Circa 1975
On
April 11th 2021, my father went to his eternal home. He battled briefly post complications
from a second cerebral stroke. Daddy was afflicted for over 25 years with
diabetes mellitus type II and hypertension. He had his first diabetic stroke
about 16 years back and was semi paralytic.
It
was a fairly common lifestyle/genetic disease with an expected outcome. At 81,
I personally was not expecting a medical turnaround nor prayed for miracles. I
had faith and consolation; faith because if God wanted him to live, he would and
consolation because he had lived an immensely fulfilled life. There were no
regrets and no sighs. No tears of desolation or disappointment.
Yet,
who would not want to have their loved ones forever? We all do. In this case, it
was my dear father. I did, of course, I did.
However,
I pray and wish upon every star that not even my worst enemy should be
subjected to the pain that my father endured in the last three weeks of his
life. All in the name of being restored back to health.
Monday, 22nd March 2021
My father had a
stroke and fall and suffered an `aSDH, the 2nd one after 2005. He was on
ventilation for two days and in a 75% coma. The medical team ruled out surgery
because there was only a 1% chance of his recovery or survival. When my husband
and older sister met the doctor he advised them to pray. Medical science had no
hope for him. Nobody prepares to hear this about their loved ones; neither did
we. Numbed into patience as we anticipated the worse. Daddy began responding
within a day but he had to get through 48 hours. The prognosis could go either
way.
Wednesday, 24th March 2021
After extubation, daddy
was moved to HDU and then to a regular bed.
Friday, 26th March 2021
Around midnight the
hospital informed us to meet the Doctor the next day. We went after visiting my
father. The doctor greeted us. And said, "well, Mr Christian has
resurrected which is nothing short of a miracle.” Giving give credit where it
is due, my husband responded by saying, "and also in your capable hands.”
"As doctors, we can only do so much," he responded, "but there
is someone above who deserves the gratitude." He told us to take daddy
home as he was not on any support.
In days of
"fashionable, atheism" a doctor who spoke of God touched the right
chord with me. I returned home confident and comfortable. He told us two things
could happen. One he remains with the clot like his first one. Or his `aSDH
disintegrates into acute on chronic SDH when a Burr hole surgery was a
possibility. Though at that point, he had mentioned: "age being 81 we will
need to revisit."
The doctor
explained the run-up to the possible surgical intervention. It would take at
least three weeks for the clots to dissolve. And only a CT scan could determine
the prognosis.
Daddy had to
sustain three weeks. During which 3 CTs were mandatory with consultation after
2 CTs without the patient. In case of any change, a third scan would follow to
determine the possibilities of surgery. I asked how to understand change, and he
said my father would sleep more with all other vitals stable.
Sunday, 28th March 2021
Daddy returned home
from the hospital under observation and medication. In due course, if his clots
dissipated, surgery was a possibility. He was not exactly conscious. It seemed
he heard us but rarely spoke. The left side paralysis was now total, so he tried
communicating with his right hand. He refused food and often stopped eating,
falling fast asleep. He would stare into the distance and murmur. Although
inaudible, I was able to lip-read a few times. It distressed me to see all he
wanted was release from pain.
Friday, 2nd April 2021
On Good Friday, I
spent a long time with Daddy. Sponging would leave him tired. So we completed
the same at least an hour before giving him lunch. That day, daddy was awake. I
tried speaking to him despite knowing he wouldn't respond much. I asked the
regular questions knowing he would be able to hear.
“Baba, kosto
hocche, byatha hocche, bhalo lagche, khide pacche”
(Daddy is it
hurting, does it pain, are you feeling better, and are you hungry.)
As always, he
nodded and shook his head. then he opened his eyes wide and stared far away
beyond and behind me. I asked what he was looking at but Baba did not say
anything. So I held his hand and spoke a few words. Led him to touch my face
and told him I was close to him. Then I put his palm on my head and told him
his hand was on my head. To this, he tightened his grip and kept his hand on my
head for quite some time. I will live forever feeling that touch and know he
blest me.
Saturday, 3rd April 2021
The first scan was
scheduled at RSV Hospital at around 5 pm. But Daddy became unresponsive by
noon. Weighing all options in hand, we had earlier decided to take him to a
Government hospital. Private hospitals in Kolkata are notorious for ventilating
dying and expired patients. A last-minute 'dramatic' input from a maternal
uncle made Ranjit and me hesitant. So we took him back to INK and put him
through the worst ordeal.
The agony and
immense trauma for Daddy and us began. In all respects, mental, physical,
emotional, and of course financial. Yet again I stayed home because of the
Covid restrictions at hospitals. My sister called from the ER to say he was
being ventilated again. I pleaded in desperation against the procedure. Daddy
was having a cardiac arrest so doctors felt it necessary.
As the hospital
refused to treat him without ventilation, my father at 81 with a GCS score of 2
was back on the machine. With sepsis, feeble pulse, hyperglycemia,
hyperthermia, and hypotension, he was completely unresponsive.
I will never know
what exactly transpired in the ER. Yet even as a layperson, I am convinced that
my father got pushed into suffering not living. Medical professionals misused
visible emotional fragility to forget their oath. Hippocrates oath they say or
do some hear hypocrites oath?
While daddy
struggled for existence, the hospital insisted on surgery. A scratch on the
dotted line was all that they wanted. Almost coercing my husband into signing
the consent form by depositing Rs 85,000.
All along, being
the son-in-law he was hesitant to decide. But by now he had had enough! So he
stepped in and refused surgery till my father stabilised. And also, requested
the previous doctor's consultation. We had found him supportive earlier and had
handled my father's case. The hospital refused. The present physician was rude
and continued pushing for surgery. Daddy was back on the ventilator. Something
that I never wanted nor wish for anyone I know in his age and fragile state.
They only suffer more. I fail to understand why a hospital refuses to prescribe
palliative care?
This time the
hospital was not only rude but demanding and unprofessional. Barely had he
returned home when they called him to go back for signing papers. The
proceedings left us distraught.
Monday, 5th April 2021
Since my husband was
travelling, I would meet the Doctor. Earlier a friend connected me to very
senior personnel of the hospital. So I felt assured against hospital
malpractices. And I admit she had helped us through administrative and
functional procedures. Armed with this comfort I left for the hospital. I had
requested a consultation with the previous doctor. After all, he was kind in
the past. En route, my appointment got confirmed and I was able to meet the
previous doctor. As my husband was travelling, a dear friend, my ex-boss Mr
Pradip Sen accompanied me.
The meeting was not
only disastrous but cruel. Thinking that the doctor would give us the true
picture, we were positive in our approach. Yet, within minutes of discussions,
he turned hostile. Ascertaining our reluctance for surgery, he began pushing
useless data and statistics. Numbers that held no good for my 81-year-old
unresponsive father. His only prescription was “sign the form”. Pradip
understood I was unable to think and stepped in. He took charge and asked in all
politeness. “Sir, it is a difficult decision for her, I am like his son; please
explain to me in detail.
We were able to
grasp Daddy's condition and asked about the consequences. His response was not
only rude but inhumane. He spat out in rage. "Well, nothing much will
happen...he will keep coming back to us in this condition if he continues to
live. Need repeated ventilation and then one day you can collect his death
certificate."
On all earlier occasions, the hospital was strict about visiting formalities. Yet on this day, they insisted I see my father before leaving. The strategy was showing me that daddy was ready for surgery! The following 30 minutes was a shocking episode. It will remain in my memory forever. I followed all the protocols and stood beside my father's bedside. I called, and he was quiet. A squeeze on his palm fetched no response.
I started going
through the reports and files on the counter next to my father. There were no
fresh reports. No readings and nothing that I could read or make copies of for
a second opinion. Daddy was unresponsive even with the ventilator. I realised
the doctors at INK were keeping him on the machine. I was aware that
photography was not allowed in the ITU. I began to photograph the ECG screen
and other monitors. I wanted to stir the staff and it worked!
The doctor on duty
called me to his desk and asked what I wanted. I said, "his reports and
health status to decide on his surgery". Seemed my father was an
incubating chicken or a lamb ready for sacrifice at the altar of insatiability.
The young doctor sprung to his feet and led me back to his bedside. He patted
and probed the poor man. Called him and tried to show that he was responding
when he wasn’t. My father had reached a vegetative state. A state of complete
unconsciousness with no eye-opening. A near comatose state.
I understood what
was happening. I prayed and glance at his sorry state. Listless, faint breath,
mouth pried open, nose intubated, and IV cannulation, still with a feeble
heaving of his chest. It was a disappointing experience. All the more as the
hospital refused to cooperate. We wanted to take a second opinion. My
entitlement to get the patient's reports were completely dishonoured. They
agreed to give a clinical summary but after three hours. Since I could not
wait, I requested the same over email. To this, they responded, that it would only
be available the next morning. It was impossible to move without adequate
papers and medical reports. The logic failed me. Why waste time? It only pushed
up the bill and did nothing for the patient. My view of the hospital was
completely shattered. I pleaded with God, either you let me take him home or
you take him home. More than anything, give this man rest and peace.
The hospital
refused to keep him any longer without surgery. Back home I typed and dialled
connecting with friends, doctors, and medical professionals. I sent reports and
clinical summaries of my father all over the world, yes you read correctly.
Reading up and tallying all the advice from different people. Through it, I
trusted God. Hoping not for his life alone but that God would spare him the
pain if He would not heal.
I am blessed with
wonderful people in my life. Disappointed by the delays, I broke down while
talking to a friend. He consoled but scolded and said “toughen up, speak to the
hospital. Be sure to assert and persist; it is your right as family, to get all
papers on demand.”
So I reconnected
with the hospital authorities with renewed confidence. I was courteous but firm
and succeeded. In a matter of two hours that night the reports arrived by
WhatsApp. The next two days passed in a tug of war. Going from pillar to post
and hospital to hospital. I will spare the details. But, deep in my heart
somewhere I blame myself for not being firmer and allowing him more dignity. My
only consolation – God does not make a mistake.
These two days felt
like a nightmare. Recuperating from PTSD, I went into stress. After almost four
years I stayed awake with breathing distress at night. I did not tell anybody
that I had popped my SOS pills. It was a tough space to be in.
The constant
reminder of responsibility was fatiguing us. Loose conversations on faith and
trust in God were not only tiring but annoying. More so from people delivering
little to nothing. In these times, opinions are always available by a dime a dozen. Maybe there
was a way or no choice at all. Maybe palliative care could help or not at all.
Who knows what was correct anyway. I agree and it is the truth. Yet, when we
say we trust God, we must function with sane minds too. Faith in God must help
in trusting the process and releasing our burdens to Him when it's all slipping
away. Three weeks of my dad’s suffering taught me many vital lessons in life.
And in his last week, I experienced God at three distinct bends.
I wanted my father
to live but without further intubation. I prayed that God would heal him or
spare him the agony. To allow dignity and peace as he did for his mother. Each
time I looked at his face I could hear him speak to me. I remembered Daddy
explaining why my 85-year-old grandmother was not operated on. Gentle yet firm
and confident about his decision. The words resonated as I tussled - "I
love my mother but also know God has a plan. I have released her to God; now
you do that too". Daddy always taught, that trusting God meant surrendering to
His will. We pray and appeal but learn to release. That is faith.
How could I falter?
I am grateful to God for the friends who rallied around us. Helping to find medical advice, doctors, and hospitals. While INK did nothing to compose us, they kept us adequately nervous. Since daddy was still on the ventilator, they told us he could collapse while shifting. And there was much confusion about this. The evening before he got shifted, I prayed. "God, you either wean him off the machine or spare his life through the process.” We arranged for an ambulance with a ventilator. But, they extubated daddy the previous night and he was breathing on his own.
The first bend-Daddy was shifting without any support.
There was no
intubation. No, BiPAP, CPAP no O2 cannulation not even an oxygen mask.
I signed a bond for
release. This was tough. Someone commented that I signed his death certificate.
The hospital was very particular that I see and read what I signed for. Well,
of course, I would, being my first experience. The duty nurse screamed across
the ward; “checked for bed sores, no bed sores”. I never realised I should have
cross-checked. So I signed on all the dotted lines and waited. After much
struggle, we shifted daddy to Mission of Mercy.
At the ER, the
doctor informed me that Daddy had gone into a completely unresponsive state. He
was only breathing unaided but the rest of his systems were shutting down.
There were few reflexes left. The strongest being his right hand trying to
remove something off his face. That was the last time I saw any movement.
Conservative care instead of invasive treatment was the only option.
The doctors at
Mission of Mercy had made it clear that surgery was not an option. Daddy was
too frail and was not responding. But, if he improved an alternative option
would help. More than anything else, it would give us peace of mind. So we made
standby arrangements at the SSKM Hospital (erstwhile PG). The doctors said that
in his condition and at 81, palliative care was the only option.
Having grown up in
Kolkata in the 70s and 80s, government hospitals carry a lot of prejudice in our
minds. In our childhood, people avoided them like the plague. My father’s
illness showed us the changed scenario. Today private hospitals are brutal
money-changing machines. A place where the patients are pawns in the hands of
the authorities. Starting from high cost, unnecessary lab tests to even
ventilating the dead. Hospitals will not bat an eyelid.
I accompanied the
staff while they settled him into his ICU bed. The young sister who was
changing my dad and another known help called me to show a more than four-inch
bedsore. It shocked me. I understood the urgency of the ward nurse at INK to
get my signatures on “no bed sores”.
While I waited, a
senior sister came up to me and asked for Dad’s files. She wanted to read his
name. After a hurried glance, she looked up at me and said “Good Lord, what has
happened to him? Known this man forever! It's heart-breaking to see him at this
stage when we remember seeing him full of life and vigour on this campus.” We
exchanged brief notes and she was very kind to me. A sense of warmth and
assurance filled me. I don’t know why, but I felt a deep sense of peace. The
torment of the past few days seemed to diffuse.
When my son Samuel
and I walked towards the parking, he noticed my body language. And remarked,
“it feels like a homecoming for dadu, this place feels so calm.”
Finally, around 4
pm we left for home. For the next two days, we saw daddy from outside the ICCU
and got the same update from the doctor and the ward. There was no change.
Saturday, 10th April 2021
It was polling day
in Kolkata. We did not fail to cast our votes before leaving for the hospital.
Daddy was a very enthusiastic citizen. He never failed to fulfil any of his
obligations as a loyal citizen. Daddy would cast his vote without fail! At one
time he had received an offer to contest a minority seat back in the days. So
Mummy and I shared a light moment recalling the same as we stood in the queue.
The status quo kept
me comforted. I did not want to disturb his sleep. So once again I visited from
far while Ranjit carried on with other formalities. I was happy that God had
heard our prayers. He shifted without any complication.
On our way back we
were discussing the next steps and how things could or would pan out. Anxious
no doubt but relieved. I wanted to be at my Daddy’s bedside, to touch him,
speak words of comfort and see him from close. I did not expect him to
recognise or be able to talk to us. I was keen, because he may not know us, but
we knew him.
It had been three
days since he shifted but we were seeing him from far. I said to God, “am
grateful but if you spared him to us restore him such that we can be at his
bedside at least till he is with us.”
Sunday, 11th April 2021
On Sunday morning
the hospital informed us that Daddy was being shifted to a general bed. They
said he was beyond any support system but was breathing and needed a hospital
bed but not the ICU. It would be better because this meant family could visit.
At first, we decided
to see him the next day and allow some rest after the shifting. Ranjit was to
travel again. I know now why I decided to see Daddy that afternoon along with
Ma. We spent a short time in his room. The nurse had told us to be brief.
When I glanced at
my father’s frail frame, I could see the long unending legs. The arms still
reaching his knee though shrivelled and scarred. I ran my fingers down his arms
and legs, they were only bones.
My father was a
very handsome man. His Rajput genes were evident in his physique. He was fun
and revealed his Bengali wit to a select few. An uncontested philanthropist
even when he had fallen on hard days. A foodie who loved to treat people more
than he loved to eat. A man who was full of life and energy even after his
cerebral stroke. Hardworking, positive, and helpful. And above all, immensely
God-fearing a faithful servant of his creator. It was a painful sight.
I touched his hand,
it was quite cold. I settled his cover and pulled it a little more towards his
chin. He never liked air conditioners and I thought he was feeling cold. The
oxygen mask was back and it seemed he wasn’t breathing. I went a little closer
and put my ear to his chest. I could not hear a heartbeat! For a moment I froze
but then a faint moan and flutter beneath his skin assured me that he was
there. There was nothing but a frame beneath the white sheet. It pained me. No,
not only his suffering; but to think that his suffering could continue.
As we drove back I
prayed, God why? I know you make no mistake. I have never doubted you. Is there
something you want to say to me? To this, the phrase that my mind spoke to me
was “total surrender”. I have had this experience several times before but my
present mental state did not let me process the same.
To those of us who
may or may not believe in a higher power, I can only say one thing - He speaks
but we don't hear. He leads but we hurry on our way. A still small voice or a
thunder - depending on what we need at that time.
Much as I thought I
did, maybe I was still hanging on without surrender. I had always prayed that
God if it is in your will please take him home. I prayed, to God, asking if you
could answer the previous two requests. Why do you not spare him this pain and
take him home? Perhaps, I had accepted God’s will, but did not stop questioning
why? That was what came to my mind. So I said, “ok God, if you wish Daddy to
suffer this way, so be it, he is in your will and I surrender his life and our
obedience to you.”
Fifteen minutes later, the hospital called me. They asked us to return as Daddy was critical. I felt nervous “God, I didn’t mean this”. I know I never wished my father's death. But I also know God was waiting for "obedience".
I consider this the third and last bend.
We reached the ICU knowing that Daddy was no more. We waited to go in. Standing beside his mortal remain that evening, holding my mother, I did not just see my father. I saw - A life well-lived.
Daddy loved his mobile phone. So I gifted him a new one on his 80th birthday. I would scold him for calling frequently...I miss his calls.
2nd November 2019 - 80th Birthday.
.webp)
