I too had a normal life. It was filled with the kind of happiness, sadness, pains, ups and downs that any normal human being would have. In the prime of my youth, at the age of 25, when everything around me was colourful and bright and I was about to pursue my dreams, I was diagnosed with classical Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The medically aware among you will know the prognosis. For the rest, I do not wish to go into the details. There is nothing to be gained from hearing the details of my disease.
Cancer brought its woes, no doubt. I am sure that needs no explanation. Every one of you would have felt directly or indirectly, or at least heard of someone who had cancer and what follows chemotherapy. Yes, you lose your hair, and so on. But I would like to state a few facts about life after cancer, the life after you survive cancer. That’s supposed to be bright, right?
This is just an incident in my life. So let’s not generalise and stereotype. The day after my twelfth and last chemotherapy session, I got an interview call. Excited and exhausted as I was, I decided to attend the interview. Inside me was the feeling of being an underdog taking on the world, the downtrodden rising and that sort of self-patronising stuff. Trust me, that’s what had helped me through the treatment. Getting a mental high from the physician’s defeat was a personal medicine. It was now not to serve me any longer. I was just going to face the truth.
In the interview room, I sat face to face with two people. And behind them was the picture of a revered individual who fills the stomachs of the poor and the hearts of millions. In a way you could say that the person is a God himself to many. They started with a speech about
what they intend to do and how great God is. Then, they looked at my resume.
Within minutes, they found out about the gaping hole in my resume, the 15 months or so during which I was employed nowhere. So, I went on to explain what happened, the disease I had and the treatment I underwent, not to mention how a doubted case of misdiagnosis took me from “cat scratch disease” all the way to the insides of Cancer Centre. They listened to everything patiently without even a faint nod of the head or in the least a sympathetic look (I hate sympathy, but at least that’s better than sheer indifference).
After I explained everything, he asked: “Will you be cured?”
Applause to his Steve Jobs style, nothing held back, blatantly frank approach.
“I will be… I am.” That was my answer. I mean, what else was I to say? I’m not sure, Cancer might come back and then chemo is the only way out. No folks, rocky is my hero. It’s not about how hard you get hit… (You do know your rocky lines, don’t you?)
He kept repeating the question. That was surely the best question to ask me. It helped me look at my life and make a few decisions. Like, am I cured? Will I live to see the next year? Will my hair ever grow back? Will this guy push me so much that I would want to vomit right here, right now? Should I ask him about the God behind him? Am I losing it all?
The train of thoughts went like that. But on the outside, I was calm. Or that is what I would like to believe.
Finally, he said he has met a few candidates and a decision would be made later. I smiled at him. Inside, I was thinking about Rocky’s upper cut and how good it would be serve my interviewer one right now. But I did not. Life ain’t all sunshine... (I know, it’s Rocky again).
I left the interview hall calmly and slowly. Calmly because I had nothing to hold against them and slowly because I was feeling a bit nauseous. It became clear to me suddenly. The world doesn’t care about you. You are going to be jobless and horrible for the rest of your life. And yeah, most important, the strong proponents of God are sometimes the ones with the least concern for humanity. Getting down the stairs, I understood the frailty of my body and my inability to walk fast. In a way, I had lost my youthfulness.
Every other job interview after that seemed like a breeze. They look at my papers and my documents, seem alright with everything till they notice the years spent doing nothing and then questions start to focus on that point. And then it is just a case of them deciding whether they should look for a luckier person. After all, who wants to take a risk? Maybe he’ll get cancer once again and then you are doomed. Well, he might after all be joining just for the health insurance scheme that you provide.
It will be wrong not to mention the kind hearts, those people in HR and management who decided to look at me as a candidate purely on the basis of merit and not pester me with questions on the disease. These folks were always supportive and always kept my personal experience a part of the personal conversation. Respect to them.
As for survivors looking to make a living out there, this should not make you troubled. I am sure most of you would not face such troubles. But this is my experience. It is my truth. It was not the worst experience in my life or the worst instance with or after cancer. But it was an eye-opener.
We all have our ups and downs. Surviving cancer in itself is a struggle. As with many aspects of the world, the love for cancer results in charity and emotions of apathy. But not many understand that a survivor deserves a life like everyone else. Is it a matter of equality? I believe so. I am not sure how the world sees it.
Two weeks after the first-mentioned interview, I got a call asking me if I would like to join. I told them I would call back. I did not call back. Was that arrogance on my part? You be the judge.
maheshkrishtvm@gmail.com
