Page 23 - Till the Last Breath . . .

Pihu Malhotra. Age 19. Arman saw Zarah’s eyes rivet on the file. She

didn’t move a muscle.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.
‘She has ALS? As in Lou Gehrig’s disease?’

Arman could sense the shock in her voice—a definite marker of a young,
inexperienced doctor. He had expected it. When he had first heard about the

case, he had felt the same thing. Shock. Disbelief. Pity.
‘Yes, why do you look shocked?’

‘Isn’t it something that afflicts people over the age of forty? She is just
nineteen.’

‘That’s what makes it interesting. Have you heard about Stephen
Hawking?’
‘The super-genius scientist? The wheelchair-bound physicist who can’t

talk any more?’ she asked, just to be sure.
‘Yes, the same guy. He was diagnosed at the age of twenty-one. Doctors

said he had three years. It has been forty years since then. His disease was
progressing slowly. Hers, on the other hand,’ he pointed to the file, ‘is

progressing at a faster rate. She was diagnosed one year back and she might
not make it through the next three months.’

‘What do we do? There is no cure, right?’
‘No, there is not. I am on the research panel trying to find one. Let’s see
what happens. We will decide when the right time comes,’ he said and got

back to his work. He had no intentions of indulging in a ‘poor girl’ type
conversation with Zarah. Clearly, Zarah was stunned and her face contorted

to signify the pity she felt for the nineteen-year-old dying girl.
Zarah had studied to be in the noble profession and save lives and get

people healthy, but she never really had the heart to overlook the pain of
sick people in the first place. It reminded her of her own angst. She felt

sorry for Pihu, and for the bastard who lay in the room with a damaged
liver.