30th January 2025

"Vinay, Nana ki report le aana!" Mother shouted from the other room.

I got the report, glanced over it, and saw the word malignant.
Things were bad, but I didn’t know they were this bad—
Not until I read it in detail at home.

Malignant lung cancer.
Spread to the 4th and 5th ribs, the pulmonary artery.
At 70, with a weak body, the doctors would probably recommend a mix of chemotherapy, surgery, and maybe radiation.
If he survives—
And oh, how I dearly hope he does—
His body will endure unimaginable pain.

Mother asks, "What did the report say?"
"Spreading cancer," is all I say.
I hide the details.
I am no doctor, to tell and carry the weight of those words.

Soon, Mama arrives for the report.
My MBBS cousin looks at it and says it’s Stage 4.

I know how people become.
I know what they feel.
I have felt it.
I have lived through it.
I have seen Death.

The disease is not in my immediate family,
But those I hold dear will hurt.

Why, mind, why?
Why do you feel so confident that his days are numbered?
Why do you show me the crying faces of those I love?
Why do you imagine what has not yet happened?

It will be one of those nights again.
Where memories will return—
From the dark, gloomy days.

After all this,
I think I understand, a little more of,
The weight and responsibility doctors carry.
A.V

In these time all that heals me, is my warm shwalls embrace and songs company.