Misha B Creations

Writing

Find links to publications and samples of my writing below!

Short Story

Check out my flash fiction piece, “Little Girl”, published in Grande Dame Literary Journal.

Poetry

Creative Non-Fiction

Three Perspectives on My Mother and Her Illness Experience

Caring for My Mother (My Perspective)

My mom was too sick for it to be just Covid. It was only Covid for my dad, yet he was rapidly improving. My mom was too sick for it to just be that. We were all vaccinated, and I could feel something else was up. Yet, due to her distrust of allopathic medicine, she kept denying the gravity of her sickness. She was adamant about sticking to Ayurvedic remedies, at most having some Advil, and praying for a swift recovery. After a telehealth appointment, we convinced her to take the antibiotics for her UTI-like symptoms. As her health deteriorated further, my dad and I became stronger in our demand to go to the ER. Ultimately, she succumbed.

The ER lobby was packed with people of all ages, each with a certain helplessness, fatigue, and frustration. As we waited for her name to be called, I kept giving my mom water and rubbing her arm gently. Her eyes were struggling to stay open. When it was time, they had me wait outside due to the Covid restrictions. I sat outside with my dad for 4 hours while we waited to hear from my mom. I watched people in the downtown next to the hospital, strolling, laughing, seemingly without a care in the world. I hoped to share their carefree happiness soon.

On the 30 minute car ride home from the ER, we got a call about abnormal blood work and had to bring my mom back to be hospitalized. I ran around the house quickly packing anything that I thought she would need in the hospital: snacks, comfy clothes, a fluffy blanket and pillow, my headphones, notebook and pen, phone charger, her books on Hinduism and yoga. 

The tests confirmed that along with Covid, my mom also had a UTI. The bacteria responsible for the UTI was found to be resistant to the original antibiotic, which, coupled with the delay in getting her medical attention, had allowed the UTI to progress to a kidney infection. Guilt crept in: I should not have put up with her stubbornness, I should have brought her sooner. 

The doctors decided to give stronger IV antibiotics which helped alleviate some of her worse symptoms. Soon, I went to visit her, separated by a glass door. Her eyes still drooped and her face was sunken in, but she was able to smile again. I placed my hand on the door and she lined hers with mine. We looked at our hands, near-perfect mirror images of each other. I had never realized how similar they were. As I stood there, I imagined a healing energy was emanating from my hand into hers, that through sheer will I could push her body to heal faster.

Within a couple days we were told that she was ready to be discharged, with the caveat that one of us would have to administer her midline IV antibiotics at home. My dad refused to do it, as simply looking at an incision could make him nauseous. I knew my mom wanted to come home, and I was willing and even excited to learn how to use a midline IV. I received a short how-to training and then a home visit to make sure I was following proper procedure. 

Two days later, as I began to push the saline wash into the IV, I felt a blockage pressure on the syringe. I tried pressing a little harder, but immediately stopped when my mom complained of pain. In the ER, we were told that a clot had formed, requiring IV replacement.

I did not anticipate how much blood would come out in removing it. As my mom’s face contorted with pain, I became faint and light-headed. Not wanting to draw attention away from her care, I stared at a spot on the floor and forced myself to breathe. I understood at that moment why they do not let doctors treat family members.

Life often comes to a pause for illness: the things that seemed significant a short time ago become practically forgotten. Just days before her illness, my parents had been fighting with the vivid intensity. I had been stuck in the middle of it, trying to talk them through their issues, crying and praying every day for it all to end. I now wonder if her illness was the universe’s response to my prayers. It worked, anyhow. While my mom’s sickness caused physical suffering, it also alleviated the emotional suffering of the previous months. Perhaps, it was a sickness that healed. 

The Emotions of a Woman in Illness (My Mother’s Perspective)

Anxiety: I cannot become this burden. I cannot believe that I got Covid and am so sick, I do not want to be a burden to my daughter and my husband. I cannot go to the ER, that would be too much. I just have a simple sickness, it does not need to get to that point. I will not be a burden.

Frustration: I can’t believe they brought me to the ER, these doctors are completely useless. The ER is the most disorganized place in the world. I have to wait for so long, and without anyone because of Covid restrictions, and I have asked for water 3 times. They did countless tests only to send me home with Advil, exactly what I was doing before we came. Then, they force me to come back because they find something in my blood test, and then they hospitalize me.

Loneliness: The nurses and doctors come to care for me. They keep coming in for tests and bring me what I ask. It is so different from the ER, where there was such an absence of care. Yet, I am alone. Just my sicknesses and me. Misha came to visit once, but there was a glass wall between us. I miss her and Manish. I look forward to the day I can go home.

Love: I am sick, I am tired, but I am loved. Misha brings me food, puts in my IV antibiotics, gives me all I need and want. She keeps making unique recipes she finds online, only I wish I could properly taste them. But I can feel the care she puts into them. I am happy that Manish is feeling better and helps her with chopping the ingredients. I feel love for their care and love.

Fatigue vs. Embarrassment: She supports my body as we go to the upstairs shower. It is the only one large enough to fit a chair because I cannot even properly stand. I know she is my daughter and it does not matter, but I feel shame as she undresses me for the shower. I see my body in the mirror and do not recognize the sickly color of my skin. Though I told her I could shower by myself, I can see now that would have been a mistake. I can barely lift my head as she carefully washes my body and hair, though this feels infinitely better than the hospital sponge baths. As she towel-dries my skin, I notice her clothes are drenched. I quietly croak that she should go change, that I can wait for her. I must have looked as weak as I felt, because she refused to change in order to get me dressed and into bed, leaving a trail of water across the floor.

Pride: I’m happy Misha quickly picked up how to administer the antibiotics, and she is enjoying it. She will like being a doctor, learning all these different procedures. She is so focused, triple checking each step and checking on me repeatedly to make sure everything is as it should be.

Guilt: It is Misha’s summer, she is only here for so long, and now she has to spend it taking care of me. She can’t even meet her friends because of the Covid risk. Because of me. 

Logic: Imagine if she was not here. Imagine if only Manish and I were here, and with us both sick. How would we manage? She is the only one in the family who can handle dealing with needles and blood. We would have had a home nurse then, or I would have still been in the hospital. Imagine if she had not gotten Covid less than a month ago. She is here for a reason.

Gratefulness: A bad thing has happened, yes. But I am grateful that God allowed things to happen such that my daughter could take care of me and Manish, and that Manish and I could finally see that our love for each other is bigger than any stupid fight. It is not ideal, but with them managing my medicine, making food, and taking care of my needs, I am able to heal in the comfort of my own home. I am suffering, we are suffering. Yet I know it will pass.

The Unrequited Love of Sars & Uti (Illness’s Perspective)

They had started to back down. It had been nearly 10 days of spending time with her, playfully fighting Beecells and Teecells (though they took it a little too seriously), and staking my claim on her. I loved the chase. I knew she was playing hard to get, but my efforts were starting to pay off. In telling her cells to ease up, she was showing me that she was ready for more. I began to explore her body further, traveling from her nose down to her throat. I even began to travel through her lymph fluid. It was on one such occasion that I took a wrong turn and ended up by her bladder. And that was where I met Uti.

You see, I had believed that I was alone in her, that she and I were the only ones for each other. But, here was Uti, staking their claim on her. While I was more beautiful with my spike-covered exterior, Uti had a certain charisma that allowed them to touch more of her cells. Now, Uti was getting ready to travel up to her kidneys. I was going to have to up my game. I returned back to home base and began making a descent from her throat to her lungs. She obviously loved me more because the more I descended, the more she hugged me with mucus. Yet, every time I checked on Uti, they had taken up more space. I decided I needed to be more aggressive with my love and worked night and day to build my attachment to her.

My parents would have been so proud. We were told that the best thing to do for the prosperity of our society was to share our touch and love with as many people and cells as we could. Here I was, with my first host, living up to the expectations of my fellow pathogens.

That’s why when Antibiotick came along, I refused to believe anything he was saying. I thought that he also wanted her, that he was just trying to mess with me to get to her. My parents had always warned me to be wary of drugs like Antibiotick, so I kept my distance. Antibiotick somehow had more influence over Uti, and they quickly believed what he was saying. Yet the things Antibiotick spoke of, I had started to notice them too.

It seemed that my actions were not as playful and loving as I thought. It had been 10 days since I saw Teecells and Beecells so I decided to check in with them and see if what Antibiotick was saying was true. I found them by the bone marrow, showing a fatigue I had never noticed before. Though reluctant to speak with me, they both said that our fights had truly damaged them and her. What I thought was an invitation for more was actually a sign of defeat. 

Our whole lives, Uti and I had been told that our worth as pathogens, our ability to do good for the community, was linked to our ability to leave our touch on people’s cells. We were told that taking up more space was the right thing to do. Yet, we were wrong. As Antibiotick explained, what we were doing was colonizing. We were marking our territory when it was not ours to mark, and we were only causing damage rather than spreading love. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. Once Antibiotick opened our eyes to reality, we saw it everywhere. Her cells were clearly weaker than when I had first come, her bladder and kidney had begun to malfunction, and she kept coughing up mucus, which apparently wasn’t hugging me but was trying to trap me. Uti and I quickly realized the gravity of what we had done, and worked with Antibiotick to reverse it. We stopped our spread and helped care for her cells, and slowly things started to get better. 

Soon, however, we reached a breaking point. Antibiotick had done everything he could do, but she was not getting better fast enough. Even though we had worked so hard to heal her, it was not enough. The damage had been done and only with strong and radical action would she be healed. In order to save her, Uti and I had to sacrifice ourselves, piece by piece, to return her cells to their healthy state. This would be our final act, an ultimate act of love. 

It is too late for me and Uti, but it is not too late for you. Learn to coexist. You can spend time with people without harming them. Protect them from the others who do not know, who do not realize the harm they are doing. We need to abandon these parasitic relationships for symbiotic ones. We cannot forget the past but we can try to build a better future. Let our sacrifices be an example, and let them not be in vain.