Today, September 15th, was the day I was supposed to leave India. But instead, here I am still in Bangalore, eating a made-to-order tomato and bacon omelet at a high-end Swiss hotel, whose breakfast buffet includes sausage and beans, dosa, fresh fruit juice, and an array of adorable mini-pastries. The waitstaff keep calling me Miss. This is not the kind of lifestyle I’ve been living for the past 8 months here. So what happened?
It all began last Thursday.
Or, to give it a little context, let me start on Wednesday night. I thought I was giving a pretty awesome second-round Skype interview for a position at a company in San Francisco… until they gave me a 30-minute exercise. When I went over it, I had to fight the urge to go into panic-mode because to finish it in half an hour seemed impossible. I went to bed that night pretty upset because I knew I hadn’t done a good job with it and felt that I’d blown my chances, which is a pretty big downer when you’re on the trying-to-find-employment struggle bus.
But the next morning, I woke to up an e-mail telling me that they had accidentally sent me the final round exercise, which was supposed to take a couple of days to complete. They apologized, and also let me know that they wanted me to advance to the final round.
That afternoon, I had a bit of a stomachache. My boyfriend thought that me, being the fatty foodie that I am, was just suffering from an empty stomach and offered to get me some food. So him and my housemate, Rosie, rode off to the good old main road. But the stomachache kept getting worse, until it got to the point where it didn’t matter what position I was in, it hurt. There was nothing that could distract me from the pain, and I sat on the bed, clutching my stomach and looking around the room like there might be something, some way to stop the hurt.
And that’s how Nitin found me when he came back, maybe 45 minutes later. I was not in good shape, and could only respond by nodding or shaking my head. He made the executive decision to take me to the doctor, and told me that I should stay over with his family that evening. I packed my backpack in silence and we set off on his bike.
By that point, it was already getting dark. I sat behind Nitin, squeezing the pillion rider handle, knuckles white, face twisted in pain as we rode on flyovers and past brightly illuminated, oversized billboards, weaving through the evening rush hour traffic to get to the doctor.
When we finally arrived at the doctor’s office, I wasn’t exactly comforted by the nurses’ fearful looks as they took in the expression on my face. Maybe they’re just not used to foreign girls in golden sandals limping painfully into the clinic. But then, I walked into the doctor’s office, only to find that he’d been browsing motorcycles online.
Anyhow, Nitin and I told him the situation. The doctor did an abdominal check, ran some tests, injected a painkiller into my lower back, and suggested we go to a Diagnostic Centre to get my abdomen ultra-sounded (yes, that’s right). After looking at the scans, Dr. N tells me I have “suspected appendicitis.”
At this point, it became clear that I would have to miss out on the road trip to Masinagudi, a tiger reserve about 5 hours from Bangalore, that several friends and I had planned. Because, you know, excruciating abdominal pain in the middle of the forest wasn’t really something I was willing to risk.
My friend Pranav suggested that I get a second opinion on the appendicitis, which seemed like a good idea. I didn’t know if I could trust Dr. Let Me Browse Motorcycles During Work Hours, so Nitin and I went to Columbia Asia Hospital the next day. The doctor and surgeon whom I consulted both diagnosed me with appendicitis, referencing the abdominal scan and the rebound tenderness of the appendix that I was exhibiting.
I asked the surgeon what his advice would be in terms of moving forward. He suggested surgery “of course, because I’m a surgeon” (Really, like really? That’s your professional opinion?), but he said the final call was up to me. Which kind of threw me off as a 23-year-old Hispanic Studies major living in a foreign country with absolutely no medical experience. But you know, thanks for thinking I can handle things.
After considering all the options and consulting with my parents, it seemed that surgery was indeed the best option. Although appendicitis can be safely treated with antibiotics, apparently 20% of patients have a recurrence within a year, and need eventual appendectomy anyways.
So now, I had to face one of my greatest fears, which, oddly enough, is general anesthesia. I’ve dealt with my fair share of anxiety, and control has been an important aspect in dealing with it. Anesthesia meant being put to sleep and not being able to control anything that was happening to me during that time. Also, it’s pretty evident from my Insomniac post that I have a complicated relationship with sleep. For years, I avoided any kind of medication that made me drowsy (even Nyquil) because I didn’t like losing control over how and when I went to sleep.
But, if anything, this week has made me a master at finding silver linings.
On Sunday, Nitin took me to check into Columbia Asia. I’ll never forget waiting to get a pre-operation blood test, and seeing Pranav, Sunny, and Philip literally stride into the hospital on their way back from Masinagudi. I’ll never be more grateful for having a personal entourage as I entered the elevator to go to the inpatient ward. The four of them lined up, leaning on the nurse’s station counter as the nurses checked my height and weight was a sight to behold.
Anjali and Pranav stayed with me before the surgery, and Anjali was there until I was wheeled out the door and down to the operating wing. I wasn’t allowed to have my contacts in or bring my glasses. The most nerve-wracking 10 minutes were probably when I was left by myself outside the operating theatre, waiting for it to be prepped, blind as can be and left alone with my thoughts and fears. Once I was wheeled into the OR, it was back in action with a bunch of medical people milling around me, poking needles into my hand, doctors asking me questions and then–
Nothing.
I had a laparoscopic procedure, which means they poked three small holes into my “tummy” (-Dr. Kumar), in order to observe and remove the appendix. It probably didn’t take more than 2 hours, and then I was wheeled to the recovery room where I woke up to beeping monitors and drowsy-looking people in surgical caps. And the rest is history. Well, at least my appendix is.
Someone got real cozy in my hospital bed.
Newspaper from the hospital. I’m a Taurus. Seriously.
2 days later, I had a final round interview for the company in San Francisco, which meant I had to do some serious prep and also complete a presentation during recovery. The perfect end to this post would be that I got the job, but alas, life is not all marshmallows and flowers.
Sadly, I had to cancel visiting my family in York this week, because I can’t lug around two heavy, elephant-souvenir filled suitcases around England. So that’s why I’m here. But hey, I’m enjoying another silver lining, which happens to be a made-to-order omelette by a chef who looks straight out of a Pixar movie and a room with a serious view, where my parents have put me up for my recovery.
Hello, Bangalore.
And it’s also knowing that people have my back. So thank you, Nitin for supporting me through it all. Thank you Pranav and Anjali, for being there. Thank you Rosie, Shruti, Amulya. Thank you, Roopa for figuring out my accommodations. Thank you to my boss and her daughter for the advice and putting in a word at the hospital and even offering me to stay with them.
So there’s a lot to be grateful for, that’s for sure.
Finding Bangalore 
Apparently Mats’ emotional – mainly telepathic – support does not get a thank you note.
Well screw you then. I hope your belly bursts.