Waiting is excruciating. I've spent 16 years obsessing over the cancer, 12 days dreading my biopsy and 48 hours anticipating its results. It's almost a relief to finally get it, so I can get on with getting it out and over with.
I ask my therapist if having a god would have eased this endless uncertainty? Not necessarily an omnipresent, all-knowing one, but, you know, just someone who could keep vigil while I took a nap, or a shower, or a coffee break.
I tell her about my brief experiment with prayer. When my mother was sick, I walked an entire mountain trek, silently chanting her name. Five days later she was gone, never to return.
"What were the chances," she asks, "of Deepa, in India, falling in love with Ranabir, from Houston, who lives by the best cancer hospital in the world, where they discover your tumor, before it barely even exists?!"
"I see what you mean." I reply "Someone's watching over me."
Maybe I don't have to call god, god, for god, to be god.
So thank you, person watching over me. I guess you were around the whole time I was napping and showering and caffeinating.
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