In the Eye of a Storm

Contributed by or member - Upali Nag

"And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore 

I am 45 years old and have gone through my fair share of storms - drowned in them, spluttered and survived and come out of them, stronger, hopefully wiser and with scars. One would think that would prepare you for storms yet to come

However what life doesn't prepare you for, are events which involve the survival of your children. Sixteen years back, when my daughter was born, we didn't know if she would survive. As new parents without the help of family, we did whatever we could every single day - some methods which were traditional and some which were not - and she responded and grew and thrived - and today she is a beautiful girl on the verge of adulthood. We were always hopeful, positive and did our damned best every single day - youth and determination perhaps. We never thought we would lose the battle, and we didn't. 

But like I said, every storm is different, and your experiences don't prepare you for what is to come. 

This storm was different because it was something I went through not with another person, but with an animal - a little being, a 10 month old kitten, who depends on us for survival. He came to us six months back with multiple health issues and we did our best every single day to help him fight those. And through it all, the little kitten (who we named Tobi) grew from 800 grams to 3 kilos, developed a feisty and playful personality, always responded with funny noises when we spoke to him, and needed a variety of custom cooked food. He chased the shadows of insects, tried to climb trees, played with his ten year old doggie brother's tail, yelled at us for food, and lived life to the full every single day.

Sixteen days back he developed yet another  infection. Endless vet visits, medications and lab tests later, the infection refused to go. 24 hours turned to 48 and 72 and then a week. And finally the vet put him on a really strong medication which entailed an injection every day for 7 days - and told us, that beyond this there was nothing else that could be done. And all we could do was hope against all odds.

And through these sixteen days, while he was fighting the storm of survival, and me the opposite ends of hope and despair, we held on to each other, our souls connecting when our words couldn't. There were days when he would be on the verge of giving up, not eating, not moving and I would will him to show some sign while I spent hours feeding him and talking to him. Every time his little body was wracked with pain, he would claw into my hand, as if drawing strength from me. I would stay up nights with him cuddled close to me and whenever I moved, he would stretch his paw seeking physical contact, as if to reassure me that he was there. There were days when I would despair and imagine what life would be like without him - and he always knew - he always always would try to do something he used to, and when his body didn't let him, he would look into my eyes and and lick my hands to say he was still there. 

Every single day we would take him to the vet for injections, which were incredibly painful for him. He fought the first day - but then somewhere inside he knew that we needed to do it to believe that we were doing our best for him to get better - and then he just accepted it with quiet equanimity. 

Needless to say, through it all, I was exhausted in every way and somehow struggled to keep my head above water through my work day - and he knew how every morning I had to force myself to meet my other commitments. As most cats do, he loved his own space which was his brother's room. But through this time, every single day, he would somehow get his tired body to my library where I worked and sleep there through the day - as if to say "I am here. Do your other stuff". He was in so much pain that he couldn't sit, couldn't sleep for long, didn't feel like eating - and yet tried to comfort and derive comfort in equal measure.

The mind goes from one thought to the next and traverses so many possibilities and before you know it, you forget where you started. I spent hours imagining him chasing butterflies in the garden and soon I would be thinking in which part of the garden would we bury his little body when he left. In one moment, I would imagine the feisty him yelling for food and in the other, I would wonder how my three other children would deal with the grief of losing someone they love, for the first time in their lives. There was never for a moment, a switch, which could turn the mind off. 

Finally as a last resort, he had a surgery yesterday, The night before, I sat for hours stroking him and had this long conversation. I told him we were fighting very hard for him and could he please also fight with us? He understood and purred softly and tucked his little face in my neck and slept. We handed him over to the vet not knowing if he would wake up. And did he wake up!! He refused to be contained even while his anesthesia was still wearing off and kept wobbling around. His pain has significantly reduced. And while he is still recovering, he is yelling for food and attention, back to vocal conversations and trying his best to chase imaginary shadows, whenever he has the energy. 

And just like that, the worst of the storm is over - and both of us feel an exhaustion like no other - for the first time in 16 days, we slept for a three hour stretch, dead to the world. 

And I am humbled by what this storm taught me. It taught me that animals resonate with you at a level which humans cannot even begin to fathom. It taught me that no matter how strong you are and what you have endured in life, nothing really can prepare you for the next storm. All you can do is meet it headway and fight and hope to come out on the other side. There is no magic formula. It taught me that very few humans understand how an animal can fill your soul and tear your soul apart at the same time. And it taught me how very few care beyond the customary niceties - to enquire every single day and share the hope and the despair in equal measure. 

We still don't know how long he will live - maybe six months, or maybe a decade - and we will never be prepared for what is to come. But that storm is for another day - till then, we derive much joy in chasing butterflies together, having long conversations and cooking yet more gourmet food for him. 

Edited and published with consent

Pebloo.in Team