Mrs.V lives to fight another day......

It is fine, as long as foolhardiness is borne out of ignorance.The stance taken by Mrs.V,was probably,a child of an uneasy alliance between,? implicit faith in the medical expertise and a devil-may-care attitude,borne out of long and hard battles,with equally sinister ailments,in the past.When a disease process becomes unruly,it somehow finds an ally, not only in the worsening state of the patient,but the total disruption in the rational and logical approach of the medical personnel.It is a situation, best described as unholy and damaging.Doctors tend to get swayed anyway,by anecdotal evidence and opinion of the seemingly wiser colleagues.The fundamental flaw in the actions that follow,is that even when there is complete absence of convictions,investigations are ordered,diagnosis presumed and even treatments are initiated,under the guise of empirical therapy.

I rather be branded as ignorant, and hold a candle, to convictions borne out of documented evidence than fall easy prey to convenient explanations,which never convince anyone,the proponent of the theory or the unfortunate recipient of the consequences,arising out of a flawed process.

The horrendous aftermath of a rampaging,uncontrollable ventricular tachycardia proved the famous adage of a Satan or an evil ,any day more powerful a foe than the protection offered by
godliness of a saint.contd.......

khushi.....

Radhakishen had heard of me from his acquaintance in his native
village in Rajasthan.In our only encounter on a balmy Sunday afternoon
at my home,he had sounded terribly despondent and helpless.His
tentativeness and anxiety were evident from the entourage that had
accompanied him.He was desperately looking for help and more
relevantly,HOPE.

Hope for his six year old-KHUSHI.

Khushi had been diagnosed with a malignant tumour in the brain.The
thick set of papers in the files that he had carried with him,revealed
the reason for his desperation.Fortunately,she had been referred to a
competent neurosurgeon,whose words were far from comforting, in any
which way.The tumour and the nature of it were unforgiving and looked
scary,even,to my initiated eyes.

Radhakishen was and proved himself to be different in so many ways.His
mannerisms,even when he was seeking solution to a hopeless
malady,managed to convey,that i had to offer something better.It was
not upfront or in-the-face kind of attitude.It was honesty and fierce
belief in the recovery of his daughter.He did not plead or nag for
answers-the answers he wanted to hear!

The tumour was located in a very sensitive and neurologically delicate
location.The neurosurgeon had refrained from any heroics and suggested
radiotherapy as the alternative,to shrink the mass and relieve the
child of her symptoms.He had not got Khushi along,the first time, he
came to my place.Recounting the onset and the rapid deterioration in
his daughter's state,it had become obvious that she was almost
semi-conscious and had lost power in the right half of her body.Of
course the neurological deficit unnerved him,but what hit and hurt him
very hard was that the tiny bundle of joy,had developed slurred
speech.He could not bear this development.He had reasons,very strong
ones,to seek remedy.

To put the record straight,Radhakishen was a doting and uncompromising
father.We all have heard about the preferential treatment to a boy
over a girl in villages.It has been so much in our face all the
time.,Radhakishen did not really care about these phenomenon.He simply
was a doting,committed father.His words,interspersed with stifled
sobs,"SAAB,MERI KHUSHI HAI NAA,AAP IN GAANWWALON SE PUCHHO,YE SAARE
GAANW KI KHUSHI HAI..SACH!!!.JAB SE YE AAI HAI MAANO SAB KE DIL MEN
CHHA GAI HAI.ITNI HOSHIYAR OR CHANCHAL HAI.ISKE AANE KE BAAD,HAR SAAL
ITNI BAARISH HUI HAI.AAP IN BAATON MEN VISHWAS NAHIN KAROGE,PAR YE
HAMARI DEVI HAI.MERA EK BETA HAI ,PAR WOH TO AISE HI BADA HO
JAYEGA.USKI MUJHE KOI FIKAR NAHIN."...Such simple,uncomplicated
reverence.

A film of tears in the eyes has always pained me more than the trickle
of tears which leave them.It shows the resolve and belief in a man.He
could cry and relieve his pain.Radhakishen valued his tears as much as
his daughter's recovery.Not even once,did they run down his
eyes.Pure,fiercely committed-to the cause,unflinching,goading-me

-to
-wake up and do something- eyes.So much for Radhakishen.

Today,he arrived at my clinic at 9 in the morning.This was my second
encounter.I had not bargained for what transpired,between us,or should
i say amongst us.He has such an honest ring to his voice that it
becomes impossible to ignore the need to move forward.The ring of
truth and simple,unwavering faith in ????my silence,create an
atmosphere which becomes so heavy that ,i have often taken my eyes
away from his prying eyes.Prying for clues,hints and solution.But
today he was not alone.His wife carried Khushi with her.

Khushi.!!! She had all the answers to my amazement about her father's
trust,faith,hope and commitment.May be it was orchestrated-no,i am
certain it was not.A vibrant orange shirt and a stunningly embroidered
blue denim.,created sheer magic in the dull,pale white room.The
picture was complete when her mother placed the matching denim cap on
her head.I hate myself for having conditioned or primed
myself(inadvertently),in looking for reasons or meaning to every
demeanour of people around.i am convinced that it was not to hide a
bald patch,but it was her style-Khushi's very own.

She looked at me,turned her eyes away and then looked back at me. In
that second,she had seen and gauged whatever she had to.Then she
smiled.!!.A smile that told me and offered a consent to me, to go
ahead, with whatever i felt was needed to be done.Radhakishen was
absolutely sensational today.He was already extrapolating and
expanding on the gains of radiotherapy.Khushi had regained her
consciousness ,her speech was clearer.Incredibly enough,she had
learned to use her left hand in lieu of her right.To prove her
amazing, ambidextrous skill,,he made me offer my cell phone to the
little one .He then stunned me by asking Khushi to dial his number,
from my phone.You must believe this.The frail,little,unconditioned
left hand could barely hold the phone.She still managed to dial the
correct number. I choose not to react ,usually.To term, what
transpired as unusual,would be a gross understatement.,for what i had
missed was the 0 that was added before her dad's number.Khushi was
oriented,not only in memory,insight,judgement but had an incredible
sharpness to demonstrate orientation in place as well.How on earth
would a 7 year old,exhibit the knowledge of a local call from an
outstation one?By then she had won over me and my heart.She had
started forming some words and sentences which kept me glued to this
wonder kid.

The mother,hitherto silent and stoic,could not take any more.Tears
started rolling down her eyes.Lo and behold! Our little bundle of wit
and joy had all the answers.Pulling out a small handkerchief,from the
lapel of her top,she proceeded to wipe the tears off her mother's face.

So much had happened,so fast,early in the morning.It had become
increasingly difficult to mask the pain and not give in.

But then,doctors are supposedly or supposed to be different,when such
encounters threaten to engulf one and all.Gathering the already
tattered steadfastness and mustering resolve,i did a smart thing and
started looking down at the paper on the table and began to scribble-
nothing.

Khushi has gone to the Cancer hospital.She is not alone.She has her
father's ferociously contagious commitment and her mother's silent
belief in God and all the other supernatural.Today morning,by the time
she left my clinic,Khushi had added, one more member, in her already
burgeoning entourage,who have a common purpose and unflinching
belief-in her recovery.

Amen.

Of unforgiving diseases and their ferocity...

The picture with its serene backdrop was uploaded to highlight the contrasting (stifling helplessness) emotions that are ruling my thoughts.
I am in the midst of the ferocity of a raging malady,that has struck OUR Mrs.V.
It is some time in the afternoon...i have lost the track of it..the time..the supposed healer...it has frozen and stood still for me and Mrs.V.I think i am incorrect,in my perception.It has stopped for the staff nurses and the medical officer on duty,in the ICU,as well.
The soporific humming of the overstretched air-conditioners,has taken its toll on the aching bodies and tired minds of the ICU staff.They are in different states of consciousness,from trying hard to stay alert and oriented-to-drowsy,stuporous,semi comatose to almost being comatose.The shrillness of the ultra-high pitched bleeping emanating from a dozen cardiac monitors,of myriad rhythms,has proved futile,to arouse them.My trained ears, spare me the need, to stare at the monitor trace of Mrs. V.The rhythmic chugging of the heart,initially intermittent,has now given way to a complete chaos.The disease process has broken all the shackles,imposed by the concoctions of drugs.The abnormal rhythms look vulgar.They have a menacing look of a bull,drunk on the blood of a matador.I have heard about method,even in madness.Here,in this place,there is no sanctity or sacredness,usually attributed to rhythms and notes.Every rhythm is jarring to the ears.It feels as if a band of impostors,is churning out cacophony,masquerading as music.

Our Mrs.V sure is a very tough cookie.Her attitude of looking the malady,in its eye,is refreshing.No,it was refreshing to begin with,but it has now turned to a battle of attrition,that she has taken up,with her ailment.It feels as if she has a personal score to settle with her tormentor.I never encourage battles against abstract or inanimate.Faceless foes,as a rule,stand to be in advantageous position.It is,forever,a lop- sided battle,heavily tilted towards the disease,once it manages to break free.Her decision to fight the enemy,within,made her take decisions,which may prove very costly to all of us.She overstayed on the battle field,alone.Retreat is not always synonymous with defeat.It probably is smartness,-camouflaged.

contd...........