Page 148 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

I hassled out to the gate and searched for him. He had not turned up, so I scurried back to the ward to
see the baby. The baby gasped and writhed. In their last desperate attempt to save him, the nurses searched
for a vein.
I rushed out to the parking lot and glanced at the buildings above the ward. “Does Dr. John reside
here? If so, which one would be his apartment?” At the labyrinth, I glanced at the buildings again, not
knowing which apartment I should go to. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Where is his car?” I scurried back
to the gate and glimpsed the vehicles plying on the road. The green Zen didn’t make its way to the
pediatric ward.
Dr. John arrived. “Sorry, I am late,” he said.
“Hurry, doctor. The baby is breathing his last.”
“Get the baby to the dressing room.”
I took the baby to the dressing room.
Dr. John laid the sterilized bag on the table and picked a scalpel. “Nurse, hold his hands.” He lacerated
the baby’s left arm deep and searched the veins.
I sneaked out and chanted a mantra. “Lama la kyab su che, sangay la kyab su chhe, che la kyab su chhe.
Kyab ni dampa kencho sum la kyab su chhe.” After a few minutes, I returned to the dressing room.
Dr. John mopped his face and stitched the cut. “Phew.” He administered another analgesic injection on
the other arm.
“Another cut?” I muttered. “Oh, my poor baby!”
My heart ached as the surgeon lacerated the baby’s arm deep.
“You can sit outside,” said Mrs. Tara. “Don’t worry, we will do it.”
I paced the verandah, my mind racing a mile a minute. “Why are they taking so long?”
Choki sobbed, leaning against the windowsill. I barged in and stood behind the door. Dr. John lacerated
his left neck now.
“Goodness me, another laceration?” I said to myself. “Oh, no!” I sneaked out and said prayers. A few
minutes later, I stalked in again and watched the heart-wrenching scene.
“I got it,” said Dr. John. “Get me the tape.”
Mrs. Tara passed it over to him.
I folded my hands and looked up. “Thank you, God, for your incalculable blessings.”
Dr. John stuck the intravenous needle to his neck with cello tape and released the saline in full. “The
baby is dehydrated. I am afraid he has only a twenty percent chance of survival.”
“Twenty percent?” I said, covering my mouth.
I traipsed out and sobbed, leaning against the wall.
“What happened?” asked Choki.
“The baby is completely dehydrated,” I said. “I think we are losing him. The doctor said he has only a
twenty percent chance of survival.”
“What?” She fell on her knees. “My poor—”
“Sir, come in,” said Mrs. Tara. “Doctor wants you.”
I rushed in. “What’s it?”
“Good news,” said Dr. John. “He peed now.”
“Oh, really?” I said, taking a long breath.
“Take care of this line,” he said, pointing at the IV line on the baby’s neck. “It’s a lifeline. Spoiling
would endanger his life.” He patted my back. “Relax now. I will come tomorrow.”
My tense tone-of-voice quivered as I kneeled before him. “You are a genius.”
He grinned. “Take care of the baby.”
I nodded and bowed.
Relatives came with a carton box for my son’s body. When they crammed the cabin, a nurse came in.
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