True stories - Strength

True stories - Strength

Muthassiamma lived till 96 and moved on last year. What a wonderful wonderful life. No major health issues except for bad knees and poor hearing. Never said a bad word or spread an ill news about anybody. Never scolded any of her 10 kids or 21 grandchildren, not even once, ever. Such a perfect example of virtue, patience calmness and inner peace. Everybody broke down with my dads big brother said "Kandu mathiyayilla"( I want to see her again and again, I have not seen enough of her) before they covered her body one last time. Muthassiamma has gone into the ashes of Thekke Kandam. She lives on, in the hearts of people whom she loved and who loved her. My obituary for her is a story that I heard my dad narrating.

My dad once had a problem with the health minister during his glorious unblemished and achievement studded career. Dad stood for what was right, instead of what was politically RIGHT, to the extent that he had to complain about his minister to the judiciary. The letter he wrote was somehow leaked to the press and all pandemonium began. 

Those were bad days for him, with media frenzy and all, which culminated in the minister resigning and dad being reinstated. Truth won and justice was done in the end, but he was mentally very shaken, to the extent that even my mom couldn't console him.

In the midst of all the frenzy, Dad went to his native place to visit his mom and his brothers, his usual second-Saturday-of-every-month unbroken routine since more than a quarter of a century. He never mentioned anything about his mental turmoil or sadness. Somehow his mother, my Muthassiamma, sensing everything, called him near her and told. "Do not fear anything or anyone. Stand straight for what you think is right. Even if you lose your job. Why do even care, you are an intelligent & educated doctor, you can survive with a pen and a few pieces of paper."

My dad recalled the incident at a later date. When he said about it, his voice cracked. "My amma, mother of 10 children, not formally educated, aged 85, who always stayed behind achan (dad) in the background, never offering an opinion, came forward and said the most sensible thing that could have been said to me at that time, instilling in me confidence about the righteousness of what I am doing, showing her support in my knowledge, my abilities and my patient care. 

After all this while, she said the most amazing words when it was needed the most, and from that day onwards I have not feared anything in my life, ever. Amma did not offer her shoulder to lean on, she made leaning unnecessary.", 

my dad concluded, tears dwelling up in not just his eyes, but in all of ours too.

Motherhood is the place where love begins and ends. 

Happy Mother's Day.

True stories - Lesson

True stories - Lesson

He was totally aghast, he felt numb and his insides burned. He wished he could scream out loud or just run away to escape from it all. One of his first patients in his dream Hematology course, the young guy who had improved so much in front of his eyes, was leaving the ward. He had relapsed and relapsed in a bad way, so bad that it was impossible to treat him further. The family, already heavily in debt, had to be counselled to take him home for palliative care, to which after much deliberation, they agreed. 

The patient M, the 19 yr old, did not know about his death sentence. The resident stood against the wall as his cousin brothers rolled M out on a wheel chair. As M was approaching, flashes of memories flooded the residents mind. 

-  The first week when M arrived, when M was not in his full sensorium, when he used to pat M's hand and tell out loud (more to himself than to anyone else) that M is going to be alright. 

- After M improved, how M had asked whether he will ever be able to play 'Kabbadi' with his bros again. And he had told M, that not only will he be able to play Kabbadi, that he himself will travel down to Ms village to watch him play. The ear to ear grin of M was still fresh in the residents mind.

- How, one day when he came for rounds, he heard Punjabi folk song being played out loud. M was enjoying the music terribly that he asked what sort of music is this. M replied, 'Chamkila...I love Chamkila' and everybody laughed. He had to Google the word to find out that it was the name of the Music director. From then on he began addressing M as Chamki....and M was visibly embarrassed at the fun being made of him. 

M smiled and waved as he passed the resident on his wheelchair. The resident waved back. Just before he turned the corner, M shouted, "Don't forget to come to the Kabbadi tournament 2 weeks from now, OK? I will be participating."  The resident did not know what to say, he just nodded. He leaned back on the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the tears. 

"Hey....", a soft voice, startled him. "You alright??" The resident was surprised to see his head of the dept, Prof S, standing near him. 'When did sir come here, how come I didn't notice!!', a visibly embarrassed resident thought. "Sorry sir, I was just a little disappointed at what happened to M.", the resident told as he tried to scramble back to work.

" Relax Beta," Prof. S told, his hand on the residents shoulder, "let me tell you a story".

"Around 30 years back, a elderly Sardar brought his only son to me. I was just starting to get interested in Hematology and this guy had an Acute Leukemia. Since the treatments of that form of Leuk were in experimental stages then, I knew that the patient was not going to survive. I called the old man to one side and in private told him that his only son was going to die. And there is no point in spending all the money that he had on the kid. "How many years does my son have?", the old man asked. I shook my head, "Months", I replied, "Not years". The man was shattered, had a denial and anger phase and finally came to the acceptance phase. "Pls give my son the best treatment possible, I understand what you said and I'll never have unrealistic expectations from you people.", the baba told. We gave him whatever we had in our hands at that point, and somehow the miracle happened and the guy responded. Remarkably. He somehow tolerated all the chemo and after around 9 months we could not find any trace of cancer in his body. 2 weeks after the son was declared cured, the baba died peacefully in his sleep, possibly an MI. The son took 2 years of maintenance and still comes to see me with his own kids, twice an year. "

"The guy whom I predicted had months to live, still comes to see me after 30 years and his dad, who was a healthy hardworking Sardar with no diabetes or hypertension had a heart attack within one year. I stopped taking the statistics part of medicine to heart from that day onwards, they just predict and predictions aren't always true. For a particular patient you do not get to judge or be God based on these statistics, they r just soft pointers.

Do u really believe whatever that u do or don't do or can't do is responsible for what happens to  the patient??

The day u start believing that you are actually the Tool and not the Hand that controls the tool, that day, u will start believing in what you do. You become mature and you find your peace. ""

Prof S ended his story, patted his resident again on the shoulder and walked away. 

The resident found a strange happiness inside him from that day onwards. Maybe it was because he had found the purpose of his life. 

The purpose of life was to serve and the joy of life was in giving.

 Nothing else mattered.

E