RADIANCE FROM ABOVE
Annie Cyriac, Karunattu.


God has not promised
Flower-strewn pathways
All our lives through
But God has promised
Strength for the day
Grace for the trials
Undying love…………..

My heart welled up with hope as I read this poster outside my room at CMC Hospital Vellore.
A routine scan taken on August 15th, a month ago, at Bharath Hospital, Kottayam, revealed that my brain tumour had grown to a size of 3.2 cm. This was upsetting. The surgery for the Meningioma excision was just ten months ago. Meningiomas don’t spread but they have this ugly habit of growing right back. Expecting this, the doctors here had advised an SRS (Stereotactic radioactive surgery). Since it was not an emergency then, we had booked a date for the procedure to be done in September.
[SRS is a onetime radioactive surgery that would arrest the growth of the tumour. It allows precisely focused high powered rays on a small area. Both the nonsurgical and radiation oncology team work together for the evaluation and treatment of each patient. At present this treatment is not available in any hospital in Kerala.]

Ever since August 15th, my husband had been walking around with a ticking bomb in his heart. Meanwhile, I went about my business blissfully, unaware of the magnitude or consequences of the growing tumour. I was mentally prepared for the SRS but chose not to think about till it was time.
Onam was a grand affair with close relatives and family. That night we left for Vellore and arriving there the next morning, I was admitted under Dr Ari .G. Chacko, the half German neurosurgeon who is rated as the best in the country and the third best in Asia. My scan reports were studied and the doctors were doubtful if an SRS would be effective on a tumour that had grown to this size. When they suggested a re-surgery, we were stunned, speechless. Opening the skull for the third time, in a gap of ten months was unthinkable. Another MRI was scheduled for midnight, after which the doctors would give their final verdict.
The waiting period was awful. My husband and I clung to God. I prayed that if the Lord could wither a fig tree to its roots, he could shrivel my tumour just a bit with a look. Oh, how I prayed for that look! But it was my husband’s unshaken belief that bowled me over. After praying, he typed out a message in his phone that the SRS was successfully over. He meant to send this message to our dear ones the next day. We decided to believe firmly that whatever you pray for and believe, would be done. (Mat.Ch21:19-22). Lo, behold! At one AM in the morning the MRI reports showed that the volume of the tumour was within the parameters required for the SRS. HURRAY, God shrunk my tumour! He intervened on my behalf to work a miracle.
At six in the morning, I was wheeled into the Neuro Department, where a cheerful senior nurse awaited me. She explained that I was going to be fitted with a heavy metal head frame. After measuring, marking and a trial run, the frame was finally ready to be fitted on my head. Following four shots of anesthesia, two on my temples and two behind my head, the frame was screwed on to my head. The gentle doctor apologized for the pain he was causing but I said I didn’t mind the pain as long as they did a perfect job. In truth, it didn’t hurt much. The nurse remarked that in her long career, she had not come across such a patient who hadn’t even flinched. Afterwards, Dr Mazda, the Parsi neurosurgeon, remarked that he had just completed his first painless frame -fitting. I thanked God in my heart for sending his angels to protect me. [Psalm 91:11]

The head frame was a protection too, for all other parts of my brain. Tampering with it would alter the position and that would be disastrous. Feeling akin to an astronaut, wearing a head piece, I was shifted to the ICU after a spiral CT scan. Meanwhile the neurosurgeons, the radiologist and the physicist, joined heads for the planning of the procedure. 
Five hours later, with a head that throbbed and an empty stomach that rumbled, I was taken to a dimly lit room with an assortment of sophisticated gadgets. Soon there was a flood of lights and the physicist examined my head to give his approval. A few wires were then clipped and my head was accurately positioned into something that resembled a scan machine. The radiologist told me not to worry and that they would be outside watching me. I was aware of a camera on the wall focused on me. The radioactive surgery began and all I could hear was an electronic drone and the thump of my heart. Each second seemed like eternity. But I was not afraid for I remembered Psalm23:4 (Even if I go through the deepest darkness, I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me.)At the end of six minutes, the whole team came in. Next came the painful ordeal of removing the screws and the head frame. Finally it was all over and I heaved a huge sigh of relief.
It was only a day after my SRS that I could personally meet Dr Ari G Chacko the Chief. He told me that the effect of the radiation could be seen only over a period of time. He advised that annual MRIs were mandatory as there still was a 10% chance of the tumour growing back. But with God on my side I have every reason to look at the sunny side of life- the 90% chance.
People give me sympathetic looks and ask my husband if my hair has fallen out after the Chemotherapy. ‘IT’S NOT CANCER!” my mind screams. But I don’t blame them. I was as ignorant a year ago. It was my husband who suggested I write about SRS. So people could get their perspectives right.
God could have made my pathway smooth. He could have allowed my treatment to go on as planned. But how then would we see the glory of God? How would our faith increase so?
Life is not a bed of roses but I sure can say that everything has happened for the best. I have toughened up. I am more compassionate and tolerant. At the hospital I met so many others less fortunate than me- Sindhu whose lung had to be removed, newly married Soumya who is totally paralyzed after an accident and five year old Afisa from Bangladesh who awaits her brain surgery. I pray for them all. Now I am at peace. I am happier than ever now that I know there is nothing that the Lord and I can’t do together.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think of the chemical warfare going on inside my head. It’s slightly scary but I am taking it all in my stride. God bless my loving friends and family who care so much and my mother-in-law who has been a pillar of strength all throughout. I thank the Lord for my church and parish priest, for their incessant prayers. But most of all I thank God for my husband who has stood by me stoically. Without him I doubt if I could have made it so far.
I know that one day I’ll look back upon this phase in my life and muse how reassuring it is, that in the journey of my life through my walk with God only one set of foot prints would be imprinted on the sands of time; The foot prints of the Lord’s as he had been carrying me in his arms during the difficult phase of my life.

2 Corint 1:10 From such terrible dangers of death He saved us and will save us; and we have placed our hope in Him that He will save us again.

Here is a picture of Afisa, who was awaiting her surgery........And me, the day after the SRS at Velore hospital.....

{Written in November 2013}

IT HAPPENED TO ME
A testimony by Annie Cyriac, Karunattu

Brain tumour. Scary words. It happens to people in movies, or so I thought.
I believed I was a normal healthy female. I was health conscious. I used to exercise frequently and include salads in my lunch box. I could manage a difficult multi-bus commute to work, with ease. I was full of energy and willing to do my best.
I have been teaching English for the past eighteen years. My students respect me and I try to help them sincerely. My husband is an ENT surgeon and my kids are doing well at school. I believed in God but I was not a fanatic. I valued my friendships and kept close connections bubbling.
In short I was at the peak of my life.
Then, on the 2nd of November, 2012, I had a terrible experience. I had a blackout. It was while I was in the staff room waiting for the bell to ring. The last thing I remember was that I was standing up to make a phone call when the seizures struck and I toppled over. Before my colleagues could rush over, I hit the floor. I was taken to Bharat hospital at Kottayam. A CT scan revealed that I had Meningioma, a benign tumour on the outer layers of my brain. Within a span of 2 hours I had 2 more seizures.
For the next 24 hours my family and friends flocked in gloom in the hospital corridors and around the ICU. After viewing my MRI reports the next day, my husband resolved to shift me to the Indo-American Hospital, the Brain & Spine Centre at Vaikom, founded by the renowned US based neurosurgeon Dr. Kumar Bahuleyan.
In an unconscious state, I was wheeled in and admitted under Dr. Anu Thomas, the neurosurgeon on the 3rd of November. As my brain had undergone a midline shift due to the intense swelling, it needed time to be brought back to its relaxed state. So a team of neurosurgeons planned a surgery for the 7th of November.
Word spread soon and innumerable phone calls poured in. All my friends and relatives were shell shocked. Prayers were offered up by my church, colleagues, students, relatives and friends from far and wide.
Meanwhile I regained consciousness for a few hours before the surgery and that was when the Doctor told me of my plight. I am not a brave person and I should have panicked.
But I now realize that God’s mighty power gave me the strength and I surrendered myself totally into His hands and literally into the surgeon’s hands.
The day before the surgery, my family was allowed to see me but being in a drowsy state, I can only remember having seen my daughter and father. Tension loomed large in their faces. Between bouts of memory and drowsiness my heart bled for my ten year old son Samuel and eighteen year old daughter Rebecca. I wondered if I would ever see them again. The surgery that was expected to take 8 hours seemed never ending to my kith and kin. At last after a gruelling 14 hour long surgery I was put on the ventilator.
A day later my whole body started swelling. Tubes went down my nose and throat, drains were inserted into my abdomen and head, and needles were pushed into my veins. I began to hallucinate. I thought the doctors were going to kill me. I dreamt I was being melted. I wanted to die. I wanted the excruciating pain to end. I was unable to pray. I was wandering in the “valley of the shadow of death”. For the next three days, deprived of sleep and overwhelmed by stress, my husband and dear ones panicked and prayed with all their might.
Then the miracle happened. I envisioned the title of a book “Are you willing to be healed?”
With a giant leap I caught hold of it and peace crept into me. “God pulled me out of a dangerous pit ……….. and made me secure”(Psalm 40:2).
This is a new life that God has gifted me. I find joy and beauty in the little things in life. My heart wells up at the minutest things. Now I stand at the bottom rung of the ladder of humility. Half my head is shaven. A tangled mass covers the other half of my head where once stood long lustrous hair. But I am not in despair.
As I lay on the hospital bed recouping, I knew I was not alone. Tears flowed freely as I read the phone messages of inspiration and biblical verses sent to me by my friends, cousins and even my professors. They told me how deeply they were affected and how ardently they prayed. Little did I know that I was loved by them all.
I mused how fortunate it was to have valued my friendships. Now it is paying me back like a bank interest in the form of prayers, love and support. The past 3 months have taught me like never before, that if you invest time and love in a relationship you will get back the interest in manifolds. My husband teased me saying that I had become a public figure.
I now realize that God’s protective hands have been shielding me all throughout. We felt it in the little positive events that favoured me from the time I collapsed in school.
I believe it was God’s unseen hand that guided my friends at school to take me in time to the hospital where I got the service of an excellent radiologist who helped in diagnosing my case. It was God’s undying love that made the biopsy result say that the tumour was non-cancerous. God’s wisdom guided my husband to take the decision of putting me in the hands of the best neurosurgeons. It was God’s mercy that I saw in the kindness bestowed on me by the nurses. I fondly remember the attender boy who would boost my morale, the attenders who gently combed out what was left of my hair and bathed me with tender care, the physiotherapists who helped me walk again, the CEO of the hospital and the administrator who would visit me and revive my zest for life.
God put them all in their precious places to look after me. I learned valuable lessons from all these inspirational people that whatever be your calling in life, no matter great or small, if you do your duty wholeheartedly you will be able to touch other lives. Ultimately that is what really counts.
The doctors who treated me remarked that I exuded a lot of positive energy and that I was a motivation to other patients. Praise God!
They had predicted that the surgery could cause slurring of speech, loss of memory or paralysis of the right side of the body. When the world celebrated the magical date 12-12-12, I was shifted out of the ICU after my second surgery ( cranio plasty) and my husband and I rejoiced and thanked God. A fortnight later I was back on my feet with my memory and speech intact.
God’s purpose for the flames in life is to purify us not to destroy us. When adversity strikes us, strike back. Look at the silver-lining, not at the cloud. My road was bumpy and I have slipped. But I have risen and got my dreams back.             [written in Febuary2013]

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

Signs of Love?

I’m a Libra and he’s a Leo. Leos can be extremely demanding and bossy while Libra can argue like hell, says Linda Goodman in her ‘Love Signs’. How true!

I’m a die hard romantic and he, a man of science. Weren’t people in love supposed to sit gazing into each other’s eyes for hours on end and bask in lavish praises? Or so I thought. As time flew, our negative traits surfaced more often as the conflicts and demands of life made us increasingly crappy and irritable. Meanwhile we zoomed ahead with our careers and before we knew it our kids had outgrown nappies and nannies. Out went all the lovey dovey notions of love that I had conjured up as a newlywed.

Then one fine day, disaster struck like a thunderbolt and it struck me! The culprit? Brain tumour!!

After ten days of unconsciousness and a sixteen hour long surgery, I woke up to a new me –a half shaven head, a partially paralyzed limb, innumerable stitches, bandages and all. Suddenly it seemed that our fast paced life had flip- flopped into slow motion. My hitherto busy husband stood stoically by my side, all throughout. He complimented me on my tousled look; he held me gently and boosted my confidence. He helped me walk, one step at a time, along the hospital corridor. He let the sunshine in. And we rediscovered love. 

It’s been two years now and I’m up and about. But we’ve slowed down our paces now. We go for long rides together, savour our ice creams, splash in the pool, appreciate our kids, and stop to talk to our neighbours and to admire the sunset. We dream more.

He’s still bossy and I still argue but we know that our bond will last forever; in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. 

              

 [written in August 2015]

"CLASS"WORK

                                                            “Class”Work!

I first heard of ‘Malee’ as it is popularly known in Kerala, in the 1990’s from a friend who had found a job in one of the islands. I was fascinated to hear that the inhabitants drank rainwater collected from the roof tops and that the only vegetable they got on the island was ‘drumstick leaves’. Fish was supplied here for free by the friendly islanders, I heard. Potatoes and onions made their guest appearance once in a while when the boat arrived.  Little did I know then, that a decade and a half later, I  too would be at the receiving end !

2003 found me at Male’ the capital city of Maldives which is a miniature replica of a Gulf country with its concrete jungles, blaring traffic and the works.

I taught for a year in a prestigious institution, ‘Aminiya’ the only girls’ school in the land. But having had enough of the city life and hoping to taste the peace and quiet of the countryside, I came to Fuvahmulah, one of the most picturesque and peaceful islands in the south of the Maldives.

This spoon shaped island literally situated on the equator, enjoys tropical climate and the skyscapes here are often brilliant. It’s a sheer joy to watch the sun go down on the palm fringed sky, leaving traces of orange, pink and gold.

The white sandy beaches and the coral reefs were in stark contrast to the verdant lakes that studded the island. Alive with bloom and bird song, this place is blessed with sprawling farms and huge mango trees that bear fruit all the year round. To me, the distinct hues all around were a welcome change to the monotonous greys of the cityscape.

I soon discovered new dimensions to my teaching capabilities when I joined AEC ,the local school. Enthralled by the immaculate white uniforms of the students that were reminiscent of the pristine white beaches all around, I entered the class room. But the peace I had come in search of, was not what awaited me here. To my dismay, I found that even making the students stand up was an ordeal in itself. Mischief-making in the class was something at which Maldivian children outshine themselves.

Hooting, howling, littering and filling desks and walls with graffiti are second nature to them and distributing and chewing ‘supari’ or gum was a common feature that progressed with the day.

I who have never experienced nausea while crossing the rough seas or even during my pregnancies, felt my stomach churning at the stench of rotten eggs thrown into my classroom, one day. Face burning with shame, I’ve had to march a bunch of kids in uproar, to another vacant room. Sympathetic glances were bestowed on me by fellow teachers in adjacent classrooms and glares I got from the supervisors. The 'Supervisors' were the discipline keeping force ,in charge of trouble shooting, who patrol around the school at frequent intervals.

Together we had confiscated mobile phones, lighters, packets of supari, knives, nude pictures and raw mangoes galore.

A week of paper-ball-throwing was then followed by another pass time- shooting paper pellets with rubber bands. Paper rockets came next. They then turn to subtler games like applying glue all over the chairs and desks and then roar with laughter if a hapless victim sits on it.They staple anything in their vicinity, even their nails, ears and hair. Teachers can count themselves lucky if they miss being hit by tomatoes and lemons thrown at the white-board at frequent intervals.

No qualms have they to use the F- letter-word or any other equivalent in their mother tongue. Then came the bomb blasts. An occasional explosion somewhere in the campus would send the supervisors running helter-skelter.

One fine morning I was perturbed by my unruly bunch of kids who seemed unusually preoccupied and secretive. None of them paid heed to what I was teaching but what I thought  unusual, was their secretive glances and eagerness to pass something under the desks.

Determined to find out what it was, I feigned innocence and stood by a fidgety boy. Just then he dropped a deodorant bottle which I grabbed instantly. The whole class pleaded and cajoled me to give it back. To me, the blue liquid inside the bottle seemed out of place. The girls assured  that it was a liquid cleaner brought to clean the desks.

“Keep it on the table, Miss” urged the students. “Never!” said I determinedly, proud at having grabbed their prized possession. I knew they would smuggle it from the table so I held it close to my heart and taught for two consecutive periods in peace after having made a pact with them that I’d return it if they paid attention to what was being taught.

The students were unnaturally silent and paid rapt attention after that and true to my word, I returned the’liquid-cleaner in a deodorant bottle’, to a seemingly meek girl, at the end of the class. I left the class, triumphant at last, for having gained 'class control' over these hyper active students.

Meanwhile the daily blasts continued. It was only two days later when the supervisor summoned me with the news, that my jaw dropped and I felt my knees go weak. The deodorant -bottle was a ‘crude-bomb.’ A metal piece was introduced into the strong liquid detergent which would react and eventually burst with a bang!

“You are lucky it didn’t burst in your hand.”

“Yes” I replied in a squeaky voice, stunned to silence.

Then there were the ‘Limited Curriculum Classes’, which most teachers dread. This lot of students, though academically weak, had their strong points too. Once,two boys seemed particularly interested in a desk lying in the corner of class, as I entered. Together they shifted a desk, oozing a liquid of some sort, to the center of the class. In a split second they had toppled a considerable amount of the detestable liquid on to the floor. What followed was pure pandemonium. ‘Oohs’, ‘ugh s’ and exaggerated sounds of retching arose. The females fanned themselves dramatically lest they faint. Others made attempts to rush out of the class. Bewildered, I tried to make them sit at their desks, nostrils flaring, trying to figure out what the funny smell was.

The whole class was later marched out and the rest of the day was spent under the shady green trees outside. I later learnt that the errant kids who had spilt ‘urine’ in the class were suspended. ‘Suspension’ was the only punishment frequently meted out to students behind such antics.

There had been hilarious moments too. In an attempt to curb throwing paper balls, I told a boy to hand over the one he had in his hand. He promptly held it out and just as I took it, out popped an oversized gecko. I jumped and shrieked, dropping the vile thing, paper ball and all. The girls giggled with glee and between peals of laughter, the boys thumped each others’ backs for having at last ruffled the feathers of their otherwise poised English teacher.

In spite of the many mishaps, I’ve enjoyed rewarding moments too, like the time when a grade 8 student presented me with her version of a rhyme after her brief brush with the study of geography. Here’s how it goes…..

“Twinkle Twinkle Little star

Now I know what you really are

You’re just a rock up in the sky

That seems a diamond to the eye.”

            With a record of the highest divorce rates in the world, most students in the Maldives, come from broken families. A little affection and a good measure of patience, can finally bring them around.

The other day, Shafeehu was sent out of the class for misbehaviour by an irate teacher. Being his class teacher, I spoke to him and found out that his mother had left him when he was just six months old. “I hate her” he said. “Who do you love then, Shafeehu?” I asked.

“My Grandmother”, he replied.

“Where is she?”

“She’s dead”, he said softly.

Tears pricked my eyes and I looked away.

Shafeehu was just one among the scores of Maldivian children who shared  a similar fate.

Suddenly everything fell in place as I realized that what these kids’ lives lacked was love and security.

Slowly I walked him back to his classroom, vowing to do my best and to be more patient with these students who sought attention and craved for love. In spite of being enveloped in a sense of helplessness, I could at last understand them. And I felt wiser for having gained an insight into the complexities of human nature.

                                                With my students at AEC

[written in 2009]