Page 134 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“How could I not worry?”
“Have patience, please.”
The anesthetist came with a syringe in his hand. “Oh, dear, give me your hand.” As the baby stretched out his
left arm to him, crying, he said, “That’s my boy. It hurts a bit, dear.”
The baby slept in my arms.
“Give me the baby,” he said. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”
As the anesthetist took him in his arms, the baby faintly wailed and stretched his hands to us.
We waved. “Rinchen, bye.”
We sat on the staircase beside the OT door. As I read Rinchen’s horoscope, Choki phoned Ata Gelong to recite
Barchey Lamsel, in the lodge.
In the lobby, we sat beside a woman sobbing on her husband’s shoulder. Just as we sat beside them, the husband
smiled at me.
“Hello,” I said. “Got a patient?”
He nodded.
“Who?”
He tried not to sniffle. “Son.”
“Oh, no! How old?”
“Four years.”
“What happened to him?”
“Leukemia.”
“What’s leukemia?”
“It’s another name for blood cancer.” He stroked the curly hair of his sobbing wife. “Not much time left.”
I looked up and muttered, “What the blazes have you done?” Turning back to him, I said, “I am sorry to hear
that. May God bless your son.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
My heart wrenched.
After a short time, I said, “Keep faith in God, please. I am sure there must be a treatment for this.”
He shook his head. “Doctors said no treatment.”
I was numb with disbelief. So, I chanted Sampa Lhendrup duepa, the obstacle-removing and wish-fulfilling
prayer.
One hour later, a nurse brought out their baby on a gurney. The baby looked terrified. He searched for his
parents. “Boohoo! Mama!”
His mom scurried away and embraced him. The poor mother sobbed her heart out. Part of me cried as much as
she did.
“Bye,” said the father, full of tears in his eyes.
“Bye, sir.” I waved to them till the shutters of the lift closed behind their backs. I looked up and muttered, “May
God bless that kid.”
The wall clock struck at 1:00 pm, but our baby wouldn’t come out. Flustered, I paced the room. The baby
wouldn’t come out even after one hour. Again, I trudged back to the OT door and peeped in and returned to Choki.
“What is going on inside?”
“Oops, I think I am having a heart attack,” said Choki. “Why is it taking a long time?”
“It requires meticulous attention.”
She clasped her arms and sobbed. “My poor baby.”
Again, I peeped in through the OT door at 4:00 pm. Nobody walked out. My mind raced a mile a minute. “It’s
unusual to take such a long time for any test. What exactly is going wrong inside?”
“Do something, please,” said Choki. “Hope they didn’t overdose him and—”
“Don’t say that, Ama. It would take time.”
Time seemed to pass by fast. The urge of barging into the OT raced like a swarm of bees in my mind, but I
controlled it. We rushed to the door every time they brought out a patient. Our baby didn’t come out even at 5:00
pm. Overwhelmed by fear, I paced the up and down, waiting for the baby to come out.
Silence.
I rushed to the pediatric ward. “Excuse me, doctor. My baby hasn’t come out yet. What exactly is going on?”
“They are doing it,” he said. “Relax, please,”
“But why is it taking so long today?”
“It takes time.”
“Okay, how long would it take?”
“Maybe one and a half hours. Relax, please. Your baby will be fine.”

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