Re: Making Connections!

This weekend I was honoured (and, totally CHUFFED) by my first ever blog award (titled: Blogging Brings Us Closer Award) from a dear friend – Maithri Goonetilleke; a gifted and talented poet, writer, singer and doctor. His blog is a real ‘treasure box’ – full of compassion, inspiration, affirmation and a generous blogging community. Please do check him out at: http://soaringimpulse.blogspot.com/! Maithri’s ongoing commitment to the work of hiv/aids and his current post and song raising awareness on the issue of breast cancer brought to mind a short piece that I wrote some months back(which I post following). I just love the connections that the blogging world opens up - don't you (smile)!?!

The Russian Doll

It is as if the weight of the doctor’s words hammers her to the floor. Inch-by-inch, she sinks lower and lower. Once she hits the ground, she hugs her knees, and fixes her eyes on nothing; seeing, yet blind. She hears a loud rhythmic boom-boom, boom-boom. It sounds like a rapping on the door but she knows that the culprit is her racing heart. She wants to stand, to get away – to run. Instead her body shakes, and she begins to rock. It is an unconscious movement – forward, then backward; slow, then fast. A scream erupts in her mind though the room remains silent. A wave of madness washes over her. She wills herself to pass out, but nothing happens. Rather, things become clearer – sharper – in focus. The white walls of the consultation room look whiter – pristine – even sterile. It must be a mistake, she thinks. She doesn’t belong here. She needs to lie down, she tells herself. The response is automatic. Her mind guides her frail frame sideways on the tiled floor, where she curls up in a foetal position. Her head: pounds. Her body: trembles. Struggling for breath, her eyes half-close, flutter open, then shut again – shutting the diagnosis out. Numb: she descends into a dream state. Delirious: she falls – is falling deep inside a well. After what seems an age, the dark waters give way to gray shadows. Her mind’s eye adjusts to the haze, and out of nowhere she notices a reddish glint. Without thinking, she follows the red speck. The object seems to be running away from her, in the same way she is running away from her reality. She chases after it – as if chasing an answer. At the basin of the well, she comes face-to-face with what emerges to be a red figurine. It is then she realises that it is only a Russian doll.