Amidst the beeping of the alarms, continuous wheezing of the
suction apparatus and whistling of the oxygen flow she was standing in front of
the helpless sedated man; her man. He was in an unnatural slumber for past ten
days now. The only sign of life for a layman was his rhythmic chest movements
dictated by the ventilator; 16 breaths per minute. His usual wheatish
complexion now looked layered with charcoal frost. They told her that the pupils
were reacting initially but now they were fixed and dilated. She could only
figure out that the eyes were now shallow and lifeless.
There was an unfortunate rainbow in front of her. His soles showed
violet, indigo mottling. The finger tips were cold and blue. There was a tube
put from the nose up till his tummy; it continuously poured green bile. The
eyes were jaundiced. There was a catheter put to help him pass the urine; however,
a week had passed now and it was as dry as a well in a droughted area. Few dark
orange colored drops occasionally trickled down from the tube. There were two
tubes put in the neck. The red blood came out from one tube and was run through
the machine and returned through the other tube. It was a proxy kidney or haemodialysis
as they said. A blue scrubbed man walked past her, glanced at the monitor momentarily
and fidgeted with the tower of infusion pumps continuously infusing the life
saving drugs; or merely the life sustaining drugs, prolonging the inevitable,
she thought.
The doctor was in his mid-thirties, about the age of her
daughter or son if she had any. The mask hung around his neck and the semi-
transparent cap partly concealed the fluffy abundance. He hinted her to come
aside and she followed.
“Hi! How are you holding?” he asked with an indifferent
concern.
“I am OK.” She said hardly making any lip movement.
“He seems to have stuck in a limbo. He is already on maxed
out therapy. This is severe sepsis and refractory shock.” The doctor spilled
the medical jargon.
“You mean to say he is mere a mannequin with flesh and tubes?”
she inquired with a grin.
“Well by definition he is not dead, if that’s what you mean.”
He flicked the question diplomatically. “This status quo may continue for 48 hours,
72 hours or something sinister can happen as and when we are talking. No matter
whatever we do, it is futility of treatment.” He further clarified.
“Is he in pain?” she asked trying to hold back her tears.
She clenched her eyes tightly and pursed her lips.
The doctor waited patiently to let go the sob and lump in
her throat and then replied “He is beyond pain.”
“Is there anything which we can do?” she mumbled.
“We can stop escalating the treatment and then let nature
take its call.” Suggested the doctor.
The waiting area was filled with worries, concern and
disquiet. The bunker beds were arranged in rows and the one near the window
gave a good kaleidoscopic view of suburban Mumbai coast. She sat on one of the
recliners near the window with a cup of coffee in her hand; half of it had
already spilled due to her trembling. Looking out of the window she tilted her
head and tried to align the setting sun at the hook of the tower crane standing
tall among-st the unfinished concrete buildings.
The coffee was never so bland before. The air was never so
stale. For almost 4 decades now they were the inmates of their affectionate
confinement. Their world never had any intruders until 2 weeks back when the
age and disease stormed their nest. The idea that there was a good chance that
he might not make up to his 70th birthday spaced 2 days from now
made her queasy. Drowned in melancholy her eyes became teary and the vision
blurred. The surroundings became almost mute for her except for the beeping of
her cell phone. Grasping the reality, she wiped her tears and unlocked the
mobile. There was a message from the accounts department of the hospital. The
latest bill update showed a large 7 figure number.
Some 30 years prior when the insurance companies were still
in cradle, she remembered reluctantly signing a piece of paper. She remembered;
she was irritated that day as she had to finish the daily chores early in spite
it being a Sunday. Her husband was very excited and she was equally apathetic.
The idea of paying an insurance company monthly with expectation of hefty
returns after the demise of the spouse was sickening enough for her. Little did
she knew at that time that today it mattered substantially. The only glitch was
that if the spouse died after completing 70 years on earth the monthly sum paid
for years would have to be forfeited and one won’t be entitled for the term
payment of 50 lac rupees. Two more days of listless existence and her husband
was 70 years old and technically and theoretically barred from the monetary benefits.
Her gut churned and the saliva in the mouth turned metallic
in taste. She started hyperventilating. Blitzkrieg she stood up which made
her dizzy. She held the adjacent bunker bed and stood inert for few seconds.
When she opened the eyes the whole waiting area was spinning around, yet with
stuttering steps she moved towards the ICU. The security guard restrained her
from entering the ICU but somehow, she bargained 5 minutes. She went to the
nursing station where the doctor was doing some paper work.
“I want to remove the ventilator” with futile authority she
demanded.
The doctor made her sit on the chair and in the calm tone
said “No maam, we cannot.”
“Why….?....Why not? This is my patient and I want to remove
the ventilator.” She stressed on each and every word; with each word her voice
and restlessness increased.
Looking her in mess he asked “Is there anyone with you?”
“No. The man on bed no. 46 is all what I have. At times the
state of existence doesn’t matter but the mere existence matters. The distance
between ‘He is’ and ‘He was’ is too much to cope. But then if he is any which way
going to succumb in next 2- 3 days, then so be it right now. I am ready.” In
trans like state she continued moving back and forth on the chair. "If he dies
after 2 days, he would complete 70 years and I would not be eligible for term
insurance money. I am not from the rich ones. This money is important for my
respectful sustenance. Is there nothing you can do to help me?” she stared
directly in his eyes and imprisoned his gaze.
“We can stop escalating the treatment.” He again suggested.
She just nodded in approval, simultaneously lost in abyss.
He formatted the negative directive and kept it in front of
her. She fished a pen from her black purse; she always carried one. She read it
and assimilated it and was about to sign. Her fingers were slender, hands
wrinkled and dehydrated. She started to sign but halted mid-way through. “I can’t,
I can’t. I will rather die in poverty but I cannot a sign death wish for him.” She was escorted out.
It was early morning hours of the next day. The ICU was
calm. The health care assistants and the nurses were busy sponging the
debilitated patients. The doctor went and stood next to bed 46. He noticed
intermittent nefarious rhythms on the monitor. A muscle in him twitched to
start the corrective measures, but he waited to let that feeling pass by. The
faulty rhythm became more conspicuous and frequent. Soon there was flurry of
green spirals on the cardio- scope. The alarms screamed and the entire task
force gathered. The bed was flattened and the defibrillator was attached so as
to give the shock. The curtains were drawn. The doctor raised his arm and
gestured subtly to his team to stay put. Some more time elapsed and the green
spirals were reduced to crooked strokes on the iso- electric lines. The ECG
done showed flat line. The relatives were called and informed. She cried inconsolably.
She kept on repeating “My husband loved me so much; he heard my dilemma and
chose to let go just in time. I love you and always will.” The sobbing
continued.
The doctor went into his chamber with burdened shoulders.
One more secret to carry, he thought; but at least she would walk guilt free,
he thought.
