uncertainty

 December 5, 2024

I wish fervently for the next year to begin with a return to flow. I’m so drained from the slow and intermittent trickle that life has felt like this year. I’ve felt more than mildly depressed, screeching-ly irritable, perpetually exhausted, since I injured my knee in January. The problems from 2024, 2023, 2022 had refused to resolve and followed me into 2025. As the year progressed new small things that would have felt manageable in ordinary times seemed like wide cracks that would swallow me whole. And the last quarter of the year has been particularly dreary — except for two events that have shocked the inertia most of me had fallen into. 

Shocks for me can be things that suddenly energise a sleepy system (can be great), or things that badly disrupt a functional state (terrifying). I had one of each.

December is a time to reflect over the year. This year I made three lists. Things I have done, things I wish I had done, and things I have coped with. The third was the longest, and the coping methods used have been revealing. The things I have done list is mostly made up of ‘passive’ stuff — like classes I’ve participated in, rather than those that create a sense of accomplishment. The things I wish I had done made me sad, but I also saw that I did attempt (unsuccessfully) to re-ignite some of those towards the end of the year. The only thing I really feel proud of doing this year is attending a poetry class in July, reading more poetry after, and signing up for a poem a day prompt in October when I did write poem drafts on 21 days. Nice eh!

When I was in Bombay this year, I met a friend who casually said in the midst of a conversation, Radhu you were always very self-aware. Meaning in tune with myself. Meaning able to see clearly what I was doing, good or bad. It shocked me, more so because a friend in Singapore had remarked on the depth of my being the week before. Neither statement was something I identified with anymore — meaning at one time I had yearned to be both and actively worked towards them. That they still saw me that way shocked me after this year of simply coping, merely existing, sometimes feeling like a parasite on this earth. (Yep, mild depression). But the statements ‘woke me’ and pushed me towards listening to the call of the self I had lost. Hence more depth journalling and attempt to resurrect my desires.

Last week after several weeks of terrible headaches, nausea, and brain fog, I visited my GP. My last blood test from Bombay had some aberrant values and I wanted to consult her about those as well. She ordered a blood test to retest the values and asked me to monitor my pressure three times a day as it was inordinately high — beyond that the ‘white-coat syndrome’ causes — when she measured it. 

To reward myself for going to the doc, I visited the Central Library, browsed and borrowed some books, sat in the café on the 3^rd level, drank iced tea, and sketched my surroundings despite the pounding headache. Then walked over to my favourite pen shop and bought a deep indigo blue, textured, (supposed to write colour after texture) pen after trying out a few others. Ya, these are the things that make me happy and I am so glad I indulged in them that day just a week and two days ago. 

For two days later when I revisited my doctor after realising that my blood pressure values were very high and were probably responsible for the way I had been feeling, I discovered something that makes me feel paralysed. She hesitantly offered me blood pressure meds. Hesitantly because each time she had in the past told me to take meds for blood sugar or high cholesterol I had said, let me work on it for three months before I start. She had always agreed and though I need a low dose statin (bad genes), I have managed other issues with diet and exercise. I immediately said, yes please. Anything to stop that awful sensation, and at 65 I didn’t want to work hard to balance out my body. 

The blood tests she had done showed further problems particularly related to one organ of my body and I must get my values re-tested on December 22^nd. Even as I write this, I feel scared and sad. I did tell a few people that my blood pressure was high (and different reactions showed me something about the people I confided in) but I haven’t been able to talk about the other more anxiety producing issue. Something that might not be very serious after all or might alter my path in this world perhaps. I won’t say what it is until I am done with the test and have my results, post-Christmas. It took me two days to absorb the numbers I had seen and get past a mini-denial stage.

Waiting is hard. The same friend who had mentioned that I had always been self-aware had shared how a friend who had been waiting for results for a cancer test had felt enormous relief once he got them even though they were positive. The waiting had been killing for him. And it is for me. I start to do something, to read, and suddenly the thought about the tests invades. I suddenly wake up from sleep with fears and tears. It feels so isolating and I find myself withdrawing from my surroundings. But then suddenly reaching out for connection. 

What is that about — the so universal reaction of not wanting to see, the not wanting to tell, and the anxiety around waiting? Life is uncertain. Every new day, new year is shrouded in the unknown but there are moments (or weeks) when that uncertainty, the sense of not knowing is more intense than ‘normal’. Does everyone see-saw between wanting to be alone and needing the right companionship?

I’m not surprised this year is ending this way, the whole year has been about wondering, hoping, wanting, but never feeling fulfilled or even semi-resolved.