Dadi

“Doctor, your Dadi just left us.”

Its 2:45 am.                       

We doctors are a peculiar species. We love sleeping. That’s the only luxury we ever dream of, in fact the only one we can actually afford. No one should ever try waking us up from our slumber, even on trying it is like banging the head against a wall. But one phone call from the hospital and we are on our toes, alert, with the right diagnosis, right medication and the right dose.

It was a very busy night duty. I had just gone to catch up on some sleep in the duty room, about half an hour back, after admitting a patient with aspiration pneumonia in the ICU, before another one lands up in emergency. That’s when this phone call came.

Dadi has left. At first, it didn't register.

“ Oh , I am so sorry “ was my first reaction.

I met her about a month and a half back when she presented in our OPD with respiratory distress. She was harboring a terminal anaplastic carcinoma thyroid in the large lump she carried in her neck. She was already metastatic at presentation and after the initial evaluation alone, I could tell she was nearing her end. She was in pain. And like they say, you start aging in reverse once you cross your fifties and become a child once again. Kids, however, are much better patients. You can at least bribe them, if not reason them. But with these older children, none of it works. She was not ready for any kind of treatment but had come to the hospital with the hope of some relief. And how do we do that ? Doctors are considered ruthless because they insert the needles into you, but no one understands that we have no magic wands. We inflict pain only to reduce the suffering. 

She won’t let anybody touch her. I tried explaining the procedure and the requirements to her and the family but she was just not paying heed. I even tried arguing with her.

“Will you do that to someone of your own?  “.

“You are my own too ...right...You are like my Dadi ....isn't it? Do you think I would do this to you if it was not essential? “. I had no idea where that came from. May be because she had some uncanny physical resemblance to my own grandmother.

Her anxious look now softened a bit.  “Can you do that without hurting much?”

“With as little pain as possible, I promise”.

“But only you are going to do it, I am not allowing anyone else...”

“Deal  “.

She refused admission. But from that day onward, she would come to the hospital daily and receive her palliative radiation as we had planned for her. She would then stay the whole day in the day care for her pain killers, IV fluids, nebulisations etc and go back home in the evening ,to return back the next morning. But a ritual was followed daily. She would not allow any other doctor or nurse to even touch her. As soon as she was in the hospital, she would call for me and I would go and put her IVs. Every day,  same routine.  By now everyone in the staff knew that she was somehow related or known to me.        

Related to me !!

We as doctors have mastered the act of being heartless. We leave our emotions home before turning up for work every single day. If we start associating ourselves with the pain and sufferings of our patients, we will not be able to work at all. However, that does not amount to the lack of compassion or empathy.  We see life and death from such close quarters , every day, that dissociation form all things worldly is our only solace.  

But then we are human too. It is difficult to resist love and affection, especially if you are at the receiving end. That day I had called her Dadi just to make her comfortable but she formed a bond. She was putting in all her faith in me and was giving me all her unconditional love in return. I was the passive partner in this relationship. She was just happy me being there by her side. And all I could do was being there for her.

She completed her radiation but still continued to come to the hospital every alternate day for her IV fluids, multivitamins and pain killer shots. By this time she had befriend others too and on days I was busy elsewhere, will allow them to attend to her. But she won’t leave without meeting me ever.

With time, her condition started worsening. She was more fragile now. Her body was giving way. End was coming.  It was not possible for her to come to the hospital frequently.So on my advice, they decided to hire a nurse to tend to her at home itself. They knew they could reach me anytime for her but by now I had started calling her up daily, just to check on her.

She tried hard to sound cheerful every time I called but I could make out the effort she was putting in from her voice which was growing feeble day by day. Then came the time when she started finding it hard to even respond and was totally bed ridden. I could no more resist going and seeing her. That day she ate a cup full of maggi with me, her only meal in last two days. She could not even get up in bed but her eyes were glistening by my mere presence at her bed side. Not just me but everyone in her family too, were overwhelmed by the affection we shared. She hugged me tight with all the strength she had before I left and tears rolled down from both our eyes. The very  next night, I got the phone call that she passed away peacefully in her sleep.

My Dadi had left. I don’t know what she gained from this relationship of those last few days of her life but she helped me redeem myself of the guilt of not being by the side of my own grandmother when she was leaving. Dad would tell us to go and sit by her side but how do you make the kids sit still for long !!

Dadi left in peace. I attained peace. And went back to sleep.

Some relationships cannot be contained in the worldly names we give them...but then some need to be given a name to attain closure.

  

  

A stillborn mother...

Just when life starts taking its toll on me, something like this happens.

It was as if I was trapped inside a mammoth maze, with no doors or outlets, running through for a gasp of fresh air, trying to be out as soon as possible, before the darkness can cave in on me. Life had never reached this low.  Sometimes, I felt worse than the patients I was suppose to be treating.

 That day was nowhere close to a perfect one. The whole day was spent in introspection of the fruitless attempts of keeping on living a purposeless life, when I first saw you. While returning after another gloomy, dull and a hectic day dealing with the dying patients, I was afraid of going back to the lonely four walls of “my” room. I knew there won’t be anyone or anything awaiting me there. Doing what I do often on such days I decided to stay back in the hospital itself for a bit longer. So I just peeped inside our hospital emergency, to see if I could be of any help there. And that’s when your parents brought you in. A tiny little “blue” bundle wrapped inside a small blanket , wearing almost nothing and gasping for a few more breaths of life...Though according to the “mother” accompanying you claimed that you were a term baby, at 1.5 kg,you didn't look like anything more than a seven month old premature one. My old but still not lost love for pediatrics started beaming inside me again. Innocence on your face was something I had always read in books, stories and songs, used as a metaphor, but never seen or experienced firsthand.  From their carefree attitude, it seemed that your parents had brought you there only for a valid hospital death certificate, so that they could escape the charges of killing a “daughter”. But something inside the three of us- the peds resident on call, the EMO and me, told us that you wanted to live and wanted us to save you. It was the time to put in use all that we had ever learnt in medical school. Resuscitating and giving chest compressions to any patient was never the same as doing it on your tiny little body. Feeding you dextrose using a syringe and trying to put in IV cannulas in your pliable but collapsible veins was a challenge in itself. The time when we had almost lost you, as your heart stopped beating and then reviving you again with inotrpoes, my own heart had skipped a few beats. Nothing can explain why but it made me feel as if it was my own heart and life sinking. You seemed to be my only chance of survival.  That was the moment when I first sensed a kind of bonding or a relationship with you. It became not only yours but my own fight for survival. And after much struggle, we both made it. You soon cried...and we all smiled.

 Above all u had made me feel useful. That was a long lost emotion I had not felt in the recent past. I was overwhelmed and on the verge of being termed a maniac.

It’s been more than three years since that fateful evening when u defeated the insurmountable with your strong will to survive and lead a full lifespan, despite of the visible disappointment on the face of your biological parents. A survivor in the true sense of the word, I hope you continue to defeat the odds, though I am sure it must not be coming easy to you still.

 But there is something that kills me to the day. I wish I could have kept you with me forever and brought you home that day. My biological clock has been ticking for long enough now telling me that it’s about time but it was you, my baby, who made me experience motherhood for the first time.

 My darling, you will always be close to my heart. I just wish I, then, had the courage to defy the rules of this brutal society and could adopt you then and there... I wish it was just about you and me.

Often I find myself arguing with God -why me??  

But if he ever thinks, I deserve something better or he might want to pay me back for some good I may have ever done, I pray he gives it all to you. That’s the only thing I have of mine to give you, my daughter.

However today, I wish to make you another promise ...I may not have been able to do it for you but someday..sometime... when I am relieved of the ties of this society, I ‘ll definitely pay back your debt. Your debt  of bringing me back to life.... by giving life to someone else like you . And adopting her.

 I promise.

I promise.

 I love you and will always love you...

You will be in my prayers always..

God bless you my baby !!

Defining Love on a Valentine Day !!

For those brought up on a regular dose of bollywood , the idea of love has been well romanticized by the Prems, the Rahuls and the Rohits.  Heer- Ranjha,  Shirin -Farhad, Romeo –Juliet are literary figures everyone has heard and read about, but when it comes to fantasizing about a lover, there is none who can deny not thinking of a Katrina, Kareena ,Deepika  or  a Hritik ,Ranbir , Shahrukh.

Unlike Hollywood ,our films have categorized ‘Love' into various forms...

-          

                 -  Tumne kabhi mujhse sachcha pyaar kiya hi nahi.( grrrrrr!!!)

-               -  Tumhi mera phela aur aakhri pyaar ho.(awww....)

-               -  Mere pyaar mein aisi kya kami rah gayi thi  ????

-               -   Tumhare wadon ke saath saath tumhara pyaar bhi jhutha nikla.( Slap slap !!      oouch)

-               -   Ek din aayega jab tumhe mere pyaar ki asli kimat patta chalegi  !!!!

Bollywood has taught us that if it is not all well at the end, it is not the end. 

Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost ;)

At the end, all the villains and vamps will either die (at the 'dhai kilo ka haath' of our mighty Hero, of course !) or else will  vanish into thin air realizing  they were wrong ( as if their love isn’t love at all ).  All social and cultural differences will suddenly dissipate. Parents will agree, society will accept, mothers will wipe their tears from the ruffled end of their pallus, fathers will let Simrans go and  live their lives, mother-in-laws will be reformed and reunions will happen.  Your  ‘true’ love will transcend all boundaries and return to you for good. And they all will live happily, ever after.

But then, that’s Bollywood for u !

Real life love is not such.

Asal zindagi ka pyaar na sachcha hota hai... na jhootha,  na kam hota hai... na zyaada,  na asli hota hai ...na nakli,  na phela hota hai ...na aakhri.

Love is like light. It’s either there or not.

But unlike Darkness- the absence of light , we do not have a term specifying the absence of love. The void remains.

 Pyaar ya to hota hai,  ya.... nahi hota . Period.

Love, Relationships and everything else...

Sometimes, I feel I should have chosen psychiatry as my specialization. Ironically , though I have never had a ' real ' relationship of my own, I am a relationship counselor to a lot of people including my patients , family , friends, friend’s spouses and even their parents at times. Sometimes, I find myself wondering about what actually it is, that they find so easy to confide in me. At times, I am left perplexed by the responsibility incurred onto me, by putting in of so much of faith. This often leads me to introspection of my own being.

Counselling others has had therapeutic effect on my own self. Or may be its an escape plan, conceptualized by my own sub conscious mind, and an excellent one for that matter. Switching on the lights on the outside of the window helps to elude the darkness inside, for a while, at the least.

However, from all my experience in dealing with people and their relationships, most of them being troubled ones, I have learnt a golden rule – FORGIVE, FORGET and MOVE ON.

At the outset, it may not sound something different from the various advises been in circulation from centuries on. For example, in a failed relationship or a broken marriage, they will tell you to move on. The usual advice is to go out, meet new people, interact with them and for some, may be, even marry one of them. They will tell you that time is the greatest healer. With the passage of time, you will eventually forget the past and finally one day, you will be ready to forgive and the soreness will heal.

But believe me, it doesn't work that way. It is all, but a game of sequencing. It never worked in that order. Although, it may be easy to keep busy, putting all the negativity at bay, trying to move on all through the day. But none of it can fill the emptiness of that occult moment when u close your eyes, just before falling asleep, at the end of the day. That emptiness needs to go away. Everything else is like treating the symptoms. Emptiness is the disease requiring cure. And the panacea for it is forgiveness. And forgiveness leads to redemption. One must not only forgive the person causing the hurt, but also absolve one’s own self from the shame, guilt or punishment of being in a wrong relationship or with the wrong person. Some things are just not meant to be, for no reason and for on one’s fault. Holding a grudge is like drinking the poison and waiting for the other person to die. And nobody deserves to live in that wait. Letting go is liberating.

Once you have achieved the hardest by shedding off the resentment, forgetting will come easy. Forget u must. Some prefer to whitewash the walls of their past completely and start afresh. Some would find it enough to just forget the part of it that stings while still banking on the reminiscence of the happier times. To each his/her own but forget you must.

And with God’s grace, one day you will be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. That is when you will be able to move on and embrace the eternity.

So, FORGIVE, FORGET and MOVE ON!!

Why blog???

My first blog...but why do I need one..

Because I always wanted to write ...that's d best way I know to express myself. I always wanted to write a diary but was afraid my most private thoughts may be out....thoughts which I know do exist but are better not been recognized. Somethings are just too personal.
But then , I am here today...writing my first one.
Hopefully , it will show me the light !!