An Inspirational story of Hydrocephalic Survivor

"I changed from a guy who hoped he was dead one day to a guy who wanted to live every moment of his life as if he had never lived before. By the time I left college, I had a set of friends who were as close to me as family and I was a person, who completely believed in himself. One thing I learnt from all this, it was never the way others looked at me that changed, it was the way I looked at the world that made all the difference"

Says Tavish Chadha. He suffered from Hydrocephalic problem at the age of two months and has been operated seven times for his hydrocephalic problem, But that is all past, now he leads a very normal life in the corporate world and is a active blogger too.

He is happy to share his success story with the parents who have children suffering from the same disease.

1985 to 1989 – Early childhood

3rd July 1985, a new member was added into the Chadha family. We were a joint family back then. I wasn’t the first grandson born in the family, but as far I know, I was the most pampered. 2 months into this world and I developed a problem called Hydrocephalous. As soon as it was confirmed that something was wrong, we quickly drove down from Chandigarh to Delhi. Delhi at that time was simmering thanks to the anti-Sikh riots. Dad tells me that he stood at the gates of AIIMS holding me in his arms and the guard wouldn’t allow him inside accusing him of being a terrorist. After he pleaded and begged him, we were allowed in, but only till the kitchen and that’s where my check up was done. Anyways, the problem was soon diagnosed and I was rushed to the operation theatre. After the operation, the doctor came and told my dad that there are high chances that I may be a mentally retard and the best he could hope for is that I have an IQ of 80. After this dad went and visited ever single gurudwara in Punjab and asked god for just one thing, “Just make sure my son gets to study.” Contrary to all expectations, I turned out to be quite a bright little kid. At the age of three, I could actually talk to people about every tennis player of those times. At an age when kids couldn’t pronounce Czechoslovakia, I could tell people what the capital of that country was. My dad tells me this story every time I curse life or god. He just says, “If it wasn’t for that god, you wouldn’t have been what you are today. Out of all the people on this planet, you can’t afford be a non-believer. ” If it wasn’t for this incident, I would have never believed in the concept of god at all. I still don’t believe in the concept of multiple religions, but I do believe that there is a divine power up there who is running the whole show on this planet. Anyways, I had a couple of surgeries in Delhi in the next couple of years and then five more in Hyderabad, where we shifted after dad got a job in Asian Paints.

1989 to 1996 – growing up years phase 1

We moved to Hyderabad in early 1989. After staying in a rented house for two months, we moved into a flat given to us by the company. The society in which we moved into, had people from all over the country. I was a very touchy kid who was always over protected by my parents. To top it all, I was a complete tube light (although, some would say I still am). This proved to be a very dangerous combination. This made me very vulnerable and the other kids would find it very easy to manipulate me. I always found it difficult to learn when others taught me something, but would end up learning that very same thing all by myself in no time. My dad toiled unsuccessfully for over a month to teach me how to ride a bicycle and how to skate, but finally lost all hope one day. From the middle of nowhere, I started riding the bicycle and started skating all by myself. The problem wasn’t that I had a problem with his teaching; it was just that I couldn’t follow a standard step by step procedure of learning something. Even today, I find it difficult to follow a standard procedure in doing something. If I find a better way of doing something, I’ll go for it regardless of what people have to say. I am not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but it’s just the way I am.

1996-2003 – growing up years phase 2

I shifted from an all boys school to a co-education school. I had hardly any interaction with girls before this, except for my childhood friend, who I always treated like another guy. Now, here I was, all of a sudden found myself surrounded by aliens. My sister had a heart problem and my parents had to start concentrating on her and with the result I had to take complete control of my life. This proved a little too much for me and everything started falling apart. I soon started to lag behind in my academics, fellow students and teachers started to look down on me and as a result I had no friends. Things went from bad to worse over the next two years. My teachers used to humiliate me and beat me up every single day. I soon went into a state of depression and developed an inferiority complex. I lost all the confidence that I had and began to hope everyday that, that day was my last. Then one day, somewhere in the year 2000, when things had become way too much for me to handle, I went back home and burst out crying in front of my mother and I told her everything that was actually going on with me. Since then mom and dad helped me get out of my mess slowly and steadily. By the time I had passed my 10 th grade, the kid who had stopped seeing more than 50% on his mark-sheet, passed out in first division and by the time I passed out of my twelfth I could actually boast of a percentage in the eighties. It took a few more years to come out of my inferiority complex and depression. Those years weren’t easy, but today, as I look back, those days are an asset. Whenever am low or the chips are down, I just close my eyes for a few minutes and recollect those memories and say to myself, “if I could get through those days, I can get through anything.” People who have known about this feel sorry for me, but I kind of feel proud that all that happened. You may find it strange, but I kind of feel gifted.

2004-2007 – College life

My dad always wanted me to be an engineer but left the decision on me. However, one of my dad’s friends advised him not to make me take up engineering because he felt I wouldn’t be able to cope with it. Instead, he felt I should be doing a course like arts. My dad just replied saying “it’s completely up to him. I am not going to force him into anything.” But that very day I sub-consciously decided that I am going to be an engineer and show this guy that I CAN. So here I was, in March 2004, admitted into one of the best Engineering Collge in Hyderabad. My inferiority complex hadn’t completely gone away from me. The next three years passed by pretty fine. Not too many friends but I was leading a decent life. The turning point for me came in my final year, when I got through Accenture. It was no great interview that required me to know rocket science, but, it was the first time I had achieved something all by myself. Things changed all of a sudden, I was full of confidence and could now start looking at people eye to eye. Even my class mates were shocked on seeing the new me. I was a changed person. I changed from a guy who couldn’t speak to anybody to a guy who proposed a girl in front of a hundred people knowing she wouldn’t accept it because she like someone else. I changed from a guy who hoped he was dead one day to a guy who wanted to live every moment of his life as if he had never lived before. By the time I left college, I had a set of friends who were as close to me as family and I was a person, who completely believed in himself. One thing I learnt from all this, it was never the way others looked at me that changed, it was the way I looked at the world that made all the difference.

2007 to present – Life in the corporate world.

Although I had done my electrical engineering, I was always fond of software. I could sit for hours and code something. Joining Accenture was a dream come true. I entered this organization with a picture in my head, where all I would be doing is coding software, something I loved doing. However, I soon realized corporate world had many more dynamics attached to it. The past three years have gone from excitement of finally getting to earn your own money to frustration on seeing no future in what I was doing to realization that however pathetic things are, in the end of the day you have to face them. The question I had to ask myself again was, “are things that bad or is it the way I am looking at them?” The answer didn’t really surprise me. The minute I changed my perception about things, things at work changed automatically.

So that’s how my life has been for the past twenty five years. I won’t say it’s been a great life, neither will I say it’s been a bad life. It’s just been a journey of crests and troughs and with each crest and each trough, I have grown as a person.

A reliable 'Downs Syndrome' worker

This is the true story of a mongol sent to me and it touched my heart: .....

I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy.

But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie.

He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded 'truck stop germ' the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think
every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.

I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.

After that, I really didn't care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old kid in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed
work.

He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine.

Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.

Marvin Ringers, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table

Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Marvin a withering look.

He grinned. 'OK, Frannie, what was that all about?' he asked.

'We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.'

'I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?'

Frannie quickly told Marvin and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed: ' Yeah, I'm glad he is going to be OK,'she said. 'But I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is.'Marvin nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn't had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.

'What's up?' I asked.

'I didn't get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,' she said. 'This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup'

She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed 'Something For Stevie.'

'Pete asked me what that was all about,' she said, 'so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything , and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.' She handed me another paper napkin that had 'Something For Stevie' scrawled on its outside. Two $50
bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: 'truckers.'

That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.

His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

'Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,' I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. 'Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!' I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.

I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper n napkins. 'First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,' I said. I tried to sound stern.

Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had 'Something for Stevie' printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. 'There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. 'Happy
Thanksgiving. '

Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.

But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.

Best worker I ever hired.