Meaning in Misadventure (2020)

All pain can be transformed into art by telling its story. This is the story of the summer of 2018. 2018 was an eventful year, spanning the entire emotional spectrum, from exhilaration to intense personal travail. I went to Switzerland for my summer holidays to learn how to ski, a sport that fascinated me for months of Sundays.

The skiing resort was in Zermatt at a height of 3899 metres, around three and a half kilometres above mean sea level. I learned to ski down all kinds of slopes and we were so high in the mountains that I felt like I was flying. My parents and I spent a week amongst the clouds and then came back down to the picturesque town. None of us suffered from altitude sickness. Sso, we gave our paracetamol and aspirin to a young girl with severe headaches. The next activity on our to-do list was swimming in a 50-metre pool, on the first day after a fortnight of skiing. The lap pool was much bigger than I expected and the swimming exhausted us. I was bone-tired and all I could think about was the palatable pasta in pesto sauce from the restaurant around the corner. My parents’ food had just arrived when I felt a sudden onset of dizziness and then everything went blurry. I prefer to introspect rather than confide, so even though I shook with fear, I went to the restroom and squeezed my eyes shut. The reason for my inquietudein quietude and terror? Every person has a dominant sense, as scientists will attest, and mine was indisputably sight. I did the only thing I could, and that was rinse my glasses. As I did, I felt my perspective was skewed, as though the glasses were too far, or maybe to close. My panic clouded any rational thought. I assured my parents that I was all right and the only reason I took a while was because the lock was stuck. We walked in a park in the bright summer sunshine, but the only bright thing I could see was the spots in front of my eyes. I hastily put my symptoms into the Google search bar. The result was, ‘Emergency medical care’. I put faith in my mistrust in online results and tried to walk more steadily. It was unbearable and I had to sit down. The darkness of closing my eyes was  the only thing that eliminated the strain on them. When I awoke, I was confused and felt helpless.

I informed my parents at long last. They insisted that we fly home post- haste. I visited many ophthalmologists, psychiatrists and chemists and everyone said my symptoms were inconclusive. A doctor recommended that I fly to New Delhi to see a doctor from India’s best institute, AIIMS. It had been two months after we arrived from Switzerland. The night before I left for New Delhi, I tossed and turned in my bed. Scary thoughts flew through my mind. Was it hard to learn Braille? Would I stay in school? What did my future look like? As I glanced through the diagnosis after returning from New Delhi, my tears made the ink bleed, but I managed to make out the words ‘Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension’ or ‘IIH’. The last two words mean high pressure in the brain but the first one scared me the most, meaning ‘no known cause’. My parents put me on Diamox, a tablet which provided some respite. I visited another specialist who informed us that I required brain surgery. I was aghast but there seemed to be no way out. Another doctor, however, deemed it was unnecessary and said I only required a lumbar puncture, which is a 4-inch needle being inserted into the spinal cord, in the hopes to reduce cranial pressure. My mother, the doctor in our family, took the calculated risk of forfeiting the Stent in my brain and before I knew it, I was in the operating theatre of Breach Candy Hospital for a lumbar puncture. After two weeks of praying and enormous quantities of Diamox, I woke up one Sunday and found my symptoms gone. I cheered and ran to tell my parents. The cause could have been going from a high altitude to swimming underwater, a genetic disorder, but till date, no one has determined the cause. I was so happy to be out the other side. It is as painful to recollect this incident now as it was then, but I learned so much from it.

Seeing the unpredictability of health and life, I was inspired to forge a path that provided me with security and has a positive impact on the lives of others. I wanted to help everyone in every way I could, so they too would come out the other side unhurt.

My experience inspired me to raise money for schools for the visually impaired. I was impacted profoundly by the summer of 2018. The importance of art came to light. As I was not able to read at times, music helped soften the edges of my condition. My love for my family was fortified and I felt loved as my parents did all they could for me and my frenzied demeanour was soothed by their unwavering calm. I developed resilience and patience, along with resourcefulness.

Most importantly, I learned never to take God’s gifts for granted and be thankful for the simple things we have, like light, which we see all the time but never notice until it is gone. I learned the importance of valuing the human body and to accept a situation for what it is, and never stop looking for a way out. As a wise man once said, ‘Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.’