I've lost my gall

by Tushar Burman

The view from my hospital room

Additionally, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve shamelessly abused that pun. In brief, the nagging problem that has bothered me for seven years or so was a tiny black gallstone. Tiny like a peppercorn. Big enough to be a problem. It’s gone, along with its home.

What has this taught me about my lifestyle? Not much, really. Shit happens even if it shouldn’t happen to you till you’re 80. It did teach me a bit about the people close to me — for whom I shall remain forever grateful and to whom I owe thanks.

In particular, for the indomitable ET, who has been by my side since I first went into the hospital circus at Divali. She handled the paperwork, the preemptive phonecalls to insurance, sleeping in the hospital room on an uncomfortable futon, standing guard while I needed help using the toilet. To say nothing of the incessant legwork and crosstown driving despite a daily work schedule. Oh, and shuttling between FOUR hospitals through her own ill health at that. If we worked together, she would be insufferably efficient and I would be murdered.

To mom for being there and keeping all the shit together across a sick mother and son, multitudes of doctors, appointments and uncertainty. To Usha for keeping the home fires burning and the depressed dog fed, even if it meant hand-feeding.

To Shahnaz and Ketan for greasing the wheels, to Drs Rahul Kalia and Tilak Das for putting up with long-distance hypochondria and poor two-stroke analogies. To Jeetu & family, Ajay and Adeet for making it, sometimes across continents. To my in-laws and extended family for making sure I felt like there was an army to back me up. ET’s uncle insists I live with him for a while so he can fatten me up.

To Hari for lending us his car which made our hospital trips infinitely more bearable. To my colleagues who picked up my slack and ensured things worked. To HR and the insurance company, who sometimes do not deserve the poor reputation they’ve earned. To the surgeon who treated us like family even though the connection is distant — you have the undying adulation of the mrs, for completely unrelated reasons.

To the wife that complains that I never blog about her. There aren’t enough clichés…