Anesthesia (5th blog story)

28^th April, 2015.

                                           Anesthesia.

The hospital floor of Ruby General hospital, Kolkata, reeked of antiseptics, formaldehyde and other solutions, combined with a stench of all kinds of medicines from the pharmacy below. The spit shine floor squeaked beneath the rubber shoes of the nurses who had a strange urgency in their movements, quick, agile but not too fast or finicky. Indeed, within fifteen minutes, they had to arrange and ready everything, so they needed to be fast. There was no room for mistakes as a life was at stake today.

Inside the room with green tiles, the doctors too had a composed urgency in their behavior. The green tunic and the masks and the rubber gloves can send chills down the spine of anyone. Added with all the machinery, the tools and the dense smell, it could have been easily mistaken with a scene from a horror science fiction movie. The whole floor was silent outside.

Dr. Chatterjee, the bespectacled elderly neurosurgeon stood beside Shibika who lay on the operating table, her head shaved and the face poised with utter calmness. With a fatherly affection he ran his hand on her forehead, as his own heart trembled with fear. Quite natural it would be, for Shibika was one of his students almost 6 years ago, and now she was lying in front of him. That particular batch was his favorite as there were students with prodigious talents, Shibika being one of them.

“Don’t worry kaka, I will be fine!” Shibika said, anticipating the doctor’s emotional turmoil. Even on that table, she hadn’t lost her spirit, and that was the best amazement Dr. Chatterjee could have asked for.

“I know you will, dearly!” Chatterjee replied. Glancing at his watch, he steadied himself, there was no time for panicking now, and he knew that. It was time.

“Kaka, is he coming?” Shibika asked eagerly, continuously looking at the white door with two windows, waiting for an arrival which was in doubt. Expectations never loses its

dominion, even when there’s a life at perilous stake

“Hush now, you need to calm down” the doctor said, at any cost, it was a requirement that she was calm, but still, he himself was wondering about if he is coming or not.

A male nurse came over to the other side to the table holding an oxygen mask. The arrangements were done and it was time, “ma’am, we are going to put under anesthesia. You’ll be gone for a considerable amount of time. I need you to do a countdown from 10 to 1.” Said he, with the impeccable courteous tone, trying to sooth the patient. Outside window, in the dark corridor, Shibika knew that her family was there, their each breath becoming a burden to their hearts. Still, no sign of him. The mask was placed on her face and the lights were turned on. A sweet smell came out of the nozzle as she started counting. Counting for a long sleep. And with each count, there crowded the moments.

10…

Truth is always stranger than fiction. And this has been proved by the universe every now and then with examples of strange stories. Like that rainy day at College Street when Shibika met Virat for the first time. Although they were in the same batch in the medical college, as it happens, they were entirely oblivious to each other. Or so they pretended to be for both of them had noticed each other, by the irrefutable laws of obvious issues. Quite often, as the theologists would suggest, the world will bring two different characters at a same place and things will start happening on their own. Both of them, by fate or chance, were looking for the same book, plausibly rare to find. And with a bizarre series of coincidence, it was available at one book store with only one copy.

“Oh, I see you’ve already paid for it.” Shibika said in a dismayed voice as Virat paid for the book.

“Yes, well, I was looking for this book for a long time. You’re Shibika, right? From the college?”

“Yes”

“I’m Virat. I see you too wanted this book.”

“Yeah, well, you bought it before I could have.” Shibika laughed understandingly.

“Well, I really do not like a fellow reader like you should be kept away from reading a book like this just because you couldn’t buy it first. I have a suggestion if you don’t mind?”

 “And that would be?”

“There is a Xerox shop nearby, I frequent it as the rates are minimal, you can have the photocopy.”

“You sure?” Shibika’s face lit up with a rejoiced glow.

“For a book like this” Virat stepped out in the rain popping up the raincoat’s hood, “everything is sure”. That day was the start of a beautiful friendship and an unbreakable relation for the years to come.

9…

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA” Shibika was laughing uncontrollably as Virat stood in front of her.

“What? What is it?”

“BWAHAHAHAHA…” Virat loved way she laughed. That childish face that went red with rushing blood made her fair skin look more beautiful.

“Arrey Haashchish keno pagoler moton?” Virat asked, slightly embarrassed and annoyed.

“You are wearing a dhoti. Haashbo Na?”

“Lady, I told you I would be wearing the traditional wears during aashtami, what’s so funny about the dhoti?”

“And what will I wear? You know how silly would it look if you wear a dhoti and Panjabi, and I dress up with same old jeans and tees?” Shibika said, slumping down on a bean bag in the room. Virat knew where this was headed, already having the answer ready. A failsafe plan he kept. Without a word he went into his bedroom and came out with a brown packet. Handing it to Shibika who stared at him confused, he finally spoke, “take this Maa, she’ll know.”

Half an hour later, as Virat made the final things done, Shibika returned to his room with Virat’s mother, who was smiling at her son’s brilliant choice. Shibika on the other hand, was going red with blushed emotions. The orange sari with red border suited her olive skin tone. “How do I look?” she asked. Virat stood speechless, as if thunderstruck. Maybe for the first time, his witty answers took a walk. To avoid the unnecessary awkwardness, Mrs. Ray whispered in Shibika’s ears, “well, I have never seen him speechless before. You look amazing darling!” leaving them two alone, she was to get ready too, Mr. Ray would be arriving soon. Placing a slight kiss on her lips, Virat just said, “Kolkata will burn with jealousy tonight!” Shibika blushed more, finally burying her head in his chest.

8…

“Oh, so you are angry, and you won’t talk, but you will dress my wounds.” Virat said, laughing mischievously. Shibika kept her silence as she applied the tincture solution on his elbows. His knees and shin were already dressed.

“OWWW!” screamed Virat. “Careful woman! It hurts!” Virat laughed again, he knew that Shibika was angry.

“Hurts? Really?” Shibika muttered under her breath, her jaws clenched tight. She rushed to his house when she got the news that he met a bike accident. Although it wasn’t that bad, yet Shibika was in a state of minor shock given the loss of her elder sister in a similar accident a few years ago. Virat could feel her cold palms when she touched him, regretting his own stupid thirst for adrenaline rush. Her eyes on the verge of flooding. Some wounds, as he knew, were too deep to heal.

“Shibi… I…” Virat started to speak, at least console her, but that wasn’t enough.

“Why don’t you just kill me and be over it?” Shibi said as two streamline of tears made their way down her cheeks. “why do you have to torment me with all these shenanigans?”

Virat knew about her trauma, and however he tried to make her feel better he knew in his heart that nothing can fix that. A loss, a death, after all isn’t something that can be changed, if it was, he would have done that for her. The tears were too heavy a burden on his heart today. Pulling her close, Virat did the one thing that he knew could calm her. Grabbing her nape lightly, he leaned forward, touching her forehead with his own, being in a breath’s distance to each other but not kissing. “I am sorry darling”, he whispers. The tears kept rolling down her face on his bloodstained bandages. There was nothing else to be done for now.

She tried to go on with the countdown, but her head was getting heavy, and the images in her head started to fall in to oblivion. The light above her head glowed more brightly as for the last time she tried to keep her eyes open looking at the door. It swung open as a fading figure entered the theater. Everything went dark.

“I can’t” Virat said with a desperate tone. The other people in the room stared at him.

“The fuck means you can’t?” asked Tanmoy with a gritted voice.

“I can’t do it, I cannot operate on her” Virat said.

“You… you bastard. You are one the best neurosurgeon in the country, the ‘great’ Dr. Virat Roy, and you cannot do it? You say you love my sister, you want to fucking marry her and you cannot do it? You want to let her die?” Tanmoy grabbed his collar. It was new year’s eve when the symptoms came out. Shibika suddenly fainted with profuse bleeding. They rushed to the hospital and the preliminary report confirmed aneurism in her head, in an operable stage, but the location in her brain was too risky, chances were not slim. Whatever was to be done was to be done quickly. But for Virat, who was indeed an exceptional doctor, it wasn’t just aneurism. It was Shibika who was to be laid down under scalpel.

“You think it is easy for me? goddammit, that’s not just your sister who’ll be on that table, she is my fiancée too!” Virat screamed, flinging the coffee cup that passed inches of Tanmoy’s head, smashing on the wall behind. Slumping on the chair again, his face was buried in his palms, his whole body shook with an unsaid agony. “God…  I can’t…” he repeated. Tanmoy kneeled in front of him, he knew what Virat was going through, and he couldn’t blame him. “Save her Virat” he pleaded.

The room felt colder, along with the A/C and the rain outside. The window seemed like a canvass of a surrealist, the drops scarring the glass in unintended patterns. Her head felt heavy, both due to the bandages and the medicines in her system. Dr. Chatterjee told her that she was out for almost 4 days or so, out of danger, but was infested with anesthesia just so she can sleep. The nurse wasn’t back yet, she asked her to turn off the A/C. Her bedside was crowded with all sorts of bouquets, cards, sweet boxes and other things. Almost all the familiar faces had visited and left, with a promise that they’ll be back soon. All but one. Shibika looked at the wall clock that announced 3.45 p.m, the out of the window, where the sky was graying with the passing time. She could see the buildings afar, with the dark skyline, and the road below that was clogged with unmoving traffic.

The dizziness was hitting her again when the door opened. She was expecting the nurse, but it wasn’t her. Instead, that absent face which she looked for in the crowd.

“Well, you took your time” she said weakly. Virat pulled up a chair by her bed, silently sitting down. Even if she was weak, she could tell that Virat had lost his sleep. Behind his groomed face, there were dark circles under his eyes. Virat said nothing, he was looking outside.

“tell me this isn’t a dream” she said again. “I am not hallucinating things, am I?”

“this isn’t a dream, and you are not hallucinating” Virat said, quietly, taking her hands into his own, the syringe and the tube still dangling off her arm.

“How are you?” Shibika asked, knowing how he would be.

Virat couldn’t say anything. Pulling her close to him, just a breath away, he touched his forehead with hers. “I was afraid, Shibi… I was afraid…” his palms ran cold, just like the glass of the window.

“Well, now you don’t need to” she replied, breaking the touch and kissing him. The anesthesia was wearing off perhaps. She never felt more alive.

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