The last 48 hours……
When life has dramatic scenes in the coming acts of the life chapters!
In the previous article , I gave you a glimpse of the processing part of the past agony. I tried to keep it short and not divulge you into the sadness. A backstory, to be precise!
You may find this article way more dramatic and long, so please judge me!
The scene of the last Act has been replaying in my mind continuously with open and closed eyes, screaming to open the box and let the bugs out.
As days pass, I remember the intricacies, minute details, and everything that could have been a signal or things that could have been modified, which would have given better results.
My patient was not in good condition for a week. As a responsible attendant, blood tests were given, and the report was evidence of his son’s excellent care and maintenance (Mamashree). It was a proud and satisfactory moment for both of us.
A natural and easy process is always a choice for older people. How your body co-operates is a must, whichever age stage you are in!
But there were no improvements; the best treatment possible was already in place. Giving hope in the morning and crushing hearts in the evening.
There was no delay; my patient was taken to the nearest city where I was present with all the setup to admit him to the hospital and take him under my care and the more qualified doctors.
Based on the report given three days before, I was confident at that moment.
The agitation was there but a relief; my patient is strong! Healthy with a hemoglobin and other blood levels at par!
Two more attendants were present, and the stretcher was ready to take my patient in. The receptionist was standing to guide the spot boys and regulate the admitting process.
You may imagine a fancy hospital, but the details ahead will give a picture of a simple one with adequate necessities and past records of treated patients. Doctors dealt with critical cases here, and people have given 4.3 ratings to the facility.
Hygiene is the crucial part that was considered, as my patient was bedridden for the past six months. Thus, here I was checking if the stretcher given had the perfect cleanliness expected by the patient.
A glare from the hospital staff, but I hardly care, even when it is a typical day.
My patient has become weak(the first thought in my mind). The lively and hearty person once, was half dead now, staring at me with blank eyes. I watched him, assuring him with my teary glances that I knew he was in pain, but he had me and others with him. He should not worry and let the treatment style in to revive his weak muscles and bones.
The hospital had a staircase, which made it harder for the carriers to take him near the big bulky machines. Blood was taken immediately, and pulse, heart, and blood pressure were shown on the screen.
Those lines, cracking and moving up and down, were going to decide my patient’s fate. I was carefully watching the monitor. You would have thought I was the attending doctor if you had been there!
I used all my research and scanned the picture to find the positivity between those lines before the doctor spoke his mind and observations. I could hardly understand, but the receptionist was kind enough to update me that I should relax as my patient was a little stable. There were injections injected with weird chemicals, and I was told to sit on a bench and watch from far.
The hallway where this tragedy occurred had small rooms on the left and washrooms on the right. The brown doors with silver rectangular borders were all I was staring at for a minute. The silence made my body drowsy as I was injected with the same drugs as my patient.
My uncle called me to fill out the papers. My mother (my patient’s daughter) was still at home, preparing meals for the attendants who had come along and finishing up her daughter-in-law’s responsibility (even in that situation).
I rushed on my scooter to fetch her! My mother sat as quickly as possible and came to the hospital in that sweaty attire. Saree was not in the place as it should have been, and as I helped her on the staircase, the wheat flour was spread on my hands.
My mother is emotional; she cried when she saw my patient. But we calmed her down. The fear tears were rolling down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat near her chest and wiped by the cotton saree at last.
“WE NEED TO TAKE HIM TO ICU,” said the junior doctor who must have been an intern at the hospital.
I nodded, and my patient was placed along with other patients in the ICU(common one).
I often watched ICU in daily soaps, dramas, movies, web series, and short films. This was the same! The white floors with a white bedsheet and white bed, with small white pillows, were more than enough to white my feelings and blood inside. I was the only visitor along. Maybe because I was too anxious, I was allowed in.
I was told to leave my shoes outside and walk slowly and calmly. My patient was lifted up like a sack of grains and put down. There were two female nurses on duty and a male. The ICU had a manager sitting at the front desk, monitoring.
I was told not to touch anything and stand in the corner. I followed every word without question.
Three in-house doctors came, examined my patient, and scribbled something gibberish in my patient file. I just observed silently.
There are doctor visits as well, and what a coincidence! My patient’s regular doctor(a neurosurgeon) was also on the Visit. He recognized me immediately. He made sure there was special care and inquired if I had followed his instructions during my last Visit for the consultation.
I was calm; a familiar face and the doctor’s smile were powerful enough to rejuvenate me.
12 hours have passed already. I was told to leave. ICU was on the top floor; below that was the floor with the medical store and long gallery to wait with hard benches and small rooms to rent out if you were staying the night.
My uncle, I, and the other two attendants (relatives) sat peacefully. We were fine now; everything seemed normal. We mostly chatted, encountered the other patients, and interacted with their relatives.
My home is at a prime location, and the hospital was hardly 10 minutes away, with permission from the doctor and the manager. We went back to my home. We couldn’t sleep because of the vague answer given by the doctor.
“Your patient is in a critical position; we can just wait and watch.” “ I will not say anything now; let me see how the medications will settle in his body.” “I will not lie to you. Make sure you come immediately when we call you”.
I nodded firmly. Mamashree may have nodded as well, but I did not notice him. I ensured I was alert and listened carefully to the doctor’s words.
The night was long. We were lying on the bed, waiting for the call, and dressed in the same clothes to save time. Mamashree had not slept for the past three nights and thus was advised to sleep.
The responsibility to wake him up came upon me, and knowing my deep sleeping habits, I decided not to trust my sleep but my instincts. I stayed awake. Wandering around like a clueless soul, praying for the well-being.
I got the call, they needed some medication, and the doctor wanted to speak with us. We rushed to the hospital; I gasped as I ran from the ground floor to the top.
“Your patient has not deteriorated but has not improved as well.” “Wait and watch; all I can say for now.”
After buying medicines, we were called again.
“Sign the papers’, said the nurse.
“What papers?” I asked.
“Consent form,…
“What consent?” I asked again.
“The form is here; please read and sign it.”
I called Mamashree.
The man was shaking like a dry leaf, writing wrong spellings and asking the nurse, “Where else should I sign?” as if he couldn’t read.
We came out. We were told to go back and come when called.
We did not sleep.
It was morning, and we took turns this time to go to the hospital.
But after 9 a.m., we all stood again in the same hallway, but with fear today.
After resting for a while, I went back. Mamashree was restless, but he maintained his composure.
It was around 5:15 p.m., and I was called by the doctor. Everyone else had gone to eat something while I kept them updated.
I was told they needed to shift him to the ventilator.
I knew!
I mustered up the courage and rushed to fetch Mamashree. He was on his way, and we went home as I was shaking now.
I managed to ride back home but needed a place to sit.
Mother was coming back after evening prayer (sanjh). Our teary eyes were the proof that we were going to lose.
10 minutes, all I remember is the wailing noises of my mother, shouting in madness and surrounded by neighbors.
I stood up; my patient was alone. Though an attendant (my younger cousin) was there, I needed to be there. We rushed to the hospital.
5:36 pm, I was in the ICU, and they were trying to shift him on the ventilator.
Have you watched a scene where the patient is given CPR and is surrounded by doctors, nurses, spot boys, and relatives? I was living the scene.
I didn’t know what to say because my tears were drying up as they were pumping and pressing. I felt nothing. I still recall, and still, in that moment, I was quiet. I still remember the emptiness.
They knew, but they were trying for me.
I felt his presence, but I cannot prove it. I was still hopeful but did not show it.
I was sitting in the corner, guarding my patient’s body as the soul had already said goodbye.
Maybe I was present to bid farewell to him.
In his last 48 hours, I was the one he may have noticed more than ten times. The doctors, nurses of both shifts, the medicine distributor, the spot boy, and even the other patients in ICU knew me as if they got familiar with my worry freckles and cracking lines on my forehead.
And at 6:00 pm IST 02/10/2023, My patient was declared dead.
“Maybe I should have cried more, maybe I should have kept him here with me, perhaps I should have met him more, maybe I should have noticed more, maybe I should have talked more, perhaps the fault is mine, maybe the hospital was not careful, maybe I should have collapsed as the news got me, perhaps this, that….then maybe, I would have not seen what I saw..my nanaji would have been still talking gibberish even lying on the bed on which I am sitting right now, MAYBE!
As I mentioned earlier, the experiences differed from what I felt four years back.
I have matured.
The way I feel the grief has changed.
The way I think about the grief has changed.
The way I reveal the grief has changed.
The way I perceive the grief has changed.
Silence is the new noise!
Soaked into the white hole, even the darkness is not dark enough to color your thoughts. The white spot on the red heart reminds me of the leakage occasionally.
Thank you for being so patient with my post…
A thank you to the ones who appreciated my painful words with their clapps!
