Category: Journal

Cancer, Journal, Myself, Preeti

Robo Husband AKA Running Diary on Days 3,4,5,6

Sanjay Sabarwal
Cover of "Robocop"
Cover of Robocop

 

By Jemal Yarbrough

 

Today was one of her good days, and the old beautiful smile of hers returned as well as the desire to put something of substance in her stomach instead of my constant pleas to eat.  I also learned that the fear of the many horrors they told us about had not manifested yet, and I thanked God for the break in schedule.  Instead of a full week full of anxiety dreading the side effects, we got a small dosage of what was to come, and for that I am thankful.

I have much to learn that much I realize now and accept.  While a chance comment from one of her dear friends that I was a “robo husband” hurt my feelings for a second, the reality was that it hurt because it was true.  I am constantly struggling between being a caregiver rather than a caretaker.  I know for her what’s more important is not someone who can attend to all her physical needs but someone who can replenish her with love and care (a gentle reminder from another good friend of hers).

I am not going to lie, that’s exactly what I am scared of.  Between constantly wanting her to be comfortable and trying to provide her all the comforts of the world, I am worried I am not up to the task, that what I am doing is hollow and meaningless.  This is no longer someone who is sick, but my wife and we are going to spend the rest of our lives together.  What scares me is not knowing what will happen, and when the side effects will take form and then it hits me that I am again failing to be in the NOW.  I cannot control what she will go through nor can I stop the process.  And then it hits me that I have to be full myself before I can empty myself into her.  I need to do what makes me, ME or I will just remain a caretaker.

I know she knows that I love her deeply but the reality is I need to show it more than just feeding her medications at the right time or filling the fridge with her favorites.  I have to stop being robotic or worse just a caretaker.  I also see now that is how I am dealing with her pain, by compartmentalizing her into a schedule which does not allow for her to express her emotional pain and frustration.  I have to let her have the slice of pizza without the admonition to not put red peppers on it or take her medication as I scheduled.  I just have to let her be, let her get it out, whatever she is feeling because the cancer is not just physical, it’s also taken over her mind.  I cannot be a Robocop, not allowing her to go through all the motions she needs to in order to get a grasp of what has happened to her.

As I struggled with my guilt, I received a wonderful email from a stranger who encouraged me to go on, to keep on writing to figure out what we are going through and suddenly that one page email reminded me that I have all the tools to make her get through this and that is through friends, family but most importantly me (as self-important as that sounds).

And so a week ends, and we begin anew again tomorrow.  I think I know what I must do, and for now that is enough.

To the nameless friends and strangers who gave me the idea for this post: Thank You.

Related Articles
Journal, Myself, Preeti

Quiet Cancer:

Sanjay Sabarwal
Hear and Now
Image via Wikipedia

It is quiet in here.  Wait, that;s not exactly true, let me rephrase.  It’s quiet enough that I hear the satisfying click of words being typed on this page.  So  different type of quiet.  If I strain enough, I can hear the dog gently snoring in the next room, moving occasionally to get more comfortable.  There’s not enough light in my room or life now to brighten my writing area so I have resorted to turning on all the lights in the house yet 500 watts still seems dim.  I may never brighten.

Sat and struggled with the final piece for my writing class, and realized the fight was not based on what to write, or how to write but if I should.  Bulb went off in my head, and the words materialized below

The room was quiet except for the noise of cancer in our lives. I opened my eyes, and felt strange and unfamiliar until I realized I was staring at the ceiling. I had been sleeping for over 5 hours. My mind had lied to me.  My heart pounded for something selfish and non-existent.  I had dreamt not of my love but of myself. The smug clock said 7:16 am.  Nothing chirped but it felt like it.  The bathroom dripped some watery noises as if digesting a bad meal.  Darkness was losing its daily battle to the sun, yet still had strong footholds in the distance. I looked upon her not five feet away, surrounded by confident machines on a bed not meant for resting.

 

Cancer is the body lying to itself.  It is perhaps one of the few illnesses where the body will destroy itself by creating so much of itself that the body cannot contain it. Physically, the cancer had grown in her body, but it had infected our lives.  I was no longer disoriented, but disillusionment filled our room. I hoped the room would spin again, and perhaps I could enter the darkness and pretend that it was I lying on the bed and not her but dreaming did not make reality.

 

I gazed at her, willing her to breathe.  Breathe away the anger, the past, the arguments, and the many wasted moments regretting what was not to be.  Breathe in the love surrounding her.  Breathe in thoughts that would remove the enemy in her.  I wanted to take control of her body so it could get angry at the unwanted stranger and calmly ask the perversion to leave. I lasered my thoughts on to her, but the quietness of the cancer had already enveloped our lives.   Breath.

 

 

Related Articles
Journal, Myself, Preeti

Life Failed: Love/Family Did Not

Sanjay Sabarwal
By Jemal Yarbrough

I am not Sanjay Sabarwal, co-owner of Ziba Beauty.  I am not a lawyer.  I am not a promoter.  I am not a double major from UCLA.  I am not a columnist.  I am not a former volunteer at the Lexington Juvenile detention center in Kentucky.  I am not a past political intern.  NCTE) I am not a stroke victim.  I am not familiar with cancer.

I am not,  I am not, I am not any of these facts.  All my life, even at this moment, I have believed I was destined to be something greater; more significant, a personality. Focusing only on my desires and wants, I forgot how to be.  Spending energy (and credit cards) to showcase a life imagined by many but afforded by few, I drowned my soul painfully.  Surrounded by many gadgets and the must of my dog (her dog), I became empty, a negative, a compilations of could be’s, would be’s, should-be’s, would’ve’s.

So who am I?  Perhaps that’s not as an interesting a question as what I am.  I am part of a love that I did not think possible, that I had heard of and seen in fiction.  After 4 years, her face is still the first image projected onto my thoughts.  Her eyes an amazing greenish-yellow, rivaling those of cats (domestic and otherwise), her temper and stubbornness exasperating but befitting the queen she has the potential to be.

Then there is my family, my energy trough where I go to replenish myself.  I draw my strength from them like a greedy gambler who can’t get enough. I steal their inspiration and good wishes so I can face the cannot’s and will not’s in my life.  I use their love and faith in me to see myself.  It is then I become Sanjay Sabarwal.

Related Articles
Journal, Myself

Dreams

Sanjay Sabarwal
Free twitter bar
Image via Wikipedia/ twitter.com/zibasanjay

The images of talking to Preeti’s dad evoked my dread of the long-awaited conversation of what next?  Flash of Gurjit crying reminded me of Tejpal’s as well as the death of the normalcy of my life and of the challenges ahead.  Still I dived in these murky as my heartbeat slowed, well aware that the heat of the blankets told of an intense and long sleep.  The room become brighter as if to mark my awareness.  No longer did I want to ignore the idea that I was awake, instead I fished for more.

I marveled that I only had one drink yesterday yet told everyone I had two.  Why?  I wondered.  What was it about being in certain crowds that made you want to be an overachiever in an activity designed to kill brain cells? What was it about social discomfort that made me want to grasp to the one liquid that could return me back to feeling like everything was ok temporarily. How was it different from my dreams?

Then it hit me.  While I thought about last night, the dreams had made their escape.  It was as if I had been purposefully distracted so they could go to their secret hiding place. My breathing slowed, the blankets cooled, I reached for my phone to get my daily Twitter and Words with Friends fix  and the dreams went further away and suddenly the urge to write feels silly and trite.  I am left holding simplistic words and thoughts rather than the deep implications my dreams carried.  Conned, once again by my mind, I reluctantly came to my page and had nothing to offer except the memory of my dreams gone.

I closed my eyes, and nothing came save for the feeling of betrayal I caused myself.

 

Related Articles
Journal, Myself

Life Goals

Sanjay Sabarwal
A white Lamborghini Concept S in the Lamborghi...
Image via Wikipedia
The Lone Soldier by Jemal Y

There I stand stoically ready to face the  world,mute but  capable, deaf but open to the world.  Many of my dreams sacrificed to the dullness of meaningless days.   Future goals set aside for empty gratification, my life resembled nothing like I  imagined it would.  No longer.

Yesterday, I ran across an old document titled 101 Life Goals.  Curious, I opened it up and it was something I had written EXACTLY one year ago.  I wont bore you with all 101 but the top ten were:

1)     Publish a Memoir

2)     Get Married (for the last time!)

3)     Get an MBA

4)     Have Kids (2-3)

5)     Become an accomplished General Counsel

6)     Get a Lamborghini

7)     Publish Fiction

8)     Have a great library

9)     Become a Gourmet Chef

10) Travel the World

The 2 that stood out to me right away (besides the Lamborghini) were about publishing fiction and my memoir.  I am proud to say that I have started those 2 life goals, and for once I had written something that wouldn’t just be a mute witness to my aimless wandering.  No longer would my passion be a lone soldier in the battlefield of dreams.  I was finally on a mission that made sense and made me feel that for once I wasnt a slave to words that just burst out of me for no reason, but the master of my life. 

That wasnt the only thing to celebrate, I was also closer to other goals as well (including marriage, the library, and the kids) yet it was telling that I had done nothing to become a gourmet chef.  I love to cook but I hardly ever do it anymore, and the tons of dust-covered books in my kitchen are telling me that perhaps that’s a goal I will get to when I get to the ones I really want to achieve. 

I had also changed on life goal, from becoming a MBA to doing my MFA (Masters in Fine Arts) with an emphasis on creative writing.  Nothing like reading something from your past to know that for once your on track. 

No longer a lone soldier but a fighter for the things that matter most.

Related Articles
Journal, Myself

Perhaps

Sanjay Sabarwal
Jemal Y

Perhaps the window to my soul closed a long time ago.  perhaps, I have been dreaming a long time, and now I am awake.  Perhaps what I thought to be my world, my life was nothing more than a string of moments and memories put together so I can say I lived.  Perhaps I am the homeless man on the right, fantasizing I am the writer on this post.  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

 
Those 7 letters have become ingrained in me, telling me nothing, give me no direction just a vague vision of what is to come, but perhaps that’s all an illusion.
 
I sit like that man, looking down half asleep, hoping, wishing, prayer for perhaps a better day, life or illusion  or perhaps not.
 
I do not know where I want to be.  I do know where I shall be.  I just know that perhaps it will all work out
 
Perhaps
Related Articles