The mechanical monotonous sound
of the pencil heels she was wearing resonated, amplified by the phenomena of
echo. She hurried across the tepidly
decorated halls of the Missionary Hospital she had entered a minute ago,
oblivious to the not so customary glances the people showered her with
unparalleled diligence. Well the people could not be blamed, after all it’s not
very often that one sees a woman of an undeniable air of authority and self
reliance come waltzing through a very average government hospital. Dressed in a
two piece suit and her hair pinned in the form of a bun, she really did stick
out like a sore thumb in a hospital that consisted of sari clad women and men
flaunting their bare torso as if it was something to be proud of.
She reached the lame excuse for a
reception hall where she was stopped by a woman in navy blue scrubs.
“How may I help you madam”, she
asked in English layered with a very prominent South Indian accent.
“I am looking for room 308, would
you be kind enough to direct me to it.”
“Sure thing madam! Take the lift
up to the third floor, and then take the first left. Three doors down you will
find what you are looking for. ”
“Thank you”, she said flaunting
the million dollar smile which when clubbed with her astute mind had left her
opponents staring at her in disbelief on many a occasion.
She followed the instructions to
the letter and soon enough saw the brass plate which boldly proclaimed that she
had reached the right room. She sighed staring at the door for more time than
required wondering as to how she was going to address the problem that
threatened to disrupt her life. Riya Dey was finally afraid of something. She
thought about the kick her opponents would get if they were to ever hear about
this. She allowed herself a chuckle and then quickly revered back to the stoic
demeanour, which had taken her the better part of the last 15 years to
cultivate. She then rotated the rusted knob ninety degrees westward and opened the
door.
On entering the room she was
greeted by all the unpleasant smells associated with a hospital at once,
drowning her in a non toxic layer of unbearable gas.
“Aunty you are finally here”,
said a 17 year old girl, she was sure she had met before.
“What happened to him”, she said
looking at the surprisingly flush face of her son lying in the bed next to the door.
“We were on our way from school
when it happened. He had just dropped me outside the gate of my house when a
speeding car came from nowhere and slammed into the rear side of his bike. He
was wearing a helmet so I hoped that he would be fine, even after his head
collided with the divider, but I was wrong.”
The door was opened by a man in
his mid thirties wearing all the paraphernalia associated with the medical
profession, giving her no time to absorb the details of the accident.
“Hello I am Dr Narag Patel and I
am responsible for one Dev Dey” he said after consulting with the sheet of
paper in his hand.
“I am Riya Dey, his mother. May I
know as to what exactly is wrong with him?”
“Well we are not sure as to
whether we can classify him as brain dead yet because...”
“Hold your horses here. Are you
implying that my son is really dead?”
“Well not in the literal sense
because courtesy the ventilator his vitals are strong but a person is considered
brain dead when brain activity ceases with virtually no scope of recovery. We
will be sure of the diagnosis in an hour or so”, said Dr Patel rushing out of
the room.
Riya followed him and clutched
him with a firm hand and said “Is this how you break bad news to family
members, does this all seem like a joke to you.
You can’t just come striding into the room deliver news like my son may
potentially be dead and do nothing about it. Why isn’t there a nurse or someone
to check on him? I will have your ass sued for negligence.”
“Seems like a joke! Have you
heard yourself woman. Would rather have me do a beautiful rendition of the
doctors in soaps by saying everything will be alright. Well newsflash lady,
this is the real deal. There is no magical drug no jadoo ki jhappi that will
right the wrong your son is undergoing. Yes personally I would love to tell you
what you would like to hear but I have realised that when one has no hope it is
easier to deal with the inevitable. So pardon me if I came out as a cocky prick
but you need to understand that it was necessary. I think it is pretty evident
that you are standing in a government hospital which as most people know are
notorious for being understaffed so unfortunately no one can give the personal
attention your son needs. Sue us all you want, hell ill even sign an affidavit
helping your cause but you need to realise no good will come out of it.”
Riya reluctantly let go of him.
She reached for her phone that resided in the left pocket of her pants and
dialled the seventh number on the speed dial.
“What can I do for you Riya”,
said the voice on the phone.
“Set me an appointment with all
of the top neurologists of this city”
“What has...”
Riya cut the phone without
listening to what her secretary had to ask. Once she was sure she was alone
only then she allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the emotions that were
gnawing her insides. Her mother had always told her that displaying emotions in
front of people was a sign of weakness and her inability to get attached to
anyone in particular had helped her achieve success in a male dominated
profession. But this wasn’t job and the person lying on the bed was none other
than her son, after all she was only human.
Just as she was coming to terms
with the incessant barrage of emotions which engulfed her Dr Patel came and
stood in front of her.
“I am sorry. It is what we
feared.”
“Please don’t say this. I will
pay just about anything, just fix my son.”
“Then Mrs Dey pay attention to
me. Your son has officially been declared brain dead, there is not one doctor
in this whole planet who can do anything to save him. We are really sorry.”
“Let Dr Patel say what he wants
to say. I wouldn’t take his word even if he was the last doctor in the planet.
Who is he to tell me that nothing can be done to save my only son?” she
thought.
After consulting with 10 private
doctors 4 specialists she finally accepted the inevitable with a sense of
forced resignation. When she was just
about done for the day she visited Dev in his room. She kissed him on the cheek
and apologised for all her shortcomings as a parent and begged for forgiveness.
She exited the room, only to meet Dr Patel outside the room.
“What do you want now Dr Patel.”
“I do not want to sound devious
but I wanted to know as to where you stand on organ donation.”
“Dr Patel I do not want to sound
meddling but do you have children.”
“Two sons, whose sole purpose is
to make my wife’s life a living hell”, he added with a slight grin.
“Do you think you get enough time
to spend with them?”
“Well I haven’t really given it a
thought but I am sure if given an option I would love spending more time with
them.”
“Well I believe you have answered
my question Mr Patel.”
“Wont you reconsider. It will
save a few lives.”
“So what you really mean to say
is that what is the harm in sacrificing one life to save five.”
“Mrs Dey you are twisting my
words. We are not talking about sacrifice out here, we are talking about a
person who is as good as dead.”
“As good as dead is not synonymous
with dead doctor.”
“I am sorry
you think like that.”
“But mostly I
would like to spend time with my son, which is something I have not been able
to do much in the past. I would like to make up for that, even though I know it
is too late.”
Dr Patel
walked away not knowing what to say to this grieving single mother. Riya walked
in the opposite direction heading towards the exit. She reached home in just
under fifteen minutes and tucked herself in the bed, trying to sleep. Sleep did
not come easily but when it did she dreamt about her other experience in a
hospital, the one she subconsciously pushed to the periphery of her overworked
brain.
It was a
stormy night with clouds threatening to wreck havoc, lightening was a constant
reminder of the impending threat. A young girl stood next to her ailing mother
as the kind nurse tended to her. The kind nurse was cleaning a gruesome looking
scar just above the pelvic bone, the place where her kidney had been operated
on a few hours ago. The doctors said that her mother would be just fine, even
without a transplant. She didn’t really like the fact that they were putting
needles through her mother’s body and the machine also made weird insignificant
(according to her) noises, which must be the reason mother was not able to
sleep. She was tossing and turning in very visible discomfort. The machines
started to beep louder. The doctors rushed into the room. The kind nurse took
her outside the room. Later when the doctors left the room and started speaking
to her father she crept back into the room. The kind nurse was covering her
mother with the sheet. The machines were making a different sound now. It was
longer and more irritating than the previous one but mother didn’t seem to
mind. The kind nurse closed the machine that was making the noise and the young
girl thanked her and said “Now mother will sleep better.”
Riya woke
up with a start and started sobbing for the umpteenth time that day. She took
the sleeping pills lying in the lower drawer of the table suited closest to
her. She popped a few in her mouth without taking into account the
ramifications an overdose could so easily cause.
She woke
up with a mild migraine. She quickly dressed and made her way to the hospital.
She sat in the chair beside Dev’s bed, she held his hand and said
“I am
sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most. I am sorry for
missing your performance in your schools adaptation of Hamlet. I am sorry for
never being home at time to eat food with you, to lull you to sleep. Frankly I
am sorry for being so obsessed with becoming the best lawyer that I forgot to
fulfil my basic responsibility of being a caring and loving mother. How I wish
I could trade those cases just to spend some days with you. I may have never
said it son but I love you so much and lastly I am sorry but I just can’t
accept the fact that you are suffering so much. Forgive me for what I am about
to do.”
She rushed out of the room and
went to Dr Patel who was tending to a five year old Wilson’s patient.
“I am ready to do this”, she
said.
“Are you sure Mrs Dey”
“Haven’t been more certain of
anything else in my life.”
She followed Dr Patel into room
308 where he disconnected the needles which were connected to Dev as well as
her mother thirty seven years ago. He did not switch off the machine
instantaneously but waited for the long irritating sound to come. At the height
of its crescendo she whispered in her son’s ear.
“Now you will sleep better.”
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