Page 184 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

He would sleep less and give me the creeps every night, and I would sweat and glance at the door with
dilated pupils. He would remove the nasal pipe and IV line. So, Karma and I tended him in turns at night.
Days later, his doctor discharged him.
He didn’t do well at Thimphu. Towards the end of winter, I suggested to Dad he should go to
Phuentsholing.
His face dropped the moment he heard that. “I don’t feel like going there. Summer’s coming.”
“Stay there for a month, Dad. It would help you a lot. If you are not happy, I will come to pick you.”
“Only for two weeks,” he said.
“I would pick you after two weeks.”
Choki and I drove Dad and Karma to Phuentsholing and returned home the same day. After five days,
Karma returned to Thimphu.
I often asked Phub Dorji about Dad and he said Dad wanted to come to Thimphu. A month later,
Phub Dorji phoned me again.
“Dad wants to come to Thimphu,” he said. “What should I do?”
“I’ll pick him in the summer vacation.”
In the first week of June, Phub Dorji phoned me. “Dad is in the hospital,” he said.
“What?” I blurted. “What happened? What does the doctor say?”
“He can’t move his body.”
“Okay. I’ll send Karma.”
Right away, I sent Karma to Phuentsholing. At 2:00 am, he said he had arrived at the hospital. “Dad is
half paralyzed. They are referring him to Thimphu.”
My heart thumped. “What? What could be the disease? What time are they sending?”
“I think it’s a stroke. Maybe in the afternoon.”
“Okay, keep phoning me on the way.”
At 3:00 pm, Karma said they had arrived at Taktikothi and Dad was losing consciousness.
An ache started deep inside my stomach. I stared through the window, trying to figure out the actual
situation. I couldn’t help myself brood inside.
At 4:00 pm, Choki and I waited at the emergency ward. The ambulance arrived, flashing its beacon light
half an hour later. My heart thumped harder. When the ambulanceman opened the hatchback, I peeped in.
Dad squirmed. A spasm of pain crossed his face as he tried to open his half-shut eyes. I shook my head,
not wanting to believe his fate. Tears replenished my eyes.
“Dad, open your eyes,” I said.
He grimaced as he tried to open his eyes. “Who?”
“Ata Dorji, Dad,” I said, stroking his gray hair. “Can you see me?”
He nodded and grimaced.
A young bespectacled doctor examined him and said, “Looks like a stroke to me. We’ll conduct an MRI
scan.”
Two hours later, we took him to the MRI room, upstairs. The test took over twenty minutes. The
technician said he would send the report to our doctor. Back in the emergency ward, we waited for the
report.
I heaved a deep sigh, holding Dad’s hand. “Say it’s not a stroke, please,” I said to myself.
The doctor slogged to us, slumping his shoulder and said in a sad-toned voice, “It’s a stroke. There are
two types of stroke—Ischemic Stroke and Hemorrhagic Stroke. The former one is sometimes treatable.
And the latter one is fatal.”
“Which stroke is he suffering from?”
“Both.”
My eyes welled up with tears.
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