Woke up with a hangover yesterday.
My head felt like a bowling arena populated by loud rednecks, my eyes droopier than usual, my back like I had performed some elaborate Kama Sutra postures on a bed of nails.
All of which was strange since I hadn’t got drunk in ages.
I reluctantly got myself off bed and convinced myself that doing my usual routine of stretching and pushups would be a bad idea. Sat down to check email and listen to my usual dose of morning music – all this took a mighty effort. This is when I figured that there might be something actually wrong with me.
But I seem to have inherited my father’s strength of conviction in his health; it can’t be really serious until something really bad happens. Like, you know, faint or lose consciousness. And so, with pigheadedness he’d be proud of, I forced myself to take a shower, eat breakfast, get dressed and leave for work. As I walked outside, the first thing I realized was that I was burning up.
Was it really that hot? It’s April after all, the hot season, but surely not so early in the morning. The day before while travelling from one office to another, I had a similar sensation. It was afternoon and I put it down to the extreme heat then. Once again, I convinced myself that it was nothing.
Walked into work or, more accurately, I did my best to walk in steadily. Evidently, I succeeded for no one saw anything amiss. Checked email and was hit with more bad news. Fuck. I needed a smoke and joined the guys for an early morning smoke. Discussed the usual bullshit: downloading, SLT’s piss poor ADSL service, etc. Typical internet addict guy stuff.
At this point, the body aches got unbearable. To make it worse, I began to notice a few lesions on the arm and forehead. Tried my best to ignore my sudden transformation from Theena Kumaragurunathan to the Swamp Thing’s poor cousin.One moment, there would be nothing and the next I would notice a scar in an area where none existed before.
Don’t panic.
Taking a half day, or a three quarter day in this case, I took trishaw home acutely aware that the body doth protested too much each time the taxi went over a pothole. And the roads leading up to Kotahena have many potholes. Wished the plague upon the wankers at Town Hall.
Girlfriend called and asked – nay ordered – me to go straight to the doctor. I told her that I would be going home so I could go with mum, and then realized that what people say is true: I am such a mummy’s boy.
Now mum is used to my avoidance of hospitals and doctors so when I walked in out of the blue and insisted that we go to the hospital, she began doing what mothers are genetically programmed to: panic.
I tried telling her to stop blabbering and get dressed instead, but no. I forced myself to be patient with her probing questions which were turning increasingly medical in nature. Is it just my mother or a general trait among mothers to suddenly transform into pseudo medical professionals when their kids are sick?
The doctor, a family friend, was at her clinic and asked us to come there instead of the hospital. She took a look at lesions and immediately uttered out the one word that I was dreading: chickenpox.
Oh Lucifer.
Two weeks, at minimum, stuck in the house subject to my mother’s whims and eccentricities and she to mine.
As soon as we reached home, the religious bullshit started. For chickenpox, you see, has a peculiar name in Hindu circles: Amman Varutham. Translated directly ‘Amman’s Disease’. Amman, if my knowledge of Hinduism is right, is an avatar of Durga (Don’t quote me on that though). Mum insisted that a picture of the said deity be at my side. I, smartarse that I am, retorted by almost telling her that I didn’t want the picture of the sadistic woman that was apparently the cause of the illness. Reason and common sense prevailed, though, and I told her, instead, that I’d have it discarded (read thrown out) if such paraphernalia were brought near me. What was that about reason and common sense?
She shot back: “I don’t know how I am going to survive with you for the next two weeks. That aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh music (her exact words) will be played constantly now. How do you sleep listening to that nonsense?”
Not an hour since the doctor’s diagnosis and already the battle lines were drawn.
I should watch my tongue though; talking back too much may limit the benefits that I’ve enjoyed thus far, which includes delicious chilled orange juice and apples. All brought to my room.
This may not be such a bad deal after all.
I just hope SLT ADSL doesn’t read my scathing commentary on their apparent broadband service and decide to take revenge by screwing around with my connection at this juncture.
Tags: chickenpox, mother and i, slt, adsl
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