Page 134 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Coming,” I said, heart thudding. “Son, you must live for our sake, for your dad and mom, and sister,
please.” I closed my eyes. “God, I count your blessings. Please save my baby. I will do anything you ask me
to do!”
We waited at the OT door for our turn. Soon, a nurse came out of the operating theatre. She snapped
her fingers and said, “Oh, dear, come to me.”
Her soft voice forced my lachrymose heart to cry. Rinchen flinched and clung onto me, seeing her in a
full gown and mask. I smooched his skeletal hands.
Choke caressed and kissed him on his cheeks.
“Bye, dear.” I covered my mouth with my hands and sniffled. “We’ll be waiting for you, please.”
As the nurse carried him into the operating theatre, he wailed, stretching out his hands to us.
Choki buried her head in her arms and dropped to her knees. “How can I forget his little face if he
doesn’t make it?”
“Please don’t say that,” I whispered, pulling her up. “Keep faith in God, please.”
As she sobbed in my cuddle, my entire body trembled. Back in the lobby, I paced the waiting room,
muttering prayers.
“It doesn’t take that long,” I said, glancing at the operating theatre door. “Why is it taking so long
today?”
Choki sighed, glancing at the door. “I don’t know.”
Doctor John came out after two hours and said, “It’s a hundred percent successful.”
“Oh, thank you, doctor,” I said and stood at the door for the baby.
A nurse brought out the baby in a gurney. He groaned. I wrapped him in a blanket and shuffled to the
ambulance. “I am sorry, dear, for all the pain you must endure.” I pecked him on the flaccid cheeks. “Wish
I could share your pain. Wish you were never born to suffer that way.”
A few days later, the baby cried, pointing at the mango juice bottle on the steel rack. “Papa...papa.”
“No papa, dear,” I said. “No water until your surgeon says so.”
Choki caressed the baby’s cheeks. “Why don’t you ask the doctor?”
“I would.”
When Dr. Jacob came for his evening round, I talked to him about the baby’s food.
“You can feed him a few drops,” he said.
Corner of my mouth rose. “Thank you, doctor.”
Rinchen sipped the drops. When he cried, I spoon-fed him a few more drops.
“It’s enough,” said Choki. “Doctor said a few drops.”
On the third day, Dr. John told us to feed the baby with soft food. “Bring him to me if the problem
persists,” he said.
“Sure, doctor,” I replied. “You are a savior.”
We showed Rinchen to Dr. John each time he had diarrhea, and that happened often.
Months later, Dr. John said, “You can take the baby to India for colostomy closure. He looks healthy
now.”
“India?” I asked. “Why not here?”
“We don’t have surgical equipment here.”
“Oh, really? What’s Colostomy?”
“It’s a surgery to close the stoma. Get ready for that.”
“When are you sending us?”
“Soon. Where’d you want to take him, Vellore or Kolkata?”
Choki and I traded glances. Traveling to India was like an extraterrestrial journey for us.
“Ama, what’s your decision?” I asked.
“I don’t know. You can decide.”
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