The timely death.

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 70^th 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.