To the dear departed

I had just stepped out of the room, all set to go to work, when the dreaded news came. He was no more! I stopped short. My head began to spin. I walked dizzily and sank into the sofa. I stared into space not wanting to believe it. But how? He seemed to be recovering when I saw him last. And that was just less than two weeks ago. He had been in and out of hospital a couple of times but had always returned strong, for wasn’t his a toned martial arts body? My mind went back to the events of the past few weeks…

I was informed about his hospitalisa­tion yet again, after being found gasping for breath and almost in convulsions. Wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit, he had remained there, intubated and fed liquids through the Ryle’s tube. The two months of prior dialysis had left him weak. While the rest of the family scuttled between home, hospital and work, I stayed back, praying to all the Gods for his recovery. But after two weeks it was just too much. The WhatsApp messages were not reassuring. I was at the end of my tethers and could not calm my frayed nerves. I simply had to go.

Waiting my turn outside the ICU was no fun. After what seemed like ages, I was let in. One look at him and my knees went weak. Instead of the familiar strong physique, what lay in bed was half a form with hands and legs strapped to the bed, tubes connecting him to machines monitoring his vital signs and his mouth open to let the tube through. He was sedated and sleeping, though now and then his face contorted as if in pain.

The days that followed were a little better as he was extubated and could speak, though the voice that came forth sounded hoarse due to the prolonged intubation. Come visiting hours and we were there. Seeing a ray of hope, we prepared him for the tracheostomy and arranged for post-operative care with a hospice whose nurses seemed warm and welcoming. The best thing was that it was just several hundred metres away from the dialysis centre.

The day before I left, I went to see him again and can still feel his strong grip on my wrist as he tried to turn over. The tracheostomy was done and he seemed to be recuperating. Shifted out a couple of days later, he was rushed back breathless to the ICU, alas a moment too late! He had succumbed to a cardiac arrest!

Was it negligence on the part of the doctors? Was it pneumonia worsened by cross infection? Was it our prayers that had him clinging on to dear life for more than 40 days? Had he given up, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle? God only knew. All I knew was that the image of our beloved brother would continue to haunt our memories and pluck at our heart strings for a long, long time to come…