Big Girls Can Cry

So, after much deliberation, I decided to write about the latest goings on in India today. Too many people posting Facebook updates of being there for people if they want to talk. While all this is very noble and well intentioned for the most part, I have a real problem with it. 

Mainly because, mental health in India is the very very VERY last thing on the table. 

In between the convoluted notions of the good and bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the wealthy and the poor, it is the grey areas that stay forever in the dark. It is frowned upon to struggle, to show that you are struggling. The notions of suffering mentally is laughed at, ridiculed. Labelled crazy, pagal, retarded, insane.... weak.

A society that is so performance driven, that thrives on the outward gloss, the things, the successes and the very extreme disparities, talking about everyday struggles, depression, sadness is almost non existent. 

In a culture that encourages you to suppress fundamental feelings of love, lust, greed, envy, failure, loss and grief, there is very little room to recognize that call for help. 

A culture that is extremely judgemental, of the rich and poor, the fat and the slim, the dark skin and light skinned, of the kind of car you drive, where you holiday, the brands you shop, the number of household help you have or even if you have a head full of hair, we learnt early on, not to talk about these things that stay with us all throughout our lives. 

We only talk of accolades, successes, money, gifts, acquisitions... that feeling of being under the microscope for the way you look, act, talk, eat, walk, earn, work, is forever prevalent. Not walking that line, that our culture so vociferously imposes, has severe consequences. Sometimes physical, but most psychological. 

Crying, expressing anger, disappointment, anguish or grief is considered weak. Too often we hear the words “You have everything going right for you, what do you have to be depressed about?” Or “you should try to adjust” 

As a culture we shame people. We raise anxious kids. We put pressure on ourselves and our children to excel and perform constantly.  Throw social media into this already murky mix and it is a bomb waiting to go off. 

In the unfortunate and devastatingly sad eventuality that something happens, there is the constant chatter, rumours. media hysteria that is over the top, crass, horribly intrusive, speculative and very very disturbing. The hunt to blame someone or  something gains momentum and the circus that ensues is absolutely horrifying. If that does not deter someone to forever seal their lips, I don’t know what will. 

We all need mental health support from the very beginning of our journeys. In school, at home, in hospitals, at work. There has to be a level of trust, of presence and communication for someone to be able to talk about their struggles. Often this is a qualified and objective therapist but it can be a friend or simply a stranger. 

Our fear of judgment silences that need to talk to someone. 

After I moved to Canada, I saw the difference between how mental health is treated differently here. Each time I would take my daughter to the doctor, from the time she was 4 yrs old, he would address her directly, ask about her friends, her favourite subjects. He would ask her (directly) if she was struggling with something, if she was happy. These small things, often overlooked in a country with 1.5 Billion people make the difference between establishing trust or not.

After my cancer diagnosis, an onco-psychologist was assigned to me to help me and my family deal with the cancer diagnosis, the struggle of the disease and the aftermath. There was information given out at every step, therapy suggested for those that needed further interventions, resources available. 

My onco-psychologist did not tell me to be strong, she did not reassure me that things will be ok, she did nothing except sit there and be present. She did not say “ you should be glad this is not brain cancer”.  She heard my fears about the disease, even if it were ludicrous, but she never said I was wrong to feel the things I did. 

She NORMALIZED these feelings. She made me feel like my feelings were valid. 

That is why perhaps, I was able to make peace with it so early on. 

The thing with depression and mental health is that you cannot possibly detect it from the outside. There are so many levels to it and it takes real courage for someone to be able to talk about their struggles. 

If we really want to make a difference we need to first stop putting labels. This is psychological bullying as well. 

We need to talk of our failures with our kids and not just our successes. We need  to listen without reaction. REALLY listen without judgement. We need to be ok with failure, ok with being average, ok with taking a break and not being forced to perform. We need to keep confidences in CONFIDENCE.  We need to start showing up for our friends, for our family. Most importantly we need to be ok with being sad, angry, disappointed or overwhelmed. We need to learn early on that the inside matters a whole lot more than the outside. 

That being sad is just as valid as being happy. Because sometimes, big girls can cry.

Ça va bien aller: ishita banerjee 12” x 18”

The Aftermath

They sent me home after the surgery. Told me I was recovering well. I could not swallow properly without choking. My voice was a whisper only. I was in the kind of pain I had never experienced before. My mother fussed over me, often tiptoeing around my irritable and uncomfortable state. I needed help in supporting my neck while getting in and out of bed. A music box and a bell were my calls for help.
Daughter wanted a hug. She was scared of my bandaged neck. I could see the conflict in her eyes as she tried her hardest to understand yet wanted to get away from me. She wanted her old mommy back, but I had changed. With the tumor, they took away my normalcy.
The first 24 hours were hard. A blur of pain and medication. Nausea threatening every move, unable to speak, unable to communicate. Outside, life went on as usual. Tia went to school, the February freeze continued. Friends came home to see me and I tried my best to be a good sport about it.
In the first couple days, I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want to meet friends and especially hated being fussed over. I absolutely hated concerned glances thrown my way, and the fragility of my situation. I was tired, irritated, voiceless, in pain and had shooting pains all down my arms.
Day 4 was much the same as the previous two. A Saturday morning. A blizzard blowing outside. A steady snow obliterating the view. I sat down to swallow my liquid breakfast of portige when all of a sudden I felt my hands going numb. Within seconds I was lightheaded and losing consciousness. Next my chest tightened up dramatically making it impossible to breathe. I lay down. It got worse. Within a matter of seconds my body was in a vice like grip avd all my muscles clenched up. My hands would not straighten. My fingers curled into a claw and the most intense pain took the breath out of my lungs. I thought I was dying. Maybe this is what a stroke feels like.
Whispering desperately to call 911, I clutched at my father, terrified at what was happening to me. Call 911 I said. I am in trouble. It took them a few minutes to register the severity of the duration as my body began to clench even tighter, making each breath an agony. My only coherent thought wat that time was that I did not want Tia to have this as the last image of her mother.
My face got distorted. My fingers clenched so tight that I could not feel my hands anymore. I begged my mother to take Tia away from me as my husband desperately called 911. The blizzard had intensified.
The fire men were the first to arrive. It took them less then 10 mins to reach. The snow by now had blanketed the path to our house. They assess the situation. Check my vitals and sternly ask me not lie down. The paramedics arrive 3 minutes later. My father gives him a quick over view of my situation. He explains to the paramedic that I was in full blown titanny: caused by a severe lack of calcium in my body.
By now I am in absolute agony. I want to scream in pain but I have no voice. The vice like grip on my hands and my chest intensified further as I struggled to breathe. My cheeks are completely contorted now. I feel the vice start to grip my even stronger. Save my hand please I beg the paramedics. I’m an artist and I need my hands, I plead.
The paramedic tries his best to reassure me. He communicates with the firemen as the bring in the stretcher and strap my contorted body onto it.
The cold seeps in through my thin sleep pajamas as they carry me down the stairs. It’s a blinding blizzard. My face is wet from the snow, my body inside aflame in agony. They lay down the stretcher on the side of the pavement as they open the ambulance door. I can’t feel the cold. The slew of snowflakes fall in a sheet dotting the red blanket they have put on my body. A thin t shirt and red blanket no match for the raging blizzard outside.
I don’t remember much after that. The pain was so intense that I kept blacking out. The hospital was less than 500 meters from home. They drive me in and take me straight to emergency.
They strip me down as my clenched body refuses to cooperate. The doctor confirmeds my fathers diagnosis. I’m in full blown Titanny from the lack of calcium in my body.

The Surgery

The date of the surgery to remove my thyroid cancer and the whole thyroid gland was scheduled within a week. I had to mentally prepare myself, get organized, have my parents fly in from India to help and wind up my affairs at office to go on  extended leave.
At the pre surgery tests, I was a bundle of nerves, nervous, anxious and still unaccepting.  It was my calm, level headed, immensely knowledgeable father, who calmed me down to face the reality. His wisdom and calm reassurances were the turning point in this journey.
8th February 2017 dawned with messy freezing rain which left dangerously slippery sidewalks and roads all over the city. The night before was extremely emotional. I cried for the days before my diagnosis, I cried for fear of the unknown, I cried wondering if life as I knew it would ever be the same again. I cried not knowing what the doctors would find and the repercussions it ment for my family. I cried like I never had before, I prayed like never before. With every fibre of my being, all i wished for was to get better and be there for my daughter.
The hospital admissions went smoothly, I was the first surgery for the day. I changed into the sterile hospital gown, covered my hair with the hospital cap, and gave my father and husband an emotional hug goodbye before being wheeled into the OR. The nurse pushing me in told me to pray to whatever force I believed in to be able to overcome this. Eyes closed, sweaty palmed and with a ball of fear knotted in my stomach, I prayed with all my might.
I said hello to my doctor, the discussion all around me was of the messy, icy rain and treacherous driving conditions. I was told to walk into the OR,the anaesthesiologists introduced themselves. The monitors were plugged into to the stickers on my chest. The last thing I remember was extending my right arm for the intravenous line before I went into a deep sleep.
A few hours later, I woke up to intense jaw splitting bone crushing pain. Nausea threatened every move, and I could not speak more than a whisper. It was done, my thyroid was gone. The pain was intense, unbearable. A nurse came and gave me anti nausea medication as I lay there, bruised and blue, but relieved that step one was done. The next few hours were a blur. I could not swallow, I wanted water but I would choke. I wanted to speak, but it was agony. After an intense afternoon of pain and many attempts at trying to take pain medication orally, I finally managed to take one.
The sheer helplessness that you feel after a major surgery is truly humbling. The human body suffers a blow when things go out of balance, but it has a remarkable tendency to realign and adjust itself to this blow. Once the pain medication and the nausea medicines kicked in, I was able to sit up.  late that evening, in the bathroom, I finally looked into the mirror at the new me, blotched, swollen face and neck and a white bandage at the base of my neck, where my normal carefree life one was...

The Cancer Chronicles

It took me quite sometime to accept the diagnosis. At night I would lay awake, trying to think of what signs I had missed. Was there something I had done? Was it something I could have done differently to avoid this? Why me, I asked repeatedly? I couldn't understand, I didnt want to understand. I read a few websites, got even more depressed at words like life expectancy and long term prognosis. I couldn't even go a few hours without crying.
A week later, I went to my doctor who very matter of factory gave me details of the surgery and the tests I would need. She was efficient and professional but she was not the kind who would give me a hug and reassurance. In my mind, no one could understand what I was feeling. I was angry one minute, devasted the next. I wanted to go on feeling normal but the normal did not exist anymore. My husband told me to think of it as a bump in the road. His way of dealing with this was completely different.
My everyday tasks became monumental. I had to talk myself into getting dressed in the morning. I was trying my hardest to put on a brave face for my daughter, dropping her to school each day, helping her with her homework, helping mer make a science project, where tears threatened my every move. I hated seeing my friends go on with normal lives. I was envious of people who didn't have to go through the motions with a dead weight on their heart.
People around me, those who loved me, kept telling me to be positive, some kept telling me that it was nothing and I would overcome it. I hated to hear this. Hated the patronizing tone, the be positive lecture, the "it could have been worse" talk. I could not see the positive. Where was this? How could they tell me to be positive when my body was being ravaged by the unknown? Did they understand how hard it is to cook for the family I love, knowing I have a dreaded disease. Did anyone understand that I was terrified? That every hug my daughter gave me opened up floodgates in my heart? How did they know that things would be alright? They all attempted to make normal conversation around me, when all I wanted to do was scream out my frustration of not being "normal" anymore.
I felt alone and alienated from everyone. They all wanted me to be normal and accept this, when all I wanted to do was cry. I did'nt want to hear scientific facts, medical prognosis, website references, patronizing lectures or even reassurances. I didn't want sympathy, or anything at all. I just wanted to cry.
I cried everyday, every hour the first couple of days. I would manage to compose myself in spurts, but suddenly the gates would open again and I would fall apart. My husband did not understand why I was so down. He kept telling me to pick myself up but that only made me angry. He tried his best, but I didn't to speak to him, didn't want to acknowledge that he was the normal one, while cancer was eating away not only at my body, but my heart and my mind too. 

The Day Cancer Chose Me

January in Montreal can be notorious for its bone chilling frigid days. This January, however, was different. The weekend before was packed with activities. Some of my art prints were on display at this really cool and hip art store in the trendiest part of the city. I was getting a steady slew of online orders and my head and heart were abuzz with so many new ideas for my Etsy shop.
I had got new glasses, new clothes from my recent trip to the US and after a really creative holiday season, road trip to visit friends and a lovely New Years break, I was on a roll.
I was supposed to get my biopsy results for thyroid nodules this cold January morning. Everyone assured me that it was a common occurrence, that 90% ( a staggeringly positive statistic) of thyroid nodules are benign and I woke up feeling confident that i'd get good news. After all, there was no history of cancer in my family. My blood work and indicators were normal. Yes sir, the odds were definitely in my favour.
3 days ago, we celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. I saved the champagne bottle to open tonight, when I came home with good news from the doctor, the celebrations postposed for just 3 days.

We dropped Tia off to school and I remember standing there at the school gate, wondering if things will be the same the next day. I put the niggling nervousness out of mind and after I showered and prepared for my day, I reached for my favourite lucky blue dress. I put on the pearl earrings my best friend Mayuri gave me for my 25th birthday, one which I have worn for every job interview, every life event and every successful and joyous event of my life. Dad called to wish me good luck. Brother called to say the same. Husband insisted on accompanying me as we hailed a cab on this not-so-severe cold January day, as we went straight to the doctors office.

We had waited 6 weeks for the results to come. Each previous appointment was pushed further and further back 3 times and I just wanted to know what it was. They heralded me into the room and husband gave my hand a squeeze as we waiting for the doctor to come in.
She came in with a file, not making eye contact but looking straight into the file. I was expecting a cheery hello but as soon as I saw her face, my heart kind of froze. She minced no words. Time stood still, I felt myself floating, looking at the room from above. At 9.55am on January 23rd 2017, cancer chose me.

The band was tightening around my chest. I felt a deep flush rising from my torso and making its way up my neck to my face. My hands trembled and all comprehensive thought left my mind. All I kept hearing was that I have cancer. I was hyperventilating and that's when i started to shake, trembling as if to get the dreaded disease out of my body, to shake my head and not acknowledge this part that no one can ever prepare for.
I just wanted to run out of that place, I was furious at my doctor, angry at the tissues she handed me, livid at everyone who told me it was it was going to be ok. I was devastated that I believed them. How could I have believed everyone when they said I'd be ok?  I have no recollection of what she said to me after that. I knew I was supposed to ask questions but I drew a blank. I tried my best to hold it together to sign the consent form for the surgery with trembling hands and blurry vision and only when I made my way outside the building, I allowed great big sobs to consume my body as the skies opened up and snowflakes fell on my drenched face.

We dont always remember the days and times which change our lives. Little can prepare us for when presented with earth shattering news. January 23rd, 2017 will be the day that changed my life forever. A day which definitively divided my life into a before and after, January 23rd, 2017 was that day that cancer chose me.

Going gracefully into the grey

Just a handful of years after hitting the fourth decade, I see what the big deal is all about.

Gravity is never kind to the big boned girls, and we certainly won't be facebook friends in the fourth decade. Lets just say, its all going downhill from here.

My eyesight was the first to go. After more than 3 decades of 6/6 vision and having the distinction of being the only Banerjee without glasses, I couldn't read anymore. I kept sending wrong texts to people, sending my boss my whole grocery list instead of directing it to my husband, who was double parked outside the depanneur. I needed to squint to work on my computer and much to delight of my daughter, often missed elementary math mistakes.
Next was this pesky double chin. It would crop up at every angle. no matter how much water I drank, how many neck extensions i did, it refused to leave my side. I gave up wearing necklaces, since it brought too much attention to the heavy jowls. So I hid behind the fashionable folds of heavy scarves and stoles. 

Black became my favourite color and seems to be the only color I wear everyday to camouflage my widening girth. Hitting 40 was like swallowing a balloon. If I wasn't actively losing weight, I was just gaining weight. My proportions started going out of whack in a not so good way. 
My makeup stopped going on smoothly and at the end of the day, mascara would have pooled in the most unbecoming of ways around my tired eyes. So, I bought retinol cream of course. I slathered it on day and night. It made my pillow all greasy sometimes, but I'd rather have non droopy eyelids than a clean pillowcase anyday.
Shapewear became my best friend. Sucking it all in as I hold my breath while slithering into a pencil skirt after having eaten oatmeal for breakfast...just try that on for fun one day.
Next is the gap in the buttonholes of the shirt. Really, how hard is it to put little hooks and eyes in between the gaping flaps? Have a heart on the not-so-slim, bordering-on-the-plus-side segment. I stopped going clothes shopping. It was seriously getting depressing to try on a mountain of jeans in all combinations of sizes to find that NOT ONE FIT they way it was supposed to. Online shopping is infinitely better...try on what you like in the privacy of your home and not get sympathetic looks from pesky sales people.

Aging gracefully in the times of social media is a whole another ballgame. I see so many oomph worthy, perfectly pouty, doe eyed photographs of people I went to kindergarten with, cropping up frequently on my news feed. Of course they will post pictures from Bora Bora or Hawaii or Fiji, posing in their itty-bitty bikinis or hot pants while i hastily pull down my diaphanous tunic to cover my ever-widening posterieur while scrolling down my smartphone.
Not one to be left behind, for my next post, I try the Kim K style duckface to take a selfie which makes me look like Cruella de Ville. I try lifting the phone higher at a more becoming angle to get an artfully perspective shot, only to drop it straight on my eye and have a manhole sized bruise for a week. Elegant.
Then there is the slew of slim fast and detox water concoctions crowding for space on my timeline. I don't remember having gone a single day without seeing a Garcinia Cambogia advertisment or a lemon, mint, cucumber, ox tail, rhino urine crap concoctions clamoring for my attention.
My hair is the last to go. The thick beachy waves have kind of taken on a limpid mousy sheen. I shed like a  Canadian sugar maple in autumn and the girth of my ponytail is inversely proportional to my waist size. The grey has crept up so stealthily that it can put a drone in Afghanistan to shame. I toy with the idea of lobbing it all off, maybe try the unicorn color trend that's so in and chic right now, but the idea of looking like a My Little Pony wannabe seriously deters me.

All this self doubt and trying to lag behind in the age race brought me to an uncomfortable realisation that I was sending out so many mixed messages to my beautiful, impressionable tween. Asking her one day if I should color my hair, she gave me a horrified look and said " But you are my mom and that's why you have grey hair, without it, you wouldn't look like my mom" Squirm worthy moment continued when she asked me "Maman, why do you want to look different?" I stuttered a noncoherent reply and took a step back to look at how damaging my behaviour has probably been for my daughter. 

To prevent any possible long term damage and therapy bills, I will happily resign myself to the chub rub and the flabby arms. Goodbye forever, smooth eyeliner and blemish free tight lifted skin. Self-esteem, confidence, tenacity and determination are the qualities I am going to focus on instead. I'm going to laud a beautiful heart instead of a beautiful face. I'm going to give integrity, grit and dreams more importance than success and resources.  Its going to be an uphill task in this insanely disposable and plastic world we live in, but i've never been afraid of a little hill ( or a couple) before. 
My skin may sag, but the eyes will twinkle. My girth may be a problem, but i'll position it in the audience when my daughter performs. Let the sun add a few more freckles and coats of tan while we chase butterflies in the sun and let the sweat drip off my limp hair while I go gracefully into the grey, holding tightly onto my daughter's hand.

FALL-en

The leaves outside shine yellow, offset by a deep grey sky. There's a cold wind blowing and leaves tumble, fall, rise up in the drift and settle down again. Here, the seasons march so distinctly and purposefully into one another. Each season is so well defined and makes its presence felt in all its hues and shades. Fall is however, my favourite of them all. 

When the schools reopen after the summer, when the rush in the metro makes me groan, when the fun seems to wind up after a busy summer and things seem to settle slowly into a rhythm, that's autumn to me. Its when I dust out my long boots, when my scarfs line the inside of the closet door, when I lock horns with my daughter about the wearing a hat or the thick fleece leggings. Its when the fingers suddenly go chilly after a short walk or the wind reddens the cheeks. When the makeup I wear does not puddle under my eyes and when I burrough down deep into my turtleneck as I brave the walk to work. 
Its when the festivals of home are celebrated with a much-anticipated gusto, its when the excitement of Halloween hangs in the air. Its potluck suppers, apple pie,  gossip and comforting wine, or curling up with a blanket on the couch to watch something really old on the telly.

Its watching the squirrels rushing to stock up for the cold, its crunching the leaves as I walk back home, its taking in the fresh gulps of air after spending the day in a heated office and its the smell of spiced pumpkin latte wafting from the cafe. Its craving soups and stews and warm cuddles, its turning up the oven as the lasagna bubbles away, Its grey one day, brilliant sunshine the next, its deep dark evenings and making plans for the winter. Its the feeling of slowing down, and gathering pace all at once. Its the feeling of letting go, of settling down, of starting anew and I Fall in love with this season all over again.