With my father landing in the ICU twice within a span of 18 days, my life has been hectic. Needless to say, it has also been emotionally exhausting; the day-to-day involvement with aged and ailing parents can wear one down emotionally - you see despair, you watch them helpless and you try to support them through the evening of their lives. And, then, you are occasionally faced with existential questions, theories on life and life-after-death and you lean on the strength of individual spirituality that life-religion-philosophy has given you and try to make sense of it all.
After a 10 day stay at the hospital and scrutinising blood/echo/ECG/ultra sound scans/CT scan reports, we brought my father back home in a ‘stable’ condition. Five days later my mother called out to me in the middle of the night and I ran to find my father curled up, his face reflecting his vulnerability. It shook me to find my father seeming lost; after all, he was the person who showed me the ways of life and instilled in me the need to be strong through the journey. We called for the ambulance and I kept engaging with my father so he remains conscious but his failure to recognise me in his condition scared me. Add to that the delay as the ambulance lost its way in getting to my father. I was shaking in fear - I know that we all must leave one day, but, personally, I am watching the life of a near and dear one fade away, for the second time, after Casper. No amount of rationalising, reasoning and preparedness can really ready you for The End.
My sister and niece rushed down from Delhi and we re-bonded over countless cups of coffee in the cafeteria, meetings with the specialists and pouring over dad’s medical reports. During his stay in the ICU, we were sent in to see him, one-at-a-time, only during the visiting hours (which was twice a day) - my sister and I would meet him successively and exchange notes about his well-being, his reactions, what he had to say and even the pallor on his face. I found it strange that with me, dad was all upbeat and happy, but when my sister would meet him he would be very fatalistic and morose in his attitude - “who knows if I’ll be alive to go through the test” etc. My niece had her theory: that I am very cheerful, even in adverse situations, and, my sister, the more serious kind. That was the best compliment I received in recent times!
By now, fortunately or unfortunately, many of the doctors in the hospital that he is taken to recognise my sister and I. Doctors who were not as friendly and forthcoming initially would wave to us when they saw us; some would come in search of us to discuss our father’s situation and some would even buy us a cup of filter coffee at the cafeteria. It was heartwarming! We did have our moments of amusement, too, where noticing the amount of knowledge we had accumulated over the years, a doctor even joked that we should join med school to get a formal licence to practise. One doctor was talking about ‘E.S.R’ to which I promptly added “erythrocyte sedimentation rate”; “Are you a doctor?”, he asked. “No. I was just a good student!”, I responded. The supporting staff mistook us for doctors and some even thought I was a celebrity(!!). One of the nurses told me she really loved the way my sister carried herself - grey hair and crisp sarees. “My sister!”, I’d said, with a tinge of pride in my voice. Some how, the experiences of these lighter moments during trying times helps wipe away the tears. I also managed to read two books - Asha Parekh’s autobiography and Smita Patil’s biography by Maithili Rao (the former was very entertaining and the latter was so well written - crisp in language and details).
Once my father was shifted out of the ICU to a private room, we took turns spending the night with him. There was a time when I hadn’t slept a wink in over 48 hours. We were also worried about our mother’s health and how she was coping with the situation. On one of our short drives back home, she was rationalising dad’s situation and how one of her brothers-in-law suffered similarly. On another occasion, when we thought things were going downhill and I called my mother so she “could spend some time” with dad, she asked me rather calmly,”are things getting serious?”. I guess we all figure out ways to deal with such situations and preparing for them. The night when it was my turn to keep an eye on dad, he wasn’t interested in sleeping. Instead, he indulged in a monologue on how his life has been - the ups and downs - and the equanimity with which he handled it all. He had many reflections and anecdotes to share and I sat silently listening to him. It made me realise , yet again, how we create memories in every moment of our existence; some experiences that we believe are irrelevant actually end up taking a lot of memory in our mind space. So, no matter whether its having apple pie with ice-cream or a big career achievement, the moment stays with us equally.
Dad is back home now and excited about his research for his next book. But I am caught in this dilemma about whether I should turn vegan. Reading about the cruelty that animals suffer in catering to our taste buds and nutritional needs, I wonder if I could make these small dietary changes to help a large impact. And then I wonder if I could have my filter coffee without milk (I never drank coffee, but moments of stress lead me to it!), or, being a true blue South Indian, if I could live without curd-rice!
In the midst of all this mindful and mindlessness, I tripped on this song:
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