Page 183 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Don’t worry, Dad,” said Karma. “I will be with you.”
Dad shook his head. “I hate the hospital.”
At JDWNRH, the on-duty doctor admitted him. Dad had to be on oxygen twenty-four hours. They
would not discharge Dad until the oxygen level reached its saturation point.
Two weeks later, Dad’s senior said, “You must buy a concentrator for your dad.”
“What’s a concentrator?” I asked.
“That’s an oxygen-generating machine,” said the nurse. “Your father needs one at home.”
“Is it available in the market? How much does it cost?”
“You must order it from Siliguri,” said the doctor. “The price ranges from Rs.30,000 to Rs.70,000.”
“I would,” I said. “Meantime, I will use the cylinder.”
I called my brother, Phub Dorji, and explained to him Dad’s disease and the need to buy a
concentrator. He agreed to contribute half. He also agreed to go to Siliguri to buy the concentrator.
The next day, my mobile buzzed. It was an Indian number. “Yes?” I said.
“I am Dorji, calling from Siliguri,” he said. “There are two types of oxygen concentrators. One costs
thirty thousand and the better one is fifty thousand. Which one should I buy?”
“I think you should buy the expensive one,” I said.
Without even asking, he said, “Okay.”
Even on the concentrator, Dad struggled to breathe. We had to admit Dad twice. They kept him under
observation and discharged after four days.
On the third recurrence, a young lady doctor said COPD was asthma-related. She said Dad would
struggle to breathe at high places, like Thimphu. She advised me to take Dad to lower places, like Samtse
and Phuentsholing.
“I have a brother at Phuentsholing,” I said.
“Why don’t you keep him there?” she suggested. “Clinically, it’s advisable to keep such patients in low-
altitude places. These places have a high concentration of oxygen.”
Phub Dorji and I reached a consensus to keep Dad at Phuentsholing. A week later, I called Phub Dorji,
and he told me Dad was fine and he could eat well. It brought me immense relief. A few days later, Phub
Dorji said Dad wanted to come to Thimphu.
“You can bring him if he wants,” I said.
Months later, we admitted Dad again. This time, his condition worsened. He showed the symptoms of
confusion. He didn’t open his eyes. He was as good as dead.
“He is breathing his last,” I said, bursting into tears.
“What else can we do?” said Karma. “We did everything we could. No more tears”
A bespectacled lady doctor was in the other room with a group of doctors. She was explaining to them
the condition of a patient.
“That’s Dr. Dechen,” I said. “I’ll request her to examine Dad’s vital signs.”
I waited at the door. When she came out, I said, “Please examine my dad. He is very serious.”
“Sorry he is not my patient,” she said. “You can inform his doctor.”
I folded my hands like a supplicant. “Please, doctor.”
“Okay.” She read the cardiac monitor. “The heart rate is stabilized, and the pulse is also okay. Please
don’t worry. He will be fine but it will take time. I will instruct the doctor concerned.”
I sighed. “Thank you, doctor.”
A few days later, Dad could move his limbs and talk, but confusion held him in the ward for the next
ten days. At 2:0 am one night, he pointed at the door. “Eerie… there’s a ghost there. Look at his snarling
teeth. He’s coming for me!”
Hair bristling, I glanced at the door. There was no one. People around were fast asleep. “Stop it, Dad.
No one is there.” I could feel my hands and legs shiver.
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