I landed in Delhi on August 25 with a round-trip ticket and a private deadline: find clarity by September 10. Back in California, Nidhi kept our life standing—quiet evenings, lonely walks, an empty side of the bed—while I learned a new routine of hospital corridors and chai breaks. My boss, Sahas, was very supportive and told me to do whatever it took to get my family in shape.
Delhi welcomed me with torrential rains. The Yamuna swelled near our old neighborhood; Bela road filled up like a water tub till the water rose to 10 feet! It pulled me straight back to school-day monsoons—muddy shoes, raincoats, damp notebooks, stomping in puddles that felt like ponds. Those memories arrived like an arm around the shoulder right when I needed one.
We had no insurance (in India’s jargon: “aapka panel nahi hai sir!?”), which, strangely, made things faster. Paying out of pocket meant fewer loops and more straight lines. I coordinated the medical maze myself; Akansha, our cook, kept simple home food ready, and Vijender, our driver, threaded us through traffic so I could keep my head where it mattered.
The science was one thing; the language around it was another. Vinita became my translator for the scary words. I’d read the articles; she helped me hear what they meant. My childhood friend Ajay messaged me at lunch: “Talk to Vivek.” A schoolmate turned doctor, Vivek called back with the calm you borrow in a storm and pointed us to Dr. Rajesh Kumar Jain at BLK Super Max - his senior from medical school. That single referral shifted the ground under our feet. Meanwhile, Vipul lined up other top specialists “just in case,” laying soft nets below our tightrope. And when fear sat loud at home, Jagriti and Shweta came by to sit with my mom and calm her fears.
In Delhi’s system, you don’t drift through a hospital—you shuttle. You’re the attendant, the runner between units, the one who stamps the day forward. For Mom’s surgery clearance, I spent a day and a half moving her from PET-CT to ECG, ECHO, bloodwork, BP checks, cardiology consult, and finally anesthesia. Every specialist sat mom down, asked their questions, and handed me a signed clearance certificate. It felt like assembling a bridge, one plank at a time, while already halfway across.
Figure 1: Checking out the modern RCKC in Omaxe Mall, Chandni Chowk!
Between hospital days, life kept handing us small anchors. My nani happened to be visiting mom and dad - seeing my mom with her mom made the world feel properly arranged for a minute. Himanshu mama took us to tour Ashiana Nirmay, a thoughtful senior-care community; the future felt less like a cliff and more like a path. With the jet lag and worries, I was also able to distract myself with work: I checked in on meetings and texts with colleagues and help the project move forward as much as I could. One rain-soaked afternoon between medical tests, I even slipped into a contrasting world of old and new: Chandni Chowk’s new and happening Omaxe Mall and bought a couple of traditional Indian outfits over FaceTime with Nidhi!
Figure 2: Making plans over coffee: Starbucks next to the hospital.
We were assigned a single room 5522, but even that came wrapped in bureaucracy. We waited on the main floor for what felt like forever, watching other families argue at admissions about rooms they’d also been “confirmed.” I finally escalated to Swati on Dr. Rajesh’s team; minutes later, the logjam broke and we were checked in. I stayed with Mom for the entire hospital stay—because in this system the attendant isn’t optional; it’s love with a QR Code.
Figure 3: Mom, waiting for surgery!
On surgery morning, Mom was first on Dr. Rajesh’s list. We checked her in around 8 a.m. BLK Super Max also has a helpful app that tracked her surgery on a progress chart—pre-op, in OT, recovery—a path we could follow. I held the phone, held my breath, and updated relatives with screenshots over WhatsApp.
Figure 4: Keeping a nervous eye on the surgery progress!
If you’ve ever lived far from your parents, you know: you become the legs and the paperwork and the timeline—and somehow you’re still the child. Even post-op, Mom asked if I’d eaten.
Figure 5: Post operative visit from Dr Rajesh and his team!
What helped most wasn’t a plan—it was people. Vinita, for sense over noise. Ajay and Vivek, for the door that opened when we needed it. Dr. Rajesh Kumar Jain (BLK Super Max) and team, for skill wrapped in kindness and urgency (and thank you, Swati, for cutting through the tangle when room 5522 was a mirage). Vipul, for the safety net. Jagriti and Shweta, for the calm. Akansha, our cook, and Vijender, our driver, for being the backbone of support. And Nidhi, holding the other end of the rope from California, keeping home warm enough that I could carry Delhi in both hands.
Figure 6: Morning tea, day after surgery.
We’re healing forward now. The rains have eased. The Yamuna has stepped back. There’s sun on the floor, a folder of reports that finally sits still, and my mom—tired, smiling, brave. I came with a return date and no map. We made one as we walked: mammogram, surgeon, biopsy, mastectomy. That was enough.