Page 163 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Behind that building,” he said. “After me, please.” He dragged my suitcase along the sidewalk. “This
way.”
He jostled us through the crowd to the front gate of RJ Mansion. There, he conversed with the
manager. The manager gave us the room key.
“It’s 150 rupees per night,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said.
“We will have to make the baby’s appointment in the evening,” said the ALO as we climbed the stairs
to the third floor. “I will be back at 3:00 pm. Get ready, please.”
“We will,” I said, turning a key the lock. “What documents should we carry?”
“Baby’s referral letter will do. You must furnish his details at the counter. I will come at 3:00 pm.”
“Sure.”
The room was far in the corner. It was dark and had to be lighted even in the daytime. It smelled of
cement and cockroaches crept up the walls and corners.
“Shit! This room is full of creepy-crawlies!” blurted Choki. “It’s gonna make my baby worse.”
“We must adjust here,” I said. “We’ll clean it.”
At 3:00 pm, the ALO took me to the hospital. People were in a long queue. Sick people were writhing
on the floor, but cashiers at the counter worked at their pace. Mr. Rinzin and I stood in the queue.
“Goodness, the lines are long,” I said.
“No one skips the line,” he said. “Here, everything is systematic. Even at the pharmacy.”
“Really?” I said, glancing at the patients writhing about on the floor. “Oops.”
“Nobody gives a shit.”
“Hell, no way,” I said.
We got the baby’s appointment for Friday morning the next week. So, we took Rinchen there, one hour
before. At the entrance, the security stopped us and checked our hands for the wristband. Only people
with wristbands could enter the building.
“Which floor?” the security asked.
“The second floor,” I said. “Department of Pediatric Surgery.”
It was a ‘first come first served’ basis, but there were many babies before us. At the counter, I
submitted the appointment slip to a man. There was a brown file with Rinchen’s name on it. He put the
appointment slip inside it and slipped it between the files at the bottom of the stack.
One hour later, the loudspeaker blared out our baby’s name: “Rinchen Zangpo, come to chamber No.
02! I repeat—Rinchen Zangpo, Chamber No.02!”
We hurried in. A bespectacled man in his late 50s and a smartly-dressed young man greeted us with
smiles. Both had curly hair but good-looking men.
“Hello?” they said.
“Hello,” we replied.
“I am Dr. Jacob Checkob,” said the bespectacled man. “He is Dr. Sampath Karl, Jr. surgeon. What
happened to the baby?”
I tucked up the baby’s shirt and showed them the stoma. “Our surgeon said it was Hirschsprung
Disease.”
“You may tell us everything. Right from the birth,” said Dr. Jacob.
“You mean his disease?” I said, butterflies flipping my stomach. “Um, he had a distended abdomen at
birth. And he—blah… blah… blah…”
They listen with a rapt expression. Dr. Sampath Karl noted down everything.
“When was the last time he was operated on?” asked Dr. Jacob. “Where are you from?”
“Bhutan,” I said. “Last June, doctor.”
“Take the baby for the Barium Meal X-ray.”
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