans, grocery that needs replenishment, the new family in neighbourhood and other related-non related stuff. We were in middle of our conversation, I interrupted him and blurted out, "Honey! Pains are worsening yaaa..I do not understand.I am fed up!"

"Why are you ignoring this? We must try Banglore now. Let us go to Banglore next week and get this sorted ", he commanded.

"OK.Next week done" I agreed.

These pains were the lower abdominal pains I was getting for few weeks. I saw many doctors for it. Some would say it is due to stomach disorder, some said appendix and some said nothing. They gave medicines, I popped them but nothing worked. The pains did not cure.

We were about to start dinner. As I sat down, I had this feeling of something crumbling inside me. Immense pain.

I wailed, "Honey! Pain. Unbearable now"

"Let's us go to doctor again" my husband said.

"But before that let me call Dr.Priyanka Pathak. Please give me phone" I buzzed Dr.Pathak, a doctor in my hometown who was also an acquaintance.

?"Hello Ma'am.Purvi here.Few days ago I called you to discuss about the abdominal pains I was having......"

"Yes.Yes Purvi.What happened?"

"Nothing much Ma'am.We are planning to go to Bangalore next week.But I called you because right now the pain is getting better of me. It is unbearable."

"Is the pain localised as before?"

"Yes Ma'am, pain is in right side."

"I think you should see a doctor immediately. Do not ignore."

"Why Ma'am? Anything serious" I feared.

"Do not waste time." She sounded different.

By the end of this conversation I was writhing in pain. My husband was extremely worried and called one of his friends. I was fetched to a hospital. My husband and his friend waited outside while I was being laid on the testing bed by hospital staff.

Doctor came in. She asked some questions while examining me. I kept replying. I was trying to read her face as she fixated her glance on the screen of that ultrasound machine. She looked neutral.

And said "You seem to have an ectopic pregnancy."

"WOW" I reacted. I did not know what 'ectopic' part mean. I could only understand that 'pregnancy' part. Pregnancy means having a baby. That was all. That was a 'Wow'.

I forgot all my pains and requested doctor to tell this to my husband. She read my ignorance and stammered, "Your baby can not live. It is in wrong place. We need to take it out."

?My universe seemed to crumble. I felt like I am being pulled in a black hole. Things warped inside me. I tried to assemble myself and interrogated, "Could you save my baby"?

She sighed and asked me to get up and sit on the chair. My husband was also called in.

She proclaimed "See. I am suspecting an ectopic pregnancy. This is a medical emergency where growing fetus implants itself at a place other than uterus. Her seems to be tubal one. But at this stage nothing can be said conclusively. Usually, such pregnancies are not viable. The tube can rupture anytime and might lead to internal bleeding. I can’t say anything unless blood tests are done. The betahCG test. But that facility is not available here. We take blood sample, send it to Bellary and this way reports take around 36 hours to reach us. I am sorry I can’t admit her here. I would suggest you to seek institutional advice. So, I am referring her to SDM Medical College Dharwad where a team of doctors can examine her and decide future course of action."?

That was too much for us to consume in a single stretch. I fixed my gaze on table as she started writing something. I vaguely remember, she was jotting down…

To

The Duty Doctor

Dept of OBG;;;;;;;;..................

I was continuously looking at paper. Suddenly words stopped making sense. Then they blurred. And then, became invisible. I fainted.

Or maybe semi-fainted.

?4#??Landing at Medical College-Part 1

?When I regained my consciousness, I was in ambulance. My husband was sitting next to me. I noticed something on my hand. It was white band aid like thing (little did I realise those are called cannula, my ally for next few weeks).My other hand was grabbed in my husband's palm. I asked him, "What happened? Where are we going?"

?He replied, "Doctor gave some injections and said your pain will lessen. She instructed ambulance staff to arrange for this", he pointed upwards. I noted those liquid-filled packet like thing hanging on a stand and repeated my question, "Where are we going?"

?"Medical College. I can’t believe what is happening. Are you alright? How are you now? Are you still in pain?" He sounded extremely worried.

"No." I replied.

?"All those doctors whom we saw before, they did not tell us anything like that? Why did they not tell us? How could they do that?" He grumbled.

?"Maybe they did not know. Give me my phone. Let me google it". I acquiesced.

?"No. I will not give that.You should relax." He commanded.

?"Please honey, I need to know" I tried again.

?"No." He put his palm on my eyes in an attempt to lull me.

?I finally surrendered and contemplated, how is this possible?

An hour ago, I was cooking and was going to have dinner. And an hour later, here I am. In an ambulance. Being fetched to some higher medical facility. May be I have some serious disease, that is why a bigger place is required. My mind chattered.

Overloaded with nasty thoughts, I slept. In that stretch of intermittent sleep, I looked out of the glass on doors of ambulance but could not see much. It was very dark outside. Ambulance kept running and I slept again. After a while, I woke up to glaring dark red lights on a building which read 'EMERGENCY'.

Bang! Doors of the ambulance opened. And two persons dressed in full white clothes barged in. Before I could realise anything, I was lying on a stretcher. And was being carried through the corridors .Things were happening at lightening pace. I could not understand why I am being carried on this thing. I could walk all by myself. I am OK.

In hindsight, I realise the staff of emergency ward was very swift and devoted. Everyone knew their duties well. Doctors came pouring in one by one, with different sets of questions and other medical stuff.

After examination, a senior doctor ordered, "Take her to labour room"

Labour Room? Did I hear labour room? But then, that is a place where pregnant women deliver? Does that mean there is a chance of survival of my baby? My mind kept chattering. I was asked to sit on a wheel chair. Was then wheeled to labour room. I was all confused. Immediately after entering labour room, I asked doctor "Ma'am, is it possible to save my baby?"

?"No.It is not. You will be treated to get rid of it. Do not worry". She said.

''Get rid of it.''?Her words resonated. Do I really want to get rid of it. Why is it called 'it'? Who uses 'it' for a baby? Should not it be 'she' or 'he', 'her' or 'him'. My mind chattered endlessly.

I was allotted a bed in labour room.Was then given blue coloured hospital gown. I hated that gown. I looked so helpless that loose big gown. Then a sister(nurse) came and said, “You need to go for scanning again.”

She made me sit on a chair and wheeled me to the scanning room. When my turn came, doctor started examining me. She saw me internally on her screen and ordered her assistant, "Call the students".

Suddendly, white coat people barged in. Everyone seemed so excited. She introduced my internal imaging on the screen to the students. I felt like a guinea pig of some crazy experiment. She addressed the students, "See. The uterine cavity is empty. And see that sac-like structure near right ovary. Tell me. What it is?"

One smart alec from the crowd replied 'Tubal pregnancy'.

She patted him and appreciated, "Very good. Unruptured right tubal ectopic pregnancy.This is a condition in which blah blah blah blah.........."

Everyone wrote notes hastily and went out of the room. It was a very bad experience. Students were looking at my face as if they have seen a human for the first time. But I was helpless. I felt like objecting to it. But could not. Tears welled in my eyes but I wiped them quickly. Really quickly.

Awkward situations, endless tests, blood draws and confusions. Unfortunately, life started to feel like a bad movie I can’t stop watching. I was extremely weak. I could not control anything. Not even my tears. I have always been a control freak. For the first time in my life I was feeling helpless. I was no more at the helm of my life.

After few hours, I was visited by the most senior doctor of OBG. The HOD. She seemed to have some magical powers. Her aura was extremely powerful and absolutely uncomplicated. I felt a strange relief when she touched me for examination.

She then checked reports and announced to the team of doctors to administer medicine. I had googled about the medicine so I knew now they are going to terminate the pregnancy. The dose were given to me. I overheard doctor on duty as she instructed staff, "Her husband wants her to be shifted to special ward. Shift her after an hour"

So now I will be leaving labour room. Empty-handed. Life seemed like a joke. I went from being not pregnant to pregnant and then not pregnant again. All within a span of 24 hours.

As I was wheeled out of the labour room, I wondered what it would feel like to get to take something home instead of having something taken away.

Day ended.

Next day, I was woken up by a nurse who told me she would come to take blood sample every day at 5am. Blood draw!!! What a terrible way to wake up! Then by 10am, visits by residents. Then by sisters, when they turned shifts. Everyone came, asked questions, checked drips, scribbled notes and left. Rounds by senior doctors.Then by even more senior doctors. Sonography, blood pressure and other routine check ups continued.

Days passed like that. Every day was exact replica of the previous day. I hated hospital food. I hated that hospital like smell in air everywhere.

#5??Landing at Medical College Part-2

Question-What one does after getting a discharge from hospital?

Answer-Go home.

I tried doing same.But failed......

I was about to get rid of that hospital smell, that food and that hospital gown.

Finally, the day came. The day when I was free from this hospital thing. Bills were settled, formalities complete.We were given necessary instructions and list of precautions.

(Out of many other precautions, one of them was not to travel. I am mentioning this here categorically because back then we had no idea how significant it was and what distances were allowed or disallowed. We will always repent as to why we did not follow doctor's advice verbatim).

That day, we started for our destination back home. After 20 odd minutes of starting, my pains resurfaced. I did not expect them. I panicked. But chose to remain calm. Pains worsened and then again it became unbearable. I was writhing in pain on back seat of car. I was trying hard to tell this to my husband who was sitting in front. But my tongue resigned. Not a single word came out of my mouth. After a while my husband peeped behind casually.

And there I was. I looked unconscious. Car stopped. Then he came back and tried to make me sit upright. But he could not. He asked the driver to take us back to Dharwad. The driver took U-turn and drove even faster. Meanwhile my condition worsened so much so that hubby took me to some nearby hospital. It was a place called Gadag. And I was admitted in N.B.Patil Hospital. Doctor examined me and suspected a rupture. And my condition was medically called 'shock' which is preceded by rupture. They asked my husband to decide immediately, whether he wants to admit me there or take me back to Dharwad. My husband decided to take me back as he had that 'Institutional advice' thing buzzing in his head.

We again landed in Medical College. We were thrashed heavily by doctors for travelling. Then admitted to same emergency ward. Same tests. Same labour room.Same shifting to special ward. Thankfully, there were no signs of internal bleeding though but facing all this was soul breaking.

By then, I had given up on Google and everything else. I was no more interested to know what was going inside me. And unlike my previous admission to hospital, this time I cried. Treatments continued. After few days, I was discharged again.

This time doctor categorically mentioned, "NO TRAVELLING. SHIFT HER NO FARTHER THAN A RADIUS OF 20KM FROM HERE"

#6??The little bundle of joy that never was.

Finally I was out of the hospital again. To comply with 'non-travelling clause', we rented a flat in Hubli. We did not want to take any risks. Hubli is the other partner in twin city combo of Hubli-Dharwad. The rented flat was also good and after having enough of do-not-move-only-bed-rest thing, I started with some home chores and went ahead with my new life in Hubli. I would cook, clean, read and cry. I cried whenever I was alone. My husband returned to work. I also wanted to go back to work as soon as possible. But was too weak and feared. Going back to work seemed a distant dream. I stayed at home the entire day with memories of my baby. I mourned the potential. I talked to my baby all by my own:

"There is not a single day I do not remember you my child.

I want to tell you, how much I loved you, how much I wanted you.

You were there inside. Inside me for more than 2 months.

But I am sorry baby, Mumma did not know.

Sorry for all the caresses you deserved but never received.

I wanted to touch you, hold you, have you.

Sorry for not knowing about you.

Sorry for everything. I miss you so much."

Technically, I was a one-day-Mom. Time difference between diagnosis of pregnancy and its termination was around 24 hours. But those 24 hours carried most emotional moments of my life. I never knew my heart could love so much until I became a one-day-mom.

(Second Part-The Recovery Section #7 to #14)

#7??Pity Party begins

I kept talking to my gone baby on my own. A baby, who actually never was. My behaviour and thought process was erratic. I thought I was losing my wits.

I was trying hard to go back to normal life. But one thing that bothered me were the pains which surfaced from time to time. Though their intensity was less but their frequency was quite high. Life after hospital discharge was very confusing. I could not adjust. I did not know what to do with me.

Two issues bothered me profusely: Mental state- Talking endlessly to my gone baby. Physical state- Recurring pain.

These two issues were getting better of me day by day. But I never talked about this. Never shared it with anyone. Not even with my husband. I would act perfectly normal in front of him. He was clueless about my battle with this bi-fold invisible illness.

Days passed like that. Little did I realise that not talking about my unsorted issues is like a quagmire. The more I preferred non-sharing, the more trouble I faced.

#8 Depression

I was still in 'shhhh-do-not-tell-anyone mode'. Whenever a friend or a relative asked what I was doing in Hubli, I would reply “Just spending some quality time with my husband” What a crass reply! But never allowed feelings to surface. Not allowing feelings to surface; a detrimental phenomenon for one's emotional well-being.

I kept visiting doctors for the routine check-ups; most of the time solo now. I would see a doctor, get myself examined. I would ask same question every time, “Why this happened to me?” Every time I got same answer on ‘how’ it happened but never got an answer to ‘why’ it happened. I had no idea how to deal with contradictory feelings. On one side, I was thankful that I was out of hospital, on the other I had this chronic pains and giddiness blackouts that I had to face every day, multiple times.

My body was not responding the way it should and I was becoming more and more concerned. I would panic and run to doctor with any symptoms that seemed abnormal. I kept handling (or rather mal-handling) all this alone.

A normal day would look something like this-- Wake up at 6am. Start with daily activities. By 7am, little giddy. Keep calm. Carry on. By 8am, a little more giddy. Keep calm, carry on. Around 9am, body resigns. Then sit and cry. Remember past. Remember your previous-better version. Cry. Feel powerless. Feel weak. Cry more. Feel more powerless. Feel more weaker. More tears. More fears. And, NO ACTION.

Interestingly, I ensured and went for these episodes only when my husband was not around.This continued for weeks. Every day I suffered, rued my past stronger self, same crying and then this whole cycle of self-pity begins.

?

#9 Pity Party continues….

It was Sunday noon. Doorbell rang. My husband opened the door. An aunty-cum-neighbor entered house. At the very outset, she asked about my health. Then she asked a bit more about my health. Then more and more of it. Howsoever reluctant I was, she dug it all.

After listening it all from me and getting contended that she now has every little details of my medical journey; she assured that things will be alright soon. She even told me about her acquaintance that underwent similar condition and how she now has a happy brood.

She instructed me to 'maango-some-mannat-for-a-baby'. Gave some more advices and left. The moment she left, I started fighting with at my husband, “Why did you not stop her?” “But, you always listened to her. You always told how much she cares for you. I thought you liked her.” He explained.

Ehhh !! Well, yes, that’s a truth. Howsoever-unlike-my-generation it sounds, but that indeed is a truth. I enjoy listening to aunties or any elderly people. I never accepted that openly. Many of my friends might feel cheated after reading this because I would quietly listen to unending ramblings about their super- interfering aunties. Never objected to it with my ‘we-should-not talk-bad-about-anyone’ gyan.(Or even if I would have, I doubt its success)

But I accept, that was a problem, my problem. Not speaking one’s mind is indeed a problem.Not voicing one’s opinion is indeed unhealthy. I am clueless as to why didn’t I speak my mind. Whether I did not have courage to deviate from group opinion, whether it is just a side effect of introversion or simply because I was ‘quintessentially-indifferent’.

Last one seems most convincing. But being indifferent does not mean being disrespectful.

And how can I be. There is so much I get to learn from them, ‘The Aunties Union’. If you pay close attention to their conversation; you will end up believing, they are most efficient interrogators in the world. Even FBI would fail to have such remarkable interrogation. And not only that, I am amazed how they?use subtle techniques of behavioral sciences and nudge you to get desired answers.[No offence intended]

Pun apart. Truth prevails.

And the truth is.. yes, I am not sure about talking but listening is something I always loved. Listening to everybody; no bars of age, gender, profession etc.

My husband continued, “Isn’t it? You are so fond of her?

“Noooooo. I am not.” I shouted.

“But why are you shouting? Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly okay. Why did you ask that? Do I look not-okay?”

“No, not that. But you never talk like this”, he got disorientated.

My husband was completely confused. He never saw me like that. He immediately came and wrapped me in his arms as I sat down to start my pity party.

“What happened? Please tell me what happened?” He asked.

“Nothing.” I said as I wiped tears rolling down my cheeks.

He asked same question “what happened” around 50 odd times and I kept replying with ‘nothing’.

Once my pity party was over, we had food. Had casual conversation. Then slept. While I was lying on bed with my gaze fixed at ceiling fan; events started streaming before my eyes. And I contemplated. Why did I behave like that?

Was it because of the pains? But then, I was not having even an iota of pain at that time. May be I did not like what Aunty said. I attempted to excuse myself. But whatever she said, did not really affect me much. Or even if it did, the wildness of my reaction was not in proportion. Absolutely not.

Then why I reacted in such a way? I was unsure of my body. But I was largely getting sure of my mind. Certainly, there was something terribly wrong with the mind.

But what?

?10# Search begins

I started skipping medical appointments as I was getting largely sure that this can’t cure me. Hail to the doctors I was seeing, recovery on physical front was all good and satisfying. But on psychological front, I was all messed up. I have always been someone overthinks. This made me a victim of all the side effects that overthinking has.

I read somewhere, “Overthinking ruins you, ruins the situation. Twists things around, makes you worry and just makes everything much worse than it actually is” I was the human version of these words. Overthinking sends me to an autopilot mode. I start imagining things that are not even distantly related to the original thought. My overthinking continued and I was not able to decode my mind.

So, I thought of taking help from someone who is better equipped with this mind and brains things. An idea of seeing a Psychiatrist crossed my mind. Since, my mother is always the first person in morning and the last person in night who I talk to over phone, I thought of giving a little hint to her.

BUT…….

but..

This idea had not even fully sprouted and my over thinker brain got a cue of it. It started sending alerts.

I began visualizing ‘FUTURE’ conversation that might follow my idea of seeing a Psychiatrist.

?Me: “Mumma, Kuch achha achha nahi hai. Handle nahi kar pa rahi hu khud ko. Muje lagta hai muje kisi Psychiatrist ki zarurat hai....Aap kya kehti hain?

("Mumma, I am not able to handle myself after all what has happened.I am thinking of seeing a Psychiatrist. What do you say?”)

Mumma: “Hmmm..ok beta..muje to nahi lagta uski zarurat hai lekin jaisa thik samjho..”("Hmm…I don’t think it is needed but do as you deem correct")

?And then I start getting calls from well-wishers..

After 10 minutes, call from X, “Purvi, ye kya sun rahe hain ham? Tum dimaag ke doctor ko dikhaney wali ho? (Purvi, what are we listening? You going to see an Psychiatrist?)

?After 40 minutes, call from Y, “Purvi, tum thik to ho beta. Tum paaglo ke doctor ko dikhaney wali ho?

?After 1 hour, call from Z, “Purvi, tumne paaglo ke doctor ko dikha kar sahi nahi kiya. Arey un logo ko to puri duniya hi paagal nazar aati hai. Kuch na kuch to sabko hi bata detein hain.” ( as if s/he is a regular visitor and knows it all)

[No offence intended]

After all this mind chattering, the thought of visiting a Psychiatrist evaporated from my mind as if it was never there at all. And despite being sure that there is something wrong with my mind, I preferred keeping it to myself. Non sharing is like a mire. The more you are in it, the lesser you are available for rescue.

#11???A?ray of hope

As non sharing was giving way underfoot, I was trying hard to come out of this mind bog.

Days were passing by and I was fanatically searching for answers of my questions. But the search was heading nowhere. Just when I was about to give up, a ray of hope came in. A ray of hope called Dr.Kammar. He was (and he is) Principal of Karnataka Medical College, Hubli. I met him during my quest for answers. But ironically, I did not ask any mind-related question to him. I did not want to look weak. I never revealed my weaker self in front of him. While talking to him, I tried acting smart and made sure that I do not mix my feelings with my medical talk.

So, I posed few questions. He answered. I asked a few more. He answered. I was about to take his leave and things were about to close on that note. As I turned towards exit door, Dr.Kammar’s voice hit my ears, “Wait.”

My mind chatter began immediately. Is there something he forgot to tell me? Is there any revelation he want to make about my medical condition? Is he going to tell me that I am going to die soon? I tell you this mind chatter is a dangerous thing especially if you are around a doctor. I turned back.

Walked towards him with heavy steps and stood in front of him. He read my inhibitions and said gently, “I wanted to tell this one more thing to you. In my career as a medical personnel, I have noticed that women facing an ectopic pregnancy find it hard to accept things. They sort of undergo an emotional trauma. They find it very hard to believe what happened. I am sorry to say but your questions suggested that you were more concerned with the medical part of it. See, you are not from medical discipline. The deeper you delve, the more confused you will get because that is not your specialisation. You have a management background. That too human resource management. Why don’t you think of approaching from that angle? I mean the human aspect of this problem. I mean the management of emotions?” He interrogated.

I stood awashed. I took it way too personally. How did he say emotions? Emotions have to do with feelings. Feelings in turn are related to mind. He is not a Psychiatrist, how did he know about my emotions? That too, when I was trying hard to hide this E-word on my surface . Then, how did he know? My mind whispered.

and...

I admitted. For the first time, I admitted-- “Sir, my behaviour and thoughts after this medical complication seem to be out of my control. I do not feel like doing anything. I keep mourning the potential. I complain to myself. I have completely failed. Why at all this happened to me. I remain upset and as a result I sometime behave erratically with my husband. And after behaving or talking bad, I sink into an abysmal guilt. I have become what I never was. I was very strong. I kept everything to myself especially pains. But now, it is all visible. My eyes often betray me and gets teary. I do not want this. May be I failed terribly in coping with this. See, even now I am telling all this to you but actually I don’t want to” I paused suddenly. Don’t know why...

He listened patiently. “It is perfectly all right. It is absolutely ok to feel that way. I told you these emotional fluctuations are side effect of ectopic pregnancy. But you will recover and that too very soon. You just need to do these two things. Stop seeing it as something that is still happening. It has happened and is past now. Stop thinking it as an ongoing process. Accept your loss. It was painful yet accept it. You need not cope with it. You need to accept and move on.”

I listened quietly.

He continued, “Second, do not take it as your failure. You did not have any part to play in it. Instead of taking it as failure and brooding over it, count your blessings. You are educated, that is a blessing. You people could catch up on this ectopic early, that is a blessing. In my early career, I have seen cases where women were admitted with worsened symptoms and died due to a mature ectopic of 7 or 8 months. Thankfully, with the advent of technology, things have changed drastically. These days, death counts due to ectopic have significantly reduced because of timely diagnosis and treatment. Though number of cases of ectopic is on constant increase but that ways it is now a common medical complication……….…”

As I heard those words, I felt sorry for two things:

(i) For early days, when women lost their lives to it.

(ii) For present days, when it has become a common medical complication. That ways, did I overrate it?

Dr.Kammar suggested further, “You are fortunate that you are well bred, have a great husband and a wonderful family. You qualify well enough to empower others emotionally. Work on it, in ways you feel useful.”

By the time he paused, I had made my mind. Made my mind to share it all.. Made my mind to write it all…Made my mind to tell it to others… Made my mind to not just tell; rather storytell it….Telling is vertical whereas storytelling is horizontal. It connects. It empowers.

I did not have words to thank Dr.Kammar but still I attempted and promised that I will work enough to empower people emotionally. After meeting and talking to him, I was already on a much better plane health wise. But there still were some issues that needed sorting. Out of which, sharing everything with my husband was paramount.

?

#12?One more step

Majority of the time, I have a peace in my heart about everything.?But after ectopic, I have learnt that you have to really grieve in order to move on.?No need of wearing that happy face when your heart is weeping inside.

I decided to talk to my husband about this. Decided to tell him that all these days I hid my plight from him. I wanted to apologize. I knew he would feel bad. But that was a candid confession that I needed to make in order to wipe slate clean and start afresh.

But then, making plans is one thing and executing them is other.Honestly, I didn't think I was ever going to do that. It was difficult for me. But I mustered all my strength and did it one day.

That day when he was home, I went to him and told him what all I undergo when he is out for work.

I told him about my inabilities, my depression and the vicious cycle of self-pity...told him about the colicky pains that I still get...told him how helpless it feels to have this temporary polybag beside kitchen sink to throw stuff just because I can’t stoop to reach out for dustbin... told him how badly I wanted to go back to work...told him about those intermittent crying session that I have every day, multiple times...told him how I think my problem is more in my mind rather than my body...told him how my reactions to situations are out of proportion. While narrating all this I kept weeping and kept apologizing for not sharing this earlier.

That day, I wept profusely. It was a second mega weeping session of my life, the first ever was my ‘Vidaayi’ after marriage.

He listened to everything, looked into my eyes and commanded, “Dear, if you ask me, you always had these two problems. And they have always been there. Now, after you underwent this (ectopic), those two problems have surfaced like never before in forms of various emotional and physical symptoms. This does not mean they are new. They were always there.”

“What two problems?” I could not wait to hear more from him.

“First, you are extremely closed. You do not want to concern anyone. You keep all your real matters with you and you would talk about everything in this world except about you. Why all this mystery? Share more of yourself, your real self to everyone or at least to me” He paused.

“And second?” I felt as if I was in middle of an enlightenment.

“Stop judging yourself. Stop comparing your past self with your present self. That, what a great all-rounder you were in early school and then how your performance declined gradually. That how good you were in later half of the college and then how your learning curve dented. That how enthusiastic you were in first year of your job and then how you got absolutely lukewarm in your approach. I have seen that you work hard for something and once you achieve it, you downplay it and then you start looking for something better. Moreover, if you are asked to talk about your achievements, within no time you attribute it to luck. You focus more on your failures than on achievements. Accept; that you once were hell bent for achieving this XYZ milestone. Accept that you worked hard for it. And now when you have it, you no longer value it. You always find ways to make you believe that your past performance was better. Stop all this. Stop comparing your past self to the present self. All this had put immense pressure on your mind and body.”

I sat motionless. My pupil dilated to allow more light.

He continued, “I have never seen you judging anyone, then why do you keep judging yourself? Can’t you be more lenient to you? The over stretched goals you set, the high standards you adopt, the benchmarks you decide, do you have any idea how difficult and complex it gets even for me. I always see you in mission mode. Yes, that is your word, mission mode. You keep uttering this every now and then. Please go soft on yourself. Pleeeese” He became quiet with his typical commanding tone coming to an end.

There are some moments in life for which you do not have any adjectives. That was one such. My husband. He was around all these days. Why did I not share it with him earlier?

How thoroughly he knew me !!! That is all what I have been doing all along. Dwelling on pasts, not sharing my thoughts, keeping it all to myself, overrating my failures, underrating my achievements. Maybe these were my biggest unsolved issues. They have always been there. It is just that I am physically weak now and that’s why they have surfaced like never before.

An incident from 2007 flashed before my eyes. I was about to complete my first year of graduation and while a friend attempted to talk about career choices, I started whining over less marks scored in 10th standard.

He read in between lines and said “It seems you have not seen failures in life. The real failures; and not these moderated form of achievements that you deem failure. The way you are whining over past makes me think; God forbid, but if at all you get to face a real failure in life, how will you handle it?”

Not to mention, I neither liked nor understood what he said and brushed aside his insights. After 9 years, those words seem to make perfect sense.

I now understand it in stark clarity. May be I faced a real failure. Or maybe I deemed it so. Yes, maybe I took this incident as a failure. I was always a control freak. And since I could not control anything during this medical journey, I tagged it a failure. Though,?I had no role to play in it.

It was something predestined. It all was part of some divine plan. But I took it in a very wrong spirit. The physical symptoms after a medical complication could manifest out of proportion because I allowed them to. That was more in my mind then on my body. I remember how my mother always taught us, 'There is no physiology without psychology. Both of them are interdependent.'

Whatever my husband said to me that day kept ringing in my ears for hours. I felt a new life rushing in me. That was incredible. Every word he said was significant and practical. From that moment onward, I made it a point to count my blessings and be compassionate towards myself. If I say my life changed overnight, it would be an overstatement. I still get pains. I still go weak. But the silver lining;?I was treated medically and not surgically.

My fantastic body is working overtime to recover fully. I am still uncomfortable in expression by way of speaking. But the silver lining, I have become all comfortable in writing. I can now write my heart out. Writing helps me in managing myself on all levels. Irrespective of the ways one adopt, expression helps. It cures. Make things much better than they actually are.

?#13 The Mantra !

My heath was getting better day by day. At least my mind told me so. I wanted to go back to my place, my work.

Go back because I felt, I CAN.

And not because of those well-meaning concerns I was receiving, “Apni jagah vapas aa jaogi to apne aap purani yaadein bhool jayogi” (Once you return to your place, you will forget about this painful experience)

Probably, this is a common mindset that most of us harbour. Even, I had such mental makeup up to few days back.

That is how we are conditioned; shift your focus to ‘event B’ to forget about ‘event A’. My learning so far tells me this doesn’t work. It is not a long term solution. Rather this approach can play havoc on one’s emotional well-being because it leaves things unprocessed. Processing one’s issues is important.

And now from my experience, I can say this one thing with conviction; trying to forget something is a trap. Alert your mind whenever you listen those well meaning sympathies you receive, “Chalo jo hua so hua, ab bhool jao.” (Forget all that has happened).

Wear your filters. Forgetting is not a solution. I need not forget. I need to accept. Live with it. Learn from it. And move on. It worked for me. Ways to move ahead in life might differ from person to person. But as I said, it worked for me and I call it my mantra, a five folded mantra-

1. Acknowledge that there are some issues.
2. Talk about these issues.
3. Do not judge yourself.
4. Learn from your experience

??5.?Use your experience.?

?#14??Getting back to life but with my inner Deming on mute

My life was back to track. Routine continued. Work continued. Chores continued. Life continued. Everything looked same as it was before ectopic.

But probably, you are never the same person after an ectopic pregnancy. As I write this, I remember a write up by Elaine Keogh featured in The Irish Times, Tiny lives, big impacts:You are never the same after an ectopic pregnancy’?that I read recently.

When I read this article, I could relate to every word in it; in most crudest and most refined ways, ironically both at the same time. While my pre and post ectopic life appeared similar on surface, there was a major transformation that had taken place deep down under.

There was a paradigm shift in my approach towards myself and towards life. I made it a point to be compassionate towards myself. I still did every single thing that I was doing previously but with my inner Deming on mute. My husband contributed a lot towards this transformation. He would always interfere and rescue whenever he saw me exerting.

He would pop his head and block my vision if he would?find me reading late night. He would hinder with his palm in front of camera lens, if he would see I am already overworked and still hula hooping to capture pictures for my journal. He would call me and tell me not to cook as he will be bringing food parcel with him. It again was difficult for me to accept that I am not fit enough to cook three time meals every single day. That, it is ok if the home is messy. That, it is ok if the balcony is not clean. I accepted them as they were and made time for them at my convenience.

I even noticed a change in way I conversed with people. I noticed a change in the type of conversation I had with people. The conversation that I entered was no more limited to routine ramblings, food, news or weather. It was more focused towards life experiences and terms like ‘dreams’, ‘aspirations’, ‘obstacles’, ‘motivation’ frequented conversation. To my surprise, everyone had so much to share about these life insights. People were not like me, happy-in-my-cocoon-types. For most of the people I met, sharing came handy.

More sharing means more expression. I discovered latent potential of human interaction.The more I talked to people, the better world I reached. I thought of reaching out to more and more people. Thought of conversing more and more about life insights. Thought of doing something with these insightful conversations?

But what and how?

#14 The Project, 'Ectoria'

Reaching out to people. Fine.

Sharing life insights. Fine

But what next?

What is in it for the world?

To reach out to world and impact lives, I needed a platform where I can share all those conversations. I kept working on it and developed a prototype. I drew conversations into interview format. I was clear what I wanted to build. The prototype looked something similar to yourstory.

I asked myself, is it really needed? I am already in a full time job and that too in Public Sector. How do I design this project to fit it into my current job? How do I make it something that serves its purpose and still remain within my limits? I kept thinking about it and following two independent yet interdependent events overlapped my thought process:

(i) It was a typical week day morning. I was about to sit for breakfast. All ready to eat and leave. For most of us, this part of the morning; getting ready and leaving for office has default settings. Same sounds, same background, same events, in same order. Played podcast, went to kitchen, sat to eat breakfast. I was in middle of my breakfast that I felt my ears crazily adjusting themselves to receive some distant sound signals. Remember how dogs do! And heard about how employees find ways to add meaningful tasks into their workday on their own. Instead of waiting for a boss to assign new projects or for a promotion, they ask themselves what can I do to the job right now to make that work more meaningful?-- This guidance gave me much needed direction that I was seeking for days. It was on podcast where Amy Wrzesniewski, Professor, Yale School of Management was teaching on ways to craft one’ job. It was a Eureka moment for me.

My mind ship now looked navigated. I now knew how to go ahead with this. I conceived an idea of developing my project as something that I will do in addition to my regular job and will make it a part of my job. With this, what I entered into was a beautiful world of corporate entrepreneurship.

?(ii)?Once, I was sure about the idea, I went crazy researching, ideating things and developing workable models. While I was on my spree, I came across this brilliant thing. This was an office memorandum of Department of Public Enterprise. The memorandum talked about a recommendation made by Parliamentary Committee. It praised intra-office blog of SBI called SBI Aspirations. A part of that recommendation reads about adequate avenues, experience sharing and confidence building and on seeing these in a ministerial document, an old adage rung in my mind; "You attract what you focus on."

Wait. Wait. I am little distracted at this point. I have something to share.Keeping my project talk on hold for a minute.

When I read about SBI Aspirations in the above mentioned office memorandum, I wanted to know more about it. While looking for its model, access requirements and other SBI stuff, I bumped on an article about Arundhati Bhattacharya, Chairperson, SBI. Through that article, I came to know she lives in Mumbai whereas her husband lives in Kolkata and that he visits her often. After reading this I started drawing parallels and consoled myself, “See Purvi, same situation; even a person of her stature does not get to live with her husband out of job compulsions. See, where she has reached. Visiting spouse during leave is norm these days. It is ok that you and your husband meet only during leave, that it is ok to meet for a short time and move apart.”

After all this mind chatter, I thought was this really needed? Was it not absolutely unnecessary?

As I began thinking about the reason for this mind chatter, I went a step ahead and thought about this practical yet painful situation where life partners have to live away from each other due to different job locations. As more and more of us are becoming selective with our jobs, this trend is picking up like never before.

Yes, I am one of this tribe, while I am writing this second part of my story; I am sitting all on my own in my Sarkari quarter located in a coalfields in Uttar Pradesh, my workplace. I wrote first part of my story when I was in Hubli, my husband’s work place.Notice how frequently I had to use ‘my husband’, ‘my husband’ everywhere in that part of the story. But now I can’t.

That made me think; may be, I got some sadistic joy in knowing that SBI’s chairperson too doesn’t get to live with her husband due to different job locations. (I know. I know, that it is not right or moral-studies like thing to have such mean thoughts. But they did cross my mind)

In 2014, I almost quit this job but my boss on professional front and my father on personal front talked me out of it. Today, I am thankful to my father, my boss and also to my friends who prevented me from quitting this job and helped me undo my decision. How could I even think of quitting without serving a better purpose! This world is full of talented people. Every single person on this earth has one or the other talent. Every one of us are good at one thing or the other. That ways, talent is not uncommon but opportunity is. Yes, opportunity is uncommon. Not everyone gets an opportunity. Working in Coal India Limited is an opportunity. With opportunity comes responsibility. Responsibility to maximise the impact of opportunity. What an absolute dishonor would it be if I have opportunities that others don’t and I do not make use of them. And as they say, nothing in life is random, I am fortunate to have stayed put.

From here, I take a U turn and go back to where I was before getting distracted. I already was fully inspired with those two events.

What two events? A quick reminder:

First- podcast-Amy Wrzesniewski-employees-finding new tasks-use skills.

Second-Ministerial document-adequate avenues-experience sharing-confidence building.

Back on course, I connected above inspirations and launched my project. Though I did not think that I was ready to do that but still I launched it at a very small level.When it came to naming it, I named it ectoria; a portmanteau for ectopic euphoria but sadly it was already a name of some e-commerce site. Having a .in(dot in) domain of same name for which a .com (dot com) already exists is an established mistake. I knew I was going make a mistake. A mistake which will severely hamper my google search ratings. But even then, I went ahead and?finalised it. I could not compromise on name. It carried a deeper meaning for me.

If I had not suffered an ectopic, I would have never learned about importance of sharing one’s thoughts. If I had not learned about importance of sharing, I would have never reached this state of euphoria. If I would have not reached this state of euphoria, I would have never founded ectoria.

As I am approaching end of this story, I want to be honest about this one thing. I have launched this project even before I am ready. This is because today on 20.01.2016 (1st part written earlier in 2015, posted today with this second part), if I try to find something related to job crafting or corporate entrepreneurship, the examples do not yield specific results from our country. Though there are scholarly articles on it but practical applications are rare to find. Despite this, I forsee an uptick in this space as more of us are doting on adding more meaning to our jobs.

This is one major reason I am live with this project 'ectoria' even before it is fully ready. I want people with better positions, better resources, better ideas and top of all better reach to come up with fabulous projects and claim this largely unclaimed niche in India. I hope these two inputs which featured in my story might provide some help for many more better ideas (i) Concept of Job crafting by Ami Wrzesniewski (ii) Office Memorandum Of Department of Public Enterprise?(click for PDF)

Coming back to my project, the website might look patchy and may go down from time to time.The site currently features very few conversations that I developed into interview formats. I am very weak at technical part of websites and always rely on google and friends for it and then spend lot of time and energy but still fall short of something or the other. But I am working on it continuously.

Every day, I will try to push it an inch closer to what I have pictured Ectoria to be in longer run. The project is now live. Ectoria is now live. It can be reached at ectoria.in Very recently, I pitched this idea in front of my authorities at my place of posting. They endorsed it. A pitch! That too, in a Public Sector Undertaking. That too by an existing employee. That too in front of her own bosses. True, life takes unimaginable turns! I get goosebumps even at a thought of it. No matter how small ectoria currently is, it gives me satisfaction.

Satisfaction of having started something.?It is just a beginning. And.. This was my story. Story about how my life reshaped after I became a-one-day -mom. Something that changed me forever.

Taking a cue from a remark by a senior, unfortunately it took a tragic incident in my life to discover that writing is a way of expression. For me it was a lesson. Lesson that taught me 'Sharing helps.Expression cures and Communication is bliss.'?

I would never suggest someone to go looking for some life threatening condition to get lessons of life.But let us not lose the opportunity of learning from hardships. Hardships may be physical, emotional, financial, or related to any other aspect of life. Let us try and learn from our experience.

And experiences of others as well. Let us hear more from each other. Let us share more of ourselves. Alone we are strong, together we are invincible. pic courtesy:janamagalhaes.com