Page 139 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

The machine didn’t function. The radiographer mended it and took the test. Back at AMRI hospital, the
nurse showed the report to Dr. S.K. Mitra, but he said the report was vague.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Get ready for the surgery.”
“Straight away surgery?” I said. “When?”
“Tomorrow. I have gone through the baby’s referral letter and the discharge summary.”
My heart thudded at his impetuous decision, but I couldn’t refuse. “Okay, doctor.”
Dr. S.K. Mitra explained the procedure of the surgery to us. “The baby’s intestine is narrow. We will
remove this portion.”
Choki and I nodded, paying attention to every detail of his explanation. Deep inside, I felt something
was not right; like, my heart thudded, and an ache started deep in my stomach.
October 28, 2008, we carried the baby to the operating theater at 8:00 am. Dr. S.K. Mitra beckoned us
to the OT door. “We will operate on the baby now.”
“Okay, doctor,” I said, draping my arm around Choki’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You look stressed,” he said. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Go wait in the lobby. We’ll call you
when it’s over.”
We sat on the staircase, next to the OT door, and said the rosary. After a few rounds, my rosary string
snapped and the beads scattered about.
“Oh, no! That’s a bad omen,” I mumbled.
“What’s all this?” blurted Choki, picking the beads.
“Sorry. Maybe I pulled hard on the beads.”
We picked all we could. And the surrounding people helped us.
Dr. S.K. Mitra came out at 3:00 pm. He beckoned to us. “Operation is successful. We’ve eviscerated a
portion of the large intestine and joined it to his rectum. You’ll find the baby in ICU, seventh floor.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I said.
Choki and I scrambled up the stairs, two steps at a time. Rinchen groaned in a semi-conscious state. We
attended him in turns, all night. The next morning, Rinchen flinched his fingers.
“Rinchen,” said Choki. “Open your eyes, dear.”
He opened his eyes and cried and soon went back to sleep. Towards the evening on the third day, he
ran on a high fever. As he writhed in agony, lumps of glutinous blood spewed out of his rectum.
“What’s happening?” blurted Choki. “Oh, no! Call the doctor, please!”
The on-duty doctor phoned Dr. S.K. Mitra and said, “The surgeon is not coming today. He is busy.”
“Okay, I’ll phone him,” I said, dialing the number with shivering fingers.
When Rinchen groaned harder, Choki said, “It’s over now. Everything is over.”
“Relax, please,” said the doctor. “Nothing will happen to the baby.”
Dr. S.K. Mitra arrived after half an hour and observed the blood. He frowned. “Nothing serious. You
shouldn’t have phoned me. I was busy.”
He conversed with the on-duty doctor in their vernacular and slogged out.
“He said it happens after surgery,” said the on-duty doctor. “Don’t worry, please.”
The next morning, Dr. S.K. Mitra came and went through the record sheet, and instructed something
to the nurse.
As he turned to go, I said, “I am sorry for bothering you last night. We thought something was wrong
with the baby.”
He wobbled out, drooping his shoulder.
With each passing day, the baby recuperated. I carried meals for Choki from the guest house. At night,
I curled up in the lobby with other attendants. Reading newspapers was the only means to kill time. And
sometimes, tea out in the street seemed to help a lot.

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