Lines

He was wearing a shabby white half-sleeve vest and shorts. He had come to our health center with complaints of body ache. “I go around with a cart selling mattha. I leave home at seven in the morning and come back by seven in the evening. I am outside the whole day walking around. By the time I come back home, my legs ache so terribly. I make my kids stand on it, hoping for some relief. Please give me something for the pain.” I asked him about various other symptoms and started the clinical examination. Many of his features were leading me to the obvious culprit. So, I had to ask. I have no idea why I do it, but every time I ask about alcohol intake or smoking history, my voice lowers a bit. Involuntarily. Or maybe not. It could be because of the various responses and reactions I have received over time. Some deny it outright and look at you like you have used a cuss word. They shake their heads so much as if I could almost have questioned their fidelity. Some give a gentle nod. Few lower their voices and say, “Yes, occasionally”. And then there are some who hold their head high and accept their habit with maybe a tinge of something edging on pride. My patient belonged to the last category. But there was no pride in his voice as he tried to justify his habit.” I do drink daily after dinner and then fall asleep. I work the whole day and the alcohol makes me feel better. I feel less tired and can fall asleep faster.” This made absolute sense to him. It was a necessity for him. And this necessity is slowly devouring his liver. Our conversation made me realize something important. There is a very thin line between necessity and addiction. A line running parallel to the one between life and death.

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