Page 83 - Till the Last Breath . . .

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Arman Kashyap

Arman crushed the stress ball in his hands as he paced around the room. He

was annoyed. A few more patients had shown relapses, and Pihu would
show the same signs too. The next step in their research—the stem cell

approach—was progressing like bloody snails on a rainy day. No one in
their hospital thought it would work. Treatments of the sort had been tried

on patients in the US and a few patients had had their lives extended by a
year or two. A few had died on the operating table. To make his day worse,
the asshole in room no. 509 had just vomited more blood than he could

have had in his alcohol-ridden veins. He, too, seemed to be dying.
But even then, Pihu was top priority. He had noticed Zarah standing at

the door with a file of reports, while he struggled with the analysis of the
research results. It was one way or the other. The stem cell approach was a
huge risk, a risk that he was willing to take.

‘Yes? Are you waiting for something?’ he asked.
‘Dushyant is not doing that well. He has a fever now. The pain in the

stomach is getting worse. His liver is getting worse. He has had two
seizures in the last two hours. His systems are shutting down.’

‘But the antibiotics made him cough blood.’
‘So what do we do now?’ she asked.

‘Exactly. I want an answer and I want it from you. And give him the
sedatives. Make him shut up and take down a list of every drug that he has
done in his lifetime. Let’s see if we get something there,’ he said without

flinching, his mind somewhere else.
Zarah nodded and left the room.