Setbacks
November 19th 2007 09:40
On the way to my treatment the following day I was a seething mass of emotions. I had been too embarrassed to face the lecture, meditation, or yoga that morning. Too humiliated even to face Alicia when she came to ask why I was not at meditation. I wanted her comfort but I could not endure the look of sympathy she would give me, or that wincing expression I would witness as she examined my wounds. By the afternoon I was resigned to allow her to inspect the damage. I had observed the aggravated area more clinically and recovered a little after wallowing in self pity. Alicia was entirely professional, as I should have always known she would be, stepping into her nurses persona and comforting me with the utmost care. My unhappiness genuinely distressed her and despite the lapse in passion we had been suffering, there was absolute love expressed in her tending. She suspected the drying of the coconut to oil to have caused to outbreak. I left to go to the ayuvervedic medican man’s clinic and demand a reappraisal of my treatment.
My negative thoughts were amplified on the walk to the clinic, my painful awareness of the horrified glances I received as I walked through the busy crowds was almost as agonising as the firey rash on my forehead and face. Facial expressions were impossible for me; a smile was not worth the pain it sentenced or the sentiment it conveyed. Besides, I was in no mood for pleasantries. The beggars and lepers sensed this and refrained from the usual appeals. I felt a bond with those gruesome mendicants whose great cource of income was a crippling feature or a great ugliness. None of them bothered to pester me for alms as I strolled through the dusty streets.
Arriving to see Vivek awaiting me on the porch, I found myself too choked with emotion to express myself properly. On the brink of tears I told him of the painful night I had spent and quietly asked how long I could expect this reaction to last. He seemed sure it would clear up soon enough, and as my argumentative faculties were completely disabled by my grief. I submitted to the daily prescription of massages without really explicating my deeper fears. My masseuse was Comlesh again, and for this I felt resentment. I knew she was at the bottom wrung in skill and knowledge, as well as strength, and I felt with my condition I deserved special attention. I could hear the two men sharing tea and chatting, no doubt saving their strength and attention for Alicia the following hour.
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