It was meant to be an ordinary day—the kind where time drifts quietly and boredom settles into the background of routine.
Then J called.
Her voice was steady, almost too steady, as she told me her recent brain MRI had come back… not good.
The words lingered longer than the call itself.
In truth, this hadn’t come out of nowhere. There had been signs—small, scattered, easy to dismiss. J had mentioned her headaches before, intermittent and without the classical red flags we are trained to look out for. No raised intracranial pressure symptoms. Nothing dramatic. Nothing urgent. And her main concern, at least outwardly, seemed to be the puffiness around her eyes—something she worried about more for how it looked than what it meant.
So we did what people often do with vague symptoms—we brushed them aside.
After all, she was already known to have hypothyroidism. She was on treatment. There was an explanation, or at least something that felt like one. It was easier to anchor ourselves to that than to question further.
But now, faced with this news, shock was only the surface reaction.
What settled more deeply was something heavier—guilt.
A quiet, uncomfortable kind of remorse that creeps in when you start replaying past conversations, past dismissals, past assumptions. The kind that asks questions you can’t easily answer.
Why didn’t I take her more seriously?
Perhaps any headache that lingers beyond few months deserves more than reassurance. Perhaps it deserves attention, investigation—respect.
Or perhaps this is one of those moments that reminds you how easily we overlook what doesn’t fit neatly into our expectations.
And how costly that can be.
Then, as if the day hadn’t already asked enough of me, my mother called.
Her tone carried that familiar hesitation—the kind that signals something not meant for wide circulation. News that travels quietly, almost guiltily, from one person to another.
It was about an old “foe.” Or more accurately, a relative—my aunt’s husband.
He used to be the kind of adult children learn to be wary of. The teasing, the pranks, the sort that blur the line between playfulness and discomfort. Not overtly malicious, perhaps—but unsettling in a way that lingers longer than intended. I sometimes wonder if there’s a peculiar satisfaction some adults derive from provoking children, from testing boundaries that aren’t theirs to test.
Of course, it didn’t always land well.
Not with us.
My brothers and I weren’t particularly docile children. Rebellious, perhaps. Quick to react. Quick to push back. The kind who didn’t absorb discomfort quietly.
And yet, time has a way of flattening these memories—turning sharp edges into distant anecdotes.
Until today.
My mother told me he is now tetraplegic, following a severe car accident.
And just like that, whatever remnants of irritation or childish resentment that once existed felt… irrelevant.
Because there is something about imagining another human being reduced to such fragility that strips away the luxury of pettiness. You don’t celebrate it. You don’t even linger on the past.
You just… pause.
My father and brother said it simply: we can only pray for him.
And perhaps that is all there is to say.
It’s strange how, in the span of a single day, life confronts you from different angles—first with guilt, then with perspective.
A friend whose symptoms we didn’t take seriously enough.
A relative whose past actions once irritated us, now lying in a state that demands nothing but compassion.
It makes you realise how short life really is. How quickly roles change. How fragile everything is beneath the illusion of normalcy.
And so, maybe the lesson is not grand, but it is necessary:
Be a little less angry.
Be a little less petty.
Care a little more, while you still can.
And live—properly.
Eat what you love.
Laugh without restraint.
And yes… buy the damn stock—within your means.
Because if today proves anything, it’s that life doesn’t wait for you to get your priorities right.
We kept playing this song in OT today….so I shall continue playing it.
https://music.youtube.com/search?q=sunday+morning
Doctor on FIRE 