Homebound. Again.
I love staying at home. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’ve had friends complaining that I hate stepping out of my house – “come right over to my place” has been my mantra always. But things changed for me (no, not what you’re expecting) last year.
In 2019, the last day I went to work was on the 1st of April, Monday. That morning, I woke up early, went to see a doctor who ordered an MRI for a nagging lower back pain that I was experiencing since the 2nd of March, and advised a week’s bed rest. Things just went downhill from there. The MRI revealed that I was suffering from a slipped disk, and another on the verge of slipping. This had compressed a nerve in my left leg so badly, that I literally couldn’t move. Needless to say, I had worsened the condition by continuing work, travel, sitting for long hours and climbing the stairs. So now, all I could do was lie straight. Even turning sides caused excruciating pain. Long story short, the one week bed rest turned into a six-week one. The people I was working with refused leave and asked me to compensate monetarily for not completing my notice period after I resigned (because I couldn’t move – see the irony? Yes.) I’ve seen my share of morons while growing up in this cruel cruel world, but apparently, I hadn’t seen them all.
What followed was six weeks of painful isolation. The whole world was busy. My friends, family, well-wishers, everyone had work to do. Through it all, they tried to keep in touch, send love (and cake!), boost my morale, and be genuinely nice to me. But, their routines hadn’t changed. They were waking up in the morning, going out to work, fighting deadlines, the traffic and facing everyday life. I, was lying in bed, watching all the seasons of Game of Thrones and Grey’s Anatomy. Same routine, six weeks. I was out of work. I was out of money. I was depressed, frustrated and on the verge of a breakdown.
In these six weeks I seemed to develop an intense longing for climbing stairs, walking, cooking, going to work and, sitting. And then I realised, it was all about choice. I love staying at home, by choice. I hate climbing stairs, by choice. I can crib about going to work, by choice. I am all for binge-watching series after series, yes, by choice.
Long story short, my pain worsened with the six weeks bed rest. It came to such a state where I couldn’t even walk from the bed to the bathroom right next to it. Finally I had to undergo a spinal surgery, followed by another two weeks of bed rest. Only after that was I declared fit to work with twenty thousand restrictions. (Which I follow. Because I NEVER want to experience that pain ever. No thank you!)
I have never written about those three months before. Because they changed my life in such a way that I can never explain to anyone. The frustration, the pain, the panic attacks and the sheer feeling of helplessness that shaped me and my thoughts during those months as I learnt to deal with uncertainty and no control over my situation.
To be honest, I hated being bedridden. I hated being confined to home. And I was really looking forward to putting 2019 behind me and having a way better 2020. Every plan that I had put on hold last year was supposed to be fulfilled this year. So imagine what I could have felt when the lockdown was announced. Not again! NO.
But life is funny. And life is unpredictable. As I sat all geared up wanting to feel as sad and as frustrated as everyone during this quarantined life, all I actually felt was gratitude. Gratitude that I have a home, access to food, and mobility (though restricted to inside the house). And I have a job that allows me to work from home and take home a salary at the end of the month. Gratitude, that last year prepared me for this year. And gratitude, that I am still safe, and so are the people I love and care for.
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