Page 221 - Till the Last Breath . . .

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Arman Kashyap

Arman paced about in his room, angry, frustrated and really scared. He

waited for Zarah to come back to his office and tell him exactly what had
happened. For the first time in many years, he felt like he would pass out

from anxiety. It was his third cigarette and he was far from being calm. If
the surgery failed, he would have to schedule another one and quick.

Reversing the process was improbable and even more dangerous than just
going ahead with the treatment and finishing it.
At a distance, he saw Zarah walk towards his office with slow, unsure

steps. He held the door open for her and as soon as she got in, he said,
‘What happened?’ His hands were crossed firmly in front of his chest,

bracing for impact.
‘Dushyant needs a liver transplant. He might not see another day. Pihu is
dying. She can’t feel her hands any more and she nearly choked to death,’

she said and took a seat. ‘She needs to be put on constant breathing support
if we don’t want it to happen again.’

Silence gripped the room as both the doctors faced the reality that stared
them right in the face. Arman’s head was a mashed pulp of angst and

failure. Sitting on his seat with Pihu’s reports in front of him, his demeanour
transformed from a headstrong, unemotional doctor’s to that of a parent

who is about to lose his or her kid. As tears threatened to peek out from his
eyes, he made a few calls for some tests to be run on Pihu. Next, he called
his college buddy–surgeon to let him know that he would need his help

again. As he looked around helplessly, often running his hands over his
head, he noticed Zarah sobbing softly with her head buried in her palms.