About That Inspirational Tidbit I Promised...


It seems that no matter how bad things get, I always harbor some irrational hope for the future. A glance at blague entries from the summer of 2005 - easily one of my darkest times - confirms it. Some innate force of hope, as well as plenty of laughter, have kept me alive these last thirty years.

Eleven days ago I woke up wondering if my time had come. Apparently, God decided that I needed to appreciate my health, so he took it away. The upshot is that I've spent much of the last ten days devoid of the strength or will to move from my bed, sitting upright only to hack up gobs of green slime.

To be perfectly honest, I shun consultation with doctors in general and place them near the bottom of society's totem pole, frequently lambasting them as greedy, conniving demi-gods. But my symptoms - including an aching pain throughout my body - were worrisome enough that I did not hesitate to forsake my long-held principles.

As soon as I felt reasonably confident to remain upright for at least some hours, I dragged myself to Dr. Loomba, the resident homeopath at a neighboring ashram.

Dr. Loomba checked my temperature and tongue, asked me some relevant questions and gave me a special tincture to drink. The tincture was similar in appearance and taste to a shot of alcohol. He sent me home with two more special tinctures to alternate every four hours. As far as doctor visits go, I'd say this one was rather agreeable.

Back home, I collapsed once again in pain. Every few minutes, as I hacked up yet another remarkably unattractive chunk of green slime, my confidence in Dr. Loomba and his special tinctures waned.

Early the next morning I dressed myself, crossed the bridge, hailed a rickshaw into town and wandered the streets for half an hour asking "Nir-mal Hos-pi-tal kidhar hai?" fifty times before arriving at my destination just before 8am.

Dr. Aishwariya was very happy to see me, his first patient of the day. He asked all the standard questions about my condition, including whether I was married and whether I was alone or had any friends. As he took my temperature and blood pressure, he repeated over and over that I looked "same like Indian." As he pressed a stethoscope into my left breast, he mentioned how much he wanted to have foreigner friends. As he wrote my prescription, he advised me to "avoid dust and smoke."

Upon which I immediately burst into a painfully congested, hacking laughter; The forests above Rishikesh had been burning for at least five days and the entire region was saturated with smoke. And the dust is a permanent factor, with strong winds along Ganga's beaches keeping everything in range - including me and everything in my room - coated in layers upon layers of fine Ganga dust.

As I laughed away, spurred by the irony and pointlessness of it all, Dr. Aishwariya gave me his mobile number in case I needed to call him for any reason.

The next five days saw all of my previous activities replaced with one continuous hacking cough. And with plenty of disgusting things around to give perspective, I found that my own sputum bowl was, by far, the most revolting thing I have ever had to deal with. In my life.

Sometime during the week my friend Sanjay called to check in and say hello (score one for my guardian angels!!!). Upon discovering my sorry state, he did what any caring, concerned and conscientious American would do; he brought me sleeping pills.

He also drove me the next morning to see his doctor in Rishikesh - Dr. Sethi - who immediately ordered a chest x-ray and some bloodwork. Dr. Sethi was calm, professional and thorough. He diagnosed a chest infection (bronchitis), anemia and some other thing I can't spell, suggesting rather reasonably that first we treat the infection and deal with the funky bloodwork after. For the first time in a long time, I felt some confidence in a doctor's care..

Greatly relieved, I went home, cooked lunch and swallowed my antibiotics with hope for a prosperous future yet. I'm going to live, everyone!! You didn't know I was dying, but now you know that I am going to live!!!! It's the best of both worlds, no?

Sickness in a foreign country is always something of an adventure. And while it is one I absolutely prefer not to have, I'd rather have it here than in, for example, Mexico or Nepal.


. . .



If I was complaining before about the difficulty of keeping up my simple meditation routine, well, I guess it wasn't that difficult. At least it was possible. Anyone out there who has successfully meditated with bronchitis is welcome to share his secrets...this morning I lasted a mere 15 minutes before exploding into another hacking cough.

Many times throughout my life I've noticed that when I think I am in some kind of "bad situation," I am duly humbled when the "bad situation" evolves into something much, much worse.

Two examples leap immediately to mind; first, I recall the Executive Director at Scripps where I worked during university. I remember how we all hated him, criticizing his character flaws and mocking his incompetence. When his replacement arrived, we understood what we had lost.

And many times I criticized Southern California for being superficial. Then I moved to Washington, D.C., where I discovered urban warfare. At least we have a gorgeous coastline! Ha ha ha haaaaaa!

Time and time again I am forced to recognize that all things are relative, and reminded to appreciate every moment, because it can always get worse..

Ha ha ha haaaa haaa haa haaaaah ah ahhahahahahaa ha! Life is beautiful, folks, so live it up while you can.



. . .




I can tell I'm feeling better 'cause I'm feelin' a bit cheeky and this morning I was up and ready to bounce at 5am, just like old times. Damn it's good to be alive!


A few things that can't bring me down;

-flies in my tea

-Buddha eating a hole in my panties (or maybe that hole was already there..?)

-angry Russians in Kazakhstan

-swine flu

-6,754 staring Indians





signing out with love, hugs, and a new lease on life..
LMA