When Illness Paused Everything:
A Gentle Reminder of What Truly Matters

This is my story, but I have intentionally hidden the identity of myself and my family to protect our privacy. The lessons, however, are universal.

We had got back from my hometown after celebrating father’s 88th birthday. It was a beautiful gathering, with family members coming together, smiles, laughter, that feeling of belonging that cannot be put into words. In that moment, nothing else mattered.  It was just us – family, talking, and making memories in real time. 

I came into the routine, still basking in the soft afterglow of the trip. Without warning, my throat went full-on worse. It is the kind that drains energy and fogs the mind to some level. No voice, no strength, just the intense pain in the throat with a slight fever, and feeling helplessness for which there really is no description. That is when life came to a halt. Whether I liked it or not. 

And in that pause forced upon me, something within me shifted.

When you are down, the illusion of control dissolves very fast. The scheduled lists, the planned meetings, the goals all fade away in the background and context of what gets immediate attention. You are no longer the one in charge. You realize the important things then, for sure.

The ping of digital notifications turns into an unwelcome noise. The standard messages from digital friends, replete with “Get well soon” emojis, feel automated, perhaps well-intentioned, but chilly. Here again is family. Though there was no impact to the work. I was working from the hospital, about 30 minutes a day, responding to important messages, and then handed over all operational matters to my staff, who handled everything brilliantly.

Family – The real tie

With such a lack of energy to even talk, my wife made sure I ate the right food at the right time, even if she had to rearrange her whole day around it. She kept checking on my temperature, asked if I needed anything, reminded me to take my medicines on time, and without making a fuss or complaining, her silence said, “I got you.”

Between those drowsy spells and fits of coughing, I caught myself wondering: how often have I taken this for granted? How often have I acted like a transactional husband: paying bills, managing personal finances, booking tickets, making purchases online, but absent emotionally? Trying to me, at least, I have always said I am “doing my part,” and yes, these things do matter. But in the end, they are all external. Replaceable and can be delegated. What isn’t is the time, the care, the connection.

Some of those moments of awareness come with instances of irritability, sharpness, and insensitivity that infect scorn. Perhaps a trivial argument about a misplaced item, a wrongly booked time slot, or an unheeded reminder. When all is well and life is busy with good things, those moments pass. But when everything seems to be falling apart, they echo. And you wish you would have been more patient, more kind, more present.

What could be worse, it was my wife’s birthday the following week and we had been celebrating it every year. This year she took it sportingly and said, celebrations can wait, let’s first get you on track. Coming back to the illness, initially what started as a throat infection didn’t seem so after a few days, as the fever was persistent. It was time to go to the hospital and check for the underlying cause. After a series of tests during the day, in the end, in an ultra sound, a cyst was detected near the liver and needed immediate hospitalization. Once it was removed, there was relief, but still a few weeks to go for the full recovery. All’s well that ends well. That’s when I realized, how similar is the profession of a Doctor and a Certified Financial Planner (CFP) who manages investments of others. We were armed with a lot of reports, but still need a professional, well qualified doctor to guide us on the next steps. Isn’t that the role of money managers too? Clients provide us with a lot of data and then we need to figure out the best investment for them, based on their risk appetite, goals and time horizon.

Being ill has a way of crystallizing things

It takes a translucent look at your very core and beauty, exposing your desires of affection over riches. You desire presence over performance. And you begin noticing the small things which really matter, someone placing a warm glass of water for gargles beside you, adjusting the pillow for you without asking, making sure the room is quiet for your rest. These kind gestures that seem so ordinary under different circumstances are an extraordinary thing when you are lying helpless, looking for comfort.

But this does not restrict itself to spouses. It is about the kids knowing that something isn’t quite right with you. It is about parents calling to check on you. It is about siblings and close relatives, sending a message, `if there’s anything you need, just call` and meaning it. In a world that is crazy about doing more, being more, and achieving more, these are what ground us. They heal us.

I write this, not as a melodramatic outpouring of emotion, but rather as a friendly reminder. Everything else will wait. Those emails will be attended to; those meetings will be scheduled; that payment will be made. Eventually. But time with family, words of encouragement, an evening meal together, or simply sharing a good laugh-are all temporary. They are now, if cherished, and gone forever, if they aren’t.

I am asking you to do this for me while I work my recovery:

• Take a pause. Look at your loves not through duty or mundane routine but with gratitude. 
• Fix it, if there is distance; if something hurtful was said, apologize.
• Don’t wait for a fever, infection or the bigger crisis to remind you that you are not alone.
• Sit with the spouse for 10 more minutes today. Ask how your parents are really doing. Hug your   kids, not because you must or ought to, but because you feel like it.

It is not a race. It never was one. Life is something to be experienced in the company of people who care. And believe me, no investment carries a better yield than love and care received during your lowest moments. 

Don’t let the suffering or the illness show us who really counts. 

We already know, don’t we? 

We just have to remember.