One morning, just minutes before my alarm was set to go off at 3 a.m., I abruptly woke up to an excruciating pain in my back and stomach. The darkness of my room enveloped me as I lay paralyzed with both fear and agony. Living alone, in a foreign country, I felt a sense of helplessness. In the grip of this torment, I couldn’t contain myself and ended up screaming in anguish for several minutes.
Finally, I managed to drag myself to the bathroom, desperately searching for water and any kind of medicine. My journey there took me a few hours or so it felt, nearly collapsing at every step. Crouched in pain on the bathroom floor, I found a Panadol and swallowed it in hopes of alleviating some of the agony. How could I get myself to a hospital? The idea of calling an ambulance never crossed my mind before, as I associated it only with severely ill or injured people. Yet, the pain I was experiencing was terrifying, leaving me unable to even change in something more decent.
I decided to call a cab and, despite the sharp knife-like pain coursing through my body, I made an effort to appear composed as I walked past the reception. Deep within, I could hear the stoic voices of my upbringing, urging me to endure the pain silently, to hide my vulnerabilities, and not burden or make others uncomfortable with my struggles.
This façade was short-lived – as soon as I settled into the backseat of the taxi, the pain became unbearable, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I let out agonizing screams. The Bangladeshi driver, visibly shocked, rushed through a couple of red lights to get me to the nearest place he thought could help: a hospital primarily for pregnant women.
Upon arriving, I was met by a group of nurses, mostly Arab locals. Their first questions were whether I was married and pregnant. Between my tearful and painful cries, I managed to respond with a shaky “No” to both inquiries. They muttered something to one another and as they were deciding what to do, I understood that as a Caucasian, single woman, I might not receive any help from them. Seeing them gazing at my open shoulders, I clumsily tried to cover myself as best as I could with a scarf I pulled from the closet on my way out. If I would have been wearing my abaya, I would surely have been treated with more consideration.
“We’re sorry, here we can only attend pregnant, married women. “
Desperate, confused by their lack of compassion and believing I was facing a life-threatening situation, I pleaded with them, expressing my belief that I might be dying. They were numbly looking at my agony and left me walk myself back to the taxi driver who was still waiting outside.
As we made our way to the main hospital with me curled into a ball, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The certainty of my impending death consumed me, and all I could focus on was the pain that would cause my parents. Regret flooded my thoughts as I reflected on the choices and actions that had led me to this point. It almost seemed ironic that I had survived dangerous car accidents, falls from horses, climbing mountain peaks and even a near encounter with train wheels in the past, yet here I was, facing the possibility of succumbing to something as unappealing as an unknown illness. The unpredictability of life struck me profoundly, and I couldn’t help but find a somewhat dark amusement in the irony of it all.
Hours later, after receiving a “kidney stones caused by dehydration and fatigue” diagnostic, as I was lying on a hospital bed, I stared at the ceiling and couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of self-pity. It dawned on me that I couldn’t call anyone for help, and the reason behind it traced back to a peculiar philosophy I had adopted early on as a woman: “If you can’t help me, there’s no point in sharing my pain with you.” What good would do to me knowing that now someone else has to hurt because of me or even worse, feel pity for my situation. I don’t know if the hero or the vain inside me was speaking. For those accustomed to being the saviours of their family or the ones others rely on, experiencing pain or vulnerability becomes difficult to justify. It brings about a sense of shame, making them hesitant to talk about it or even ask openly for help.
In those hours of solitude, a realization struck me like a bolt of lightning – I was treading a path of both loneliness and enlightenment. The understanding of this paradoxical journey made me introspective, and I sensed that embracing solitude might lead me to discover profound insights about myself and life’s mysteries. However, it also meant traversing a road where few could comprehend or accompany me. It was a poignant moment of self-awareness, realizing the choices I had made could simultaneously be a source of wisdom and a burden.
It felt as though I could vanish in an instant, and the world wouldn’t even be aware of my absence. Right there and then, heavily medicated and completely alone, I felt a sense of relief and power pour over me. I harboured no anger towards the nurses who maybe could have showed me compassion, nor did I fear the impact on my parents. It felt like everything was unfolding in a way it was supposed to. I placed my hands on my chest, feeling the rise and fall, tracing my stomach, and moving my legs and in a moment of profound realization, I whispered with a deep sense of gratitude, “I am alive. I am alive. There is so much more waiting for me to do.”
I came to understand that certain experiences in life were meant for us to face entirely on our own. It’s challenging to explain why, but I believe that these solitary journeys shape us into precisely what the world requires us to be. Amidst the throes of pain, confusion prevails, and the feeling of being undeserving of such trials often arises. Yet, these experiences serve a purpose: they shatter everything you thought you knew about life. They break you open and empty you of everything you thought you were. One after another, they aim at your conceitedness, possessions of all sorts and everything you believed constituted your identity.
From the emptiness that you must confront and live with, either for a short or extended period, a path will emerge before you. Along this path, you will find the opportunity to rebuild and fortify yourself. Behind every despair, lays a road to know more, do more, become more. And after working through the days of isolation, you will finally learn to regard yourself with the same love and understanding you offer others, and you will come to know, once again, that no pain is insurmountable as long as there is hope for life awaiting you at the other side of it.
THE WONDERMIND 