Page 125 - Till the Last Breath . . .

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Arman Kashyap

The reports were a mess. A million different problems and a zillion possible

reasons behind them. Treat one symptom and it might play havoc with the
other problem. Arman’s brain had reduced to slush, concentrating on

Dushyant’s case and isolating the primary debilitating cause. There were
too many things tripping over each other in his head. He had been thinking

about Pihu and her progressive condition. But it wasn’t just the disease he
was thinking about, and that’s what bothered him the most. He was thinking
about her.

He was itching to see her again, to watch her regale him with her silly
stories, see her giggle like a little kid and get excited by the littlest of things.

She was unbelievably alive for someone who was dying. He was thinking
about the promised date but alternately, he was also thinking about adopting
the tiny ball of cuteness.

The clinical trials were not the reason for his sleepless nights, it was her
—the infectious smile, the exuberance, the will to live, the courage and the

undying love for medicine. Being a specialist in ALS cases, Arman knew
what lay ahead of Pihu if the treatment didn’t work. Pihu knew it too. Just

like the last time, she would die a slow, excruciating death … The very
thought made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Worse still, she would die

on the operating table.
He had seen his patients lose the use of their limbs, breathe laboriously,
lie on a bed for days, wallow in self-pity, curse their lives, and die. He

shuddered.
Dushyant’s reports were leading him nowhere. A smattering of guilt crept

in. Every minute he spent thinking about Pihu and her affliction meant a