Shyam

This is a story about Shyam and his family. Shyam was a frail man in his late forties. The day I first met him he could just about open his eyes half way, each of his feeble attempts dying in an anguish of confusion. He had emaciated arms and legs but a markedly large belly. Shyam was dressed in a yellowish-brown shirt, and track pants that went a palm’s length below his wobbly knees. Two young men helped lay him on the bed and his wife wrapped his shivering body in the warmth of a shawl. She touched his sweaty forehead and gently ran her fingers through his messy hair. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and took in a deep breath. Like the other women, she wore a circular maroon bindi on her forehead. Her green bangles clattered as she fixed her hair into a tight bun. She sat on the stool beside his bed, patiently, as each of his breaths turned into fragile gasps for air.

My name is Sana and I work as an Intern at the largest government run hospital in Pune City. Shyam was a patient who came in three weeks ago. His wife – whose name I do not know - had the most heart-warming smile I ever got at work. Her smile was a reflection of her kindness, blended with a bit of sorrow and just enough courage to overcome it. The first night that Shyam spent at the hospital was very critical for him. His relatives were advised to be prepared for the worst. It must be so devastatingly painful, being told that somebody you love is going to die.

Shyam’s haemoglobin was 1.2*. His platelets and white blood cells were really low too. He was transfused with a lot of blood products that night, some that were available at our Blood Bank and some that had to be urgently arranged for from outside. I tried to be of as much assistance as I could. I am certain that Shyam may not have any memory of me from that night. It was a long first night for him, but he did manage to make it till the crack of dawn.

Shyam had hypersplenism, and his spleen was demolishing all his blood cells. It was decided that once his condition stabilized, he would be posted for an elective splenectomy surgery. There was a lot of paper work, mostly compromising of forms to issue blood products for Shyam. In due course, I knew his hospital registration number by heart. As the days passed, Shyam sat up in bed with support. Every morning when I would head over to his bed to draw blood for routine labs, he would give me the look. Eventually he learned to say - I will not lie down for you, take blood while I’m sitting; or, why do you come every day; or why do you people transfuse blood daily when you yourself come and withdraw it the next morning. He got crankier with each passing day. But whenever Shyam made his grumpy face his wife would promptly strike up a conversation to compensate. I don’t remember Shyam having ever smiled at me. I wonder what happy Shyam must look like.

Things looked good for him, and to be truthful, I was really glad that his wife would be able to get back to her routine life. For the next two weeks I was posted in another department. The Tuesday I came back to the General Medicine ward, it looked as full as ever. There was a list on the table, of errands to run. I browsed through the list of labs and saw Shyam’s name on it. I walked to that bed on the left side of the aisle where he always was. I looked around for his wife. I thought she would spot me and say ‘Sana Madam’ like she always did. I got back to the list to check if he had been allotted a different bed. The registration number beside his name was wrong. I called up the Resident to tell him that. Apparently, this was another patient with the same name. Shyam had died a while back.

There are so many people in India that I wonder if sometimes we overlook the value of a life. I wasn’t there in the ward the day Shyam took his last breath. I never saw his wife cry, as I expect she must have. I did not see her try to wake him up, as every relative does when someone dies. The only memories I have are of her smiling, and at times blushing when I would playfully ask her how ‘her Shyam’ was.

What could we have done differently? Perhaps if Shyam had come in way before his condition had deteriorated so much, he could’ve had a chance. Was it his destiny? Was it that he had been ignorant? Did it have anything to do with not being educated and aware? Could Shyam not call in sick at work and get checked? Did he not come forward because he couldn’t afford the expenses? Did he maybe not have job? Or was it because we are over-populated and there are too many equally sick patients for him to have gotten undivided attention at the hospital? Would it have helped if had gotten an earlier surgery date? Or, was it because he did not have money to get admitted at a private hospital?

Shyam was an ordinary man. He doesn’t have a great story, one that would change your life. But his life is much like that of a million other people in our country. May you rest in Peace, Shyam.

*Normal range for hemoglobin in a male is 13-15%, below 7% blood transfusion becomes essential.

A little love story

A page from her diary :

I really do miss doing the sheets every morning, after you and me finally managed to pull ourselves out of bed. I miss the way we would lie in the confines of your warm comforter and lay there till the brightness of the new day engulfed all of your room. I miss begging for those extra five minutes, and tickling you till you fell off the bed when you asked for yours. I miss fighting to head to the shower before you, and secretly wearing your slippers to the bath so that mine would still be dry. I miss throwing tantrums when we would get late because of you, and it would be way past lunch time. I miss having to go to your favorite restaurant for lunch and dinner so often, inspite of not being so fond of it myself. I miss waiting for you to come home early so we could do something fun for a change. I miss that routine that we never managed to get rid of. I miss wearing your tee, and your slippers, and running downstairs to open the gate for you. I miss the way you smiled seeing me. I miss the way you smiled when you put your hand under my head and hugged me to sleep. I miss waking up beside you every morning, knowing I have you today, as much as I did yesterday. 

Come back soon. It has been way too long. 

P.S. - I really appreciate you trusting me with this. 

One Winter Morning in Shimla

The highlight of my Delhi trip was an impromptu decision to take an overnight bus to Shimla. Located in the heart of Himachal Pradesh in northern India, it is undoubtedly a tourist's paradise. The drive in and out of Shimla through  the circling roads, with a mesmerizing view of the Himalayan range on one side and melting snow on the other, was a perfect ten on ten welcome. 

As I slid aside the curtains in my hotel room, a basket of warm sunshine made its way in. I watched it fill up the entire space and bring out all the hidden colors. In a moment of excessive excitement, I opened the window a little  and a blast of cold air slyly rushed in. The view outside was too mesmerizing for me to realize that I was getting some major goosebumps. There were little houses with red-green roofs. The houses were scattered in wilderness all over the mountain slope. There was a church at the distant top, and tiny criss-cross roads leading all the way up to it. 

I ordered in some coffee, shut the window tight and moved the heater a little closer to me. For this picturesque surrounding, maybe the winter wasn't such a bad bargain. I dropped in two cubes of sugar and watched them drown in my cup. It was a beautiful morning and the day was going to be just great. I couldn't wait to get into something warm and cover myself up in my matching muffler and gloves and well, maybe even a hat - because I'm not too much of a below-five-degrees person - and head straight out. It all seemed so marvellous from a stationary location, I could only imagine how it would be otherwise. I was going to walk all over the place, do some shopping, meet some people and totally wear myself out. Then I would come back over, open the window just the tiniest bit, push up the heating a little more, mess up the sheets and slide right into bed. I would lie in there and have the layers of the blanket hide me in, like a cocoon, all the way till the next winter morning would come in.

P.S. - Dear  Susheela, Shimla was a lot of fun. Thank you so much. 

Conversations

Let's sit under the shade. I like that table, yeah right there, under that big tree. Hurry. Oh, stop giggling, will you? Spring has almost set in. Isn't it awesome? The nights are still a bit chilly. That really sucks. Now is good. Alright, I wasn't trying to whine. Shup up! I love your sunglasses, by the way. These summer colors are so pretty, aren't they? Yeah, I am totally in for shopping. Day after sounds good. So what is it that you wanted to tell me? Wait, let's buy ourselves some coffee. Let's talk a little, and laugh and a little more. You want to hear more gossip? Hold on, let me think. There are so many things I missed out on, why don't you tell me everything. You like that waiter? Sweet. He is cute. Go talk to him, let me get the bill this time. You like my wallet, you say? Aw, it belongs to my Mom. Yeah let's take a walk. No, not this road, that one. Please! Don't walk so fast, I'm feeling lazy after sitting for so many hours. Oh my God, did you hear about....?

Love you, Girl-friend

(with particular emphasis on the hyphen between girl and friend)

My apologies for the over-exaggeration.

MY ALMA MATER

Running late for all possible morning lectures (or not going at all), dying for the class to dismiss because it's challenging to stay awake and look interested for longer, looking around for those sleeping so they can have their picture uploaded on Facebook, reserving yourself a seat in the library so you can stand outside in peace and still have a place to study in case you change your mind, sharing gossip over lunch with a couple of know-it-all friends, bitching about everybody turn by turn, finding a parking spot closest to the building door, grumbling about the awful canteen food and the no-fun menu, buying a tiny cup of coffee at the local 'tapri', studying together so you can sadistically feel better, cursing those whose exam dates end before yours, avoiding people searching for reviews post practicals, using too much Twitter during bad stressful days, laughing at unnecessary awkward moments, wondering why we chose to be Doctors after being embarrassed in a viva.

It felt like it sucked being a student...turns out, it didn't. 

To my college, my not-so-little family and to all the memories we created over so many years of Med School...Cheers!