CHAPTER 27: Silent Attack
I was on dialysis; blood was flowing in and out. There was a computer on the centre of the dialysis hall. I was staring at the desktop computer, because, the screen saver of the monitor was the picture of great WTC Twin Tower.
Whenever I saw the icon, I remembered one thing: God spared me. Scenes went on and on, in the background like a fiction. “God is protecting me with a plan,” I believed, though I am an agnostic. “A heavy burden is put on me,” I admitted and convinced myself. I raised more questions. Why is it so complicated? Why, every other day, God allows me to see the hell in the name of dialysis?
Is there any new learning through the process called dialysis? Is it His plan – How to Live and fulfil? What is God’s will for my life? What is my purpose in life? Is it an endurance testing of my abilities to use in His service? Is it to slow me down, put me in touch with Him? Is it to bring more wonderful new friends into my life?
Will I gain more experience to deal with my career and my wife? How do I figure out His plan for my life? Is it a personal calling? Is there any mission on earth? I had no right answer; couldn’t think of any explanation; I was in a complete bewilderment.
In the midst, I felt vertigo; had a sensation of spinning out of control. I had epigastria burning sensation and pain in the chest; it began to aggravate little by little. I informed the pain to a nurse in the ward. She checked the blood pressure promptly – it showed slightly higher.
She brought a pill very quickly, kept it inside my lower side of the tongue. Yes, it acted. Blood pressure came down; it came down at an unexpected rate. The medical team bustled towards me and tilted me in no time – it was just like a dream. I heard the voice of a kind nurse saying, “He is safe.” Then, I realized – it was neither a fiction nor a dream nor fabrication.
But, it was a mild attack. A silent attack! I understood that medicines have its mysteries. The team terminated the dialysis and admitted me at the renal ward for observation. Dr increased the fluid intake to 500ml per day – an excess of 200ml.
It brought more happiness to me. Dr instructed to add 1 gm salt in the diet, every day. More joy! A life survival too! Dr asked to meet cardiologist and gastroenterologist. I was very happy on that day, because, they terminated the dialysis in half way. “My days are very closer and I’ve to ready for a permanent rest,” I made a remark to a kind nurse.
“No! Don’t think that way. Everything is possible with Him. You will recover, live long,” the kind nurse comforted me religiously. “Perhaps, few more days I will live,” I spoke to myself. Therefore, I kept silent and grinned.
Since no man knows the future, who can tell him what is to come? (Ecclesiastes 8:7)
CHAPTER 28: Waiting…
Dr Subha Rao prescribed various drugs to treat fever. They didn’t respond. I longed to fill my stomach with solid food; but, it turned bitter. Food cloyed the appetite; distasted and therefore I managed with porridge. Dialysis dried my body. The skin and flesh were grown old. At bed, I laid down like an eagle with shed feather. In a black mood!
There were no activities for several hours. I had lot of free time; reviewed the past, looked back, again and again without aim. Situation fretted me. I was shaking like jelly. “An idle man’s mind becomes the devil’s workshop,” I cogitated. Salt free, no sugar diet made me to stay motionless and was lying as an injured lesion. I became very sensitive to noise and mere disturbance nudged me up.
Chennai city was asleep. A moment of silence so profound, but, I stayed awoke. “I am protecting my family as a firewall watchdog,” I thought. Therefore, I made myself busy every night. Some evils were causing and emitting sounds and I paid close attention to. I heard voices – Coyotes howling! Panther screaming! Owl screeching! Birds twittering! The mysterious energies scared me. “It was due to medical reasons,” I didn’t realize it then.
Dark called me ‘Who—ooo’ and I listened to that with all my might. Afraid of dark! “My hairs rise stood straight and stiff along,” I felt. No rest. No sleep. No Road Map. No destiny. Following every dialysis, I became unbearably weak and sick. I didn’t have enough immunity to fight infection. The weakened immune system made me vulnerable to further illness.
People came to see me, sat beside me and they stared me blankly. The perennial problem lasted long. It became insurmountable and I didn’t get to grip with. Therefore, I was exacerbated. My affectionate aunts Jesse from Marthandam and Daisy from Trichy came forward to help out. They were staying with me all time and treated me like their son.
They raised their voice to God with one accord, offered prayers and petitions to God in one loud voice. They made humble reverent submissions to save me from death. Their prayers strengthened me little by little. My deteriorating health condition shocked and surprised them.
I remembered the words of the famous scientist, Einstein, “Science without religion is lame and religion without science is blind.” I tried to come out of the scientific thoughts. But, I couldn’t. However, I had a feeling that I would return to a normal life again. I looked for scientific proof even for that. I liked to confront with the evils. Therefore, I wished to see my sister. I looked for a renewed life, a revived aliveness. Therefore, I looked for more religious people.
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
2001
24th Dec.
It was 10 o’clock at night.
I, Jeb — a man fading quietly into the background — was dressed in my usual way: a full-sleeve shirt, a sweater layered over it, white dhoti bottoms, and a pair of worn-out sandals. I walked slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. I must have looked over sixty. My body swayed as I made the hundred-yard walk to the church, where I sat in silence, my eyes fixed on the glowing decorations.
I wasn’t well. Fever clung to me like a second skin, and the loneliness was heavier than the December chill. I couldn’t stay long — no more than thirty minutes. The festive spirit that once lived in me had long since vanished. I returned home feeling hollow. Everyone else was basking in celebration; I was the shadow in their light. I couldn’t bring myself to share their joy. To me, it was just another day. I went to bed — a wet blanket, in every sense of the word.
All around the world, people were observing Christmas as a sacred day — wrapped in traditions, filled with both religious reverence and cheerful secular customs.
I leaned back against the wall, stacking two pillows behind me in search of some comfort. My thoughts wandered. I drifted through memories of past Christmases — ones rich with joy, feasts, and laughter.
There was a time I would be busy sending out Christmas cards, painting the walls with calcium to give them a fresh, white glow. There were church events, food shared with friends, midnight carols, bright lights, celebration eves — and yes, even the occasional bite of roasted rooster’s leg. From adulthood to teen, adolescence to childhood — the memories came alive, more vivid than the present.
Half-asleep, lying in that quiet posture, my wife came in. She gently removed the pillows and adjusted my neck. With soft hands and a silent tenderness, she helped me lie down properly. I drifted off, held by her care.
1st Jan 2002, morning.
I expressed a simple wish — to attend church. The CSI Church in Virugambakkam.
And they took me — my wife, brother-in-law, and mother-in-law. They looked after me as though I were an infant, fragile and fading.
I sat on an aisle seat. The church filled quickly around me.
People of all ages — men, women, children — came in wearing bright new clothes. I felt their eyes on me. Are they staring? I wondered. Is it because I look so withered? I felt like an old, shriveled apple — dried out, unattractive, unworthy of attention.
The sound of the organ filled the sanctuary, echoing like a distant memory.
I tried to let the music flow through me, to anchor myself in the moment — but I couldn’t.
Instead, it only reminded me how much I’d declined. I was weaker than I thought. Diminished more than I wanted to admit.
I fixed my gaze on the Pastor’s face. He stood radiant on the altar, lit by the glow of something divine. And I — I felt darker by the minute.
I glanced around the church — the ceiling, the walls — but they held no wonder for me.
I tried again to follow the words, the melodies, the heart of the service — but they slipped past me.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in Catholic traditions, I reasoned. These rituals feel unfamiliar. Alien.
The practices of infidels, I muttered inwardly, not in disdain, but in quiet resignation.
I could barely sit upright. My body ached and trembled — but I made no sign. I just couldn’t connect to what was happening around me.
So I fixed my eyes on the Cross atop the communion table. It glimmered faintly on the wall. I stared at it… and slowly drifted off to sleep.
When I opened my eyes again, the ritual had ended. The congregation was dispersing.
The Pastor offered the final blessing — “Go in peace, in the name of the Lord.”
The choir sang on, and the people joined in — stronger now, full of joy. Some knelt in prayer. Others shook hands and exchanged wishes of “Happy New Year.”
My wife was walking toward me. She could see it in my face — the disquiet, the absence of celebration.
The crowd began to scatter, like a colony of ants disbanding in all directions.
I walked home with my family, but there was no peace in my step.