Page 139 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Try as I might, I couldn’t control the sudden burst of emotion. I thought everything was over. Our hopes and
dreams, hard works, and doctors’ time. And hefty expenditure the government has incurred. Above all, it
overwhelmed me with the terror of losing the baby. I sat and stroked his hair, sobbing.
Half an hour later, a young surgeon in a purple gown shuffled in. “Where is the baby?” he asked, looking around
the room.
“Here, doctor,” I said as my heart pounded in my chest.
“What happened?”
“Diarrhea, doctor. That on-duty doctor said it was an intestinal obstruction.”
He felt the baby’s abdomen and said, “Pooed?”
“Yes, doctor, but all watery.”
“It’s not an intestinal obstruction.” He called the on-duty doctor. “Administer saline to the baby.” He turned to
me. “You can take the baby home after it is done. Feed him enough ORS.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor.” I frowned at the on-duty doctor over my shoulder and muttered,
“Drat! Why did that sissy doctor lie to me? My heart almost seized beating!”
Two months later, the other on-duty doctor in the emergency ward X-rayed Rinchen. “That’s intestinal
obstruction,” he said.
“No, it’s diarrhea,” I said. “His abdomen is soft, and he poos.”
“Doctor John would tell you.” He phoned Doctor John and said, “He told me to admit the baby. He’ll come
tomorrow.”
We carried the baby to the pediatric ward on the third floor. There were two nurses at the table beside the door.
One was busy at the computer.
“Excuse me, nurse?” I said.
The other nurse glanced at me. “Yes?”
I handed her the form and said, “ER doctor has sent us.”
She read it. “Please wait. I will arrange the bed.”
Half an hour passed. She didn’t return. I shuffled in and said, “Is the bed ready, nurse?”
“You can bring the baby.”
Early the next day, Dr. John preened at the X-ray report and said, “It’s intestinal obstruction. We may have to
operate on him. But let’s observe him for a few days.”
I held my chest. “Oh, hell, no!”
After three days, Dr. John said, “Did he fart?”
“Not until now,” I said. “Why, doctor?”
“Babies don’t fart with intestinal obstruction.”
I stammered on hearing that. “Oh, really? I never heard of that.”
“Let’s wait for a few more days,” he said, checking the baby’s heartbeats with a stethoscope. “I will see what I
can do.”
“Say it’s not an intestinal obstruction, please,” I whispered. After Dr. John left the ward, I said, “Did he fart at
home, Ama?”
“He farted at home,” she said, “but not here.”
“It may not be an intestinal obstruction.”
“You know what? You should rub his bum.”
“Massage his bum? Why?”
“Dr. John told us,” she said. “Just do it.”
I massaged Rinchen’s scrawny bum. After fifteen minutes of continuous rubbing, Rinchen farted.
“Oh, he farted!” I ejaculated.
Choki giggled, covering her mouth. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“You are right,” I said, overwhelmed. “That’s one lesson I learned from you.”
At 11:00 pm, a nurse came to replace the drip. “What’s stinking?” she said.
“It’s a fart,” I said, giggling.
She twitched her nose. “Pooh!”
“It means my baby doesn’t have an intestinal obstruction, right?”
“No idea,” she said. “Why don’t you ask the surgeon?”
When Dr. John came in the evening, I said, “He farted, doctor.”
“Really? It may not be an intestinal obstruction.”
“Can you irrigate him?”
“Okay. I will instruct the nurse.”
Soon after he left, the nurse irrigated Rinchen. Feces filled the cellophane bag tied at the end of the tube.

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