Page 147 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

There was no roadblock, but Yontongla pass was covered in snow. The car skidded even at the speed of 15
km/h. We arrived at Trongsa at 8:00 am. Straightaway, we went to the hospital to supplant the cylinder. We had
lunch at Nobding and drove straight to Bajo hospital. Right after supplanting the cylinder, we headed for Thimphu.
At the T-junction at Simtokha, Dad turned to me and said, “Are we going home?”
“Dad, we’ll go home after seeing the doctor,” I said.
He shook his head. “I am sick of hospital life. They would hospitalize me.”
“For your own good, Dad. Karma would be with you.”
“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.
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.

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