Page 97 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

I scurried back to the taxi and said, “Hurry! We got a lift.”
The medic fastened the IV line to the neck of his seat. “Let’s go.”
“Thank you, Aunty,” I said, heaving a sigh of relief. “Driver, follow us to Jigme Dorji Wangchuck National
Referral Hospital, okay?”
He nodded.
The minivan driver drove at his pace. It moved like a loaded truck. I peered into the distance, trying to read the
milestones.
“How long will it take to reach Thimphu?” I asked.
“Maybe two hours,” said the driver.
“Drive faster, please.”
“I am trying.”
Closing my eyes, I muttered, “Ken-cho-sum kheno! Chab da gyen zi shi!”
My phone beeped. “Yes, Aunty?”
“Where’d you arrive?” asked Aunt Choden.
“We’ve crossed Wangdue.”
“How’s the baby?”
“Not so good.”
“Faster. We are waiting here.”
“We’re trying.”
We arrived at JDWNRH at 3:20 pm. The driver drove us to the old emergency block.
“How much is the fare, sir?” I asked.
The driver replied, “Three hundred ngultrum.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He gave me a radiant smile. “You’re welcome.”
I shuffled after the medic into the emergency ward with the baby in my arms. A young bespectacled doctor was
at his computer.
“Doctor, a referral,” said the medic. “A baby.”
He looked up. “Referred from?”
“Mongar Referral Hospital,” replied the medic, showing the baby’s abdomen. “It’s distended.”
“Straight to the pediatric ward,” said the doctor. “Show him to the surgeon.”
An Ambulance took us to an old pediatric ward in the old building above the gate. Cousin Chedra and Aunt
Choden were waiting there, in front of the ward.
“Oh, no!” said Aunt Choden. “What is the disease called?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Everyone, please move aside,” said the medic.
In the ward, a nurse carried the baby to a cabin and put him in an incubator. “Surgeon is coming,” she said.
Minutes later, the surgeon arrived. He grinned at us. “From Mongar Hospital?”
“Yes, doctor,” I said.
“I am Doctor Johannes John, the pediatric surgeon.” He tucked up the baby’s shirt. “It’s intestinal obstruction.
Did he poo?”
“No, doctor.”
“The baby has Hirschsprung Disease.” He pointed at the nerves. “It affects the large intestine called Colon due
to the missing nerve cells in the muscles.” His white-grey mustache twitched as he spoke, but he never stopped to
smile. “Without the nerve cells, the muscle cannot constrict the stool out. That’s why he couldn’t poo. We must
operate the baby, okay?”
“We are ready, doctor,” I said, feeling relieved.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Why not now, doctor? I don’t think the baby would survive tonight.”
“I can understand that, but I have a patient now.” He thought for a while. “Fine, I will call you at 7:00 pm.”
I sighed in relief. “Oh, thank you, doctor.”
He smiled and left.
A ward boy came after half an hour and said, “From Mongar Hospital?”
I nodded.
“A taxi driver is looking for you,” he said.
“Oh, sorry,” I said and scurried out.
The cabbie was hauling our luggage out.
I paid the fare. “Thank you,” I said.

97