Bikram Vohra explores the health woes of a common man
You can be the hottest thing on the circuit. You can be lionized and feted and actually believe you are invincible and the sun rises to hear you crow. You can stare at your status symbols and enjoy the glow of achievement.
All that self-delusion sloshing about and then, along comes a bug, some virus or bacteria that was uninvited and gets into your system and then next thing you know there goes your pomp and splendour as the mercury rises and the body aches and the indignity of all the medical tests start, blood work, a glob here, a shot there another, better take an x-ray, hold the sides please, take off your shirt, lie here, prod there, blood test please, hold your breath, so much for all your dignity, out of the window, not worth a dram, here have some cough mixture instead.
It is incredible how everything goes for a six. Your job, your self-worth, your plans for the week, wrecked by a viral or whatever and acres of tablets and seas of syrups and mountains of advice and there is nothing worse than your body kicking you in the guts. Ambition turns soggy. You don’t care who won the match or the election or who came or who went all you want to do is be left alone with your misery and please, no more advice.
Even the doctor’s bills don’t bother you and as your resistance crumples and exhaustion sets in and food begins to taste like cardboard you actually understand what abject surrender must feel like… a state in which you have no say and everyone else knows what is good for you.
It is truly amazing how much you would give up just to feel well again.
