A Rendezvous Routine – An Escape

 

It was a regular day. Nothing out of the ordinary. I had my evening tea and got ready to leave for the hospital which would be followed by the clinic. It was going to be a long evening I had anticipated owing to the rising cases of COVID.

I reached the hospital, parked my car and went to the OPD, attended the consults and then headed off to the attend the referrals from the Neutropenia ward (a ward where you keep the immunocompromised post aggressive chemo therapy). Oh yes, before we proceed any further, I was associated with a Cancer Hospital so majority of my consults here at this hospital would be as a general physician consulting on patients admitted for chemo or radiation therapy.

I removed my shoes, wore the sterile slippers and then proceeded to the ward. The case referred was about a young male suffering from AML (Acute Myelocytic Leukemia, a type of blood cancer) whose blood glucose level had shot up post chemo and steroids treatment. As I was reading the chart of the patient, I heard a laugh which caught my attention and I turned around to find the source of the giggling sunshine in this silent and doomed ward full of pain and suffering. A little girl, a beautiful little girl, around 8 years old, kajal in her eyes and a small black “bindi” on her forehead, her head shaved off and wearing the blue hospital gown was sitting on bed number 1 and arguing with her mom and who was doing her best to replace the conversation about which lipstick shade would look good on her with some mathematics workbook. I stopped writing the chart and looked and her and before I could realise, I was already smiling. She saw me and stopped talking and started giggling again and tried to hide behind her mom’s dupatta. Her mom as annoyed she was already snatched her dupatta and told her to sit straight, she then hid her face under the blanket and tried to peek from it to see if I was still looking. When she saw me watching her, she covered herself again and started giggling again. This little peak a boo game of ours continued for a couple of minutes until the nurse came with the updated blood glucose level of the patient and started talking to me. Can I be honest? I did not want to listen to the nurse, for a moment I did not want to think about patients, for a moment I did not want to think about death or recognize the fact that I was standing amidst pain and suffering. But hey, they pay me to do my job and I had the luxury of this blissful ignorance just for a couple of minutes. After finishing up this consult, I walked up to her bed and waved my hand and said hello to her. She immediately pulled the blanket over herself and started giggling. Meanwhile her mom was in a tug of war with her over the blanket while whispering “Say hello to the doctor, c’mon!”. Her mom then looked at me and said she is always so hyperactive and playful, please don’t mind sir. I smiled and told her that there was absolutely no need to apologies and then waved at her again in my futile attempt to get a wave back this time on my way out. She did. She waved at me and then hid inside her blanket again. I don’t know why but the smile of my face just multiplied as I walked out. And I managed to keep this smile on me throughout the day.

As I was walking out, the doctor voice in my head wanted me to read her chart and see what was wrong with her, but this another voice in my head just didn’t want to. I did not want to know what was she suffering from. And in that moment of chaos in my head, I decided that it was for the best that I did not know about it as I did not want to feel bad about the one good thing that happened to me that day. Was I being selfish? Maybe yes, maybe no. But well, that’s a discussion for another day. Now let’s just stay focused on this little girl of ours.

From that day onwards, I would go to that ward everyday even if I did not have any referrals, just for a few minutes. I would look at her, she would smile and hide, I would smile back, wave at her and then be on my way. This everyday rendezvous became a routine. And this routine became an escape for me.

On one such routine escape, I went to the ward. The ward was more silent than usual, the lights were the same, the drapes were the same but there was a weird silence and sadness in the air. I changed into the slippers and walked in. I went up to the nurse’s station as that would be my usual place from where I would have this game of peak a boo with our little girl. I looked over to her bed and saw her crumpled up in the bed with her blanket with her eyes shut tightly while she was shivering. She looked smaller and more pale than usual or maybe I just hadn’t noticed before in our moment of blissful ignorance. I looked at her side and saw she had already maxed out on her morphine in the PCA Machine (Patient Controlled Analgesia – if the patient is in pain, they press the button to increase the dose of morphine), which meant she had had her chemotherapy today.

My heart sank and I immediately asked the nurse for the file of the patient, defying the one voice I had listened to on my first encounter with this child. I don’t know why, I gathered myself and left the ward before the nurse could get the file. I did not even go and check on the child to ask if she was doing okay because I knew she wasn’t. I knew she was in a lot of pain. She did not look at me the entire visit that day because she was embarrassed of the pain. But all the time I was there I did not see that girl shed a tear. I saw, I saw what a fighter looks like, that day. I felt so small and meek in front of her that day. I would generally walk in the ward wearing my white coat and stethoscope thinking I could save them. But that day I realized that I was walking in there every day as I was the one who needed saving. It was this child who was actually boosting me up to help people with a smile on my face and reminding me that being alive and enjoying the simple pleasures of life and staying happy in the moment was an absolute blessing and how most of us just take it for granted and are hung over things which don’t even matter.

After reaching home, I was more melancholic than I’d ever been. I called my friend to take my mind off things and ended up discussing the exact same thing. I couldn’t just get my mind off it. I felt guilty for not asking her how she was and for not even going up to her and checking up on her. I couldn’t sleep the entire night.

I got dressed earlier than usual and left for the hospital at least 30 mins before my usual time. I reached and went straight to the ward, informing the clerk on my way that I would attend the OPD a little late. As I walked in, the place looked like before. It is the feeling you get when you walk into a familiar street after being lost for a while and you can finally think you can get home now! She was there, sitting on the bed, smiling while doing something on her mom’s phone. She looked at me and started giggling and hid herself in the blanket. Yes, we were back at our peak a boo game. I had never felt happier. I wanted to run up to the child and hug her but we both knew the rules of this game so I respected our little peak a boo. I finished up my consults in the ward and waved back at her as I was walking out. She waved back

As per my rendezvous routine, I reached the ward again the next day but the bed was now occupied by an elderly individual. I went up to the nurse to ask what happened to the patient who was there earlier and I was informed that she had completed her cycles of chemo so she was discharged. I felt a little sad as I had lost my silent companionship in this everyday escape, but my heart also let out a silent prayer thanking God for her well-being and wishing she keeps healthy wherever she was.

I still go to that ward everyday to find my escape but I always come back smiling, as even the child is not visiting anymore (which is good, as it means she is healthy and doing good), I remember our innocent little interactions and smile. And that keeps me going on and keeps me motivated to help and touch as many people’s lives I can in this one blink of a lifetime.

Have you found your blissful ignorance yet? Have you found your escape yet? If yes, feel free to share them here.

 

Yours,
The hippocampal Hermit