“Marriage” for the mended heart!

I went to the hospital last weekend (60 days since my last visit) for a scheduled check-up. The guard outside the cardiology department stopped and asked why I was there. Before I could finish the sentence he looked up and down and asked, “Where is the patient?” Finally I had to cut back on my enthusiasm and wear a “patiently” look to gain entry.

It was impossible to find a vacant seat that morning in the OPD. With patients swarming the hospital staff at appointment desk, the place looked like a bee-hive. Computers were down that morning which added to the chaos at the appointment desk. I patiently stood by the desk for the staff to finish answering queries from patients. Finally the staff looked up and said, “how are you sir?’’. I was happy that she remembered me and before she could ask more I put out my hospital Id to block an appointment in the system to meet the surgeon.

While I waited to see the doctor, the duty nurse measured my BP, Oxygen saturation, weight and pulse. At 84 kgs, 110/70 BP, and oxygen 96% saturation, I couldn’t feel anymore healthier. I was then asked to go see the surgeon in his first floor cabin. I left my shoes at the door, held a smile in my lips and my reports in my hand and entered the surgeon’s cabin. I wished him and then said “PAPVC correction” and slipped the report under his nose. He picked up the report and invited me to sit on the examination chair besides him. “Left Upper Pulmonary Vein (LUPV) anomaly is quite rare, he said. So was he going to give me a caning or a candy?

He asked me how I felt after the surgery and if felt any difference at all. To be honest I never felt any discomfort before to find any difference after the surgery. While I responded to his query, he lifted my tee to check on the surgical area. I could see the smell of AXE deodorant made his olfactory nerves happy, but there was something else that kept him concerned. Let’s come to that later.

I complained about the stiffness around the surgical area when I took deep breaths and his response assured that it was due to fibrosis and should vanish in the next six months. He took out his Steth put it on my chest and asked me to breathe in and breathe out. He then put down the Steth and ordered for an “Echo” just to ensure there was no turbulence or deposit around the anatomized vein. He also said I could resume my normal activities (gym, yoga) and start travelling again.

While writing his observations and recommendations in the report he reminded me that I was not a cardiac patient but recommended to repeat the Echo every six months and consult the cardiologist and free up his time for other sick patients. Sounds funny, huh? But then there was one piece of information on the file that seemed raised his concern. What did he prescribe? Any guesses?

He said, “You are now healthy and all ready for every kind of physical activity. So it is time for you to get married”. I kept mum and took a few extra breaths to gather my response, while he gave finishing touches to his signature on the report. Like any obedient patient I told him I was committed to keeping my BP at 110/70, my stress levels at bay and free up his time for other patients. He approvingly smiled and scored off the only tablet on my menu and prescribed marriage (for the sake companionship) for the mended heart!

In a society where marriage is considered an elixir (for everything from headache to body pain to psychological issues) I was only suprised that the prescription came after surgery. But nevertheless, I felt my personal space and choice was very much violated with the unsolicited advice. When will this free prescription stop? Will the society ever look at single people as healthy and honorable and marriage as a personal choice?

Durga Puja - A Spiritual Mardigras!

Calcutta’s documented past in Victoria Memorial says the erstwhile capital of India was an invader’s goldmine, a traveler’s paradise, and India’s pride, while present day top stories in the media portrays Kolkata, to be an investor’s landmine with flash strikes, laid back mind-set, and communist outlook. You have a choice to be either be carried away by the bad press and stay away from Kolkata or come with on a trip to enjoy the mutual love and affection Bengalis share with Maa Durga.

Crumbling historic buildings in the South and tall IT buildings eating the agricultural land in the North, may make it look like a City of Contradictions, but the City of Joy never fails to renew its joy by celebrating the victory of Maa Durga over Mahishasur.

Durga puja is the biggest festival of the year for Bengalis and if they make it come home for the festival they ensure a mini Bengal is re-created in their city of residence. Today idols made at Kumartuli get exported from Argentina to Australia, which shows their love for Maa Durga. But nevertheless, home is where love, affection and warmth flow unadulterated.

Preparing for homecoming of Maa Durga

Preparing for “pujo” as the locals call it, is like preparing for a wedding or a homecoming festival. So, are there wedding planners? I asked a friend how one would go about choosing the idols, pandal designs, dhakis and cooks. Would there be picture albums on idols to choose from and would they show pandal designs in 3d? Kumartuli, a place in northern Kolkata is where these idols are made. Minds and hands here visualize and work in a coordinated fashion unaided by any computers. Some even say the artisans observe fast while making the idols. So would you want to intern here this summer?

Shopping for idols is like shopping for clothes, people make multiple trips with the loved ones to decide on the one for the year. A library of idols is available to choose from and you can haggle to make the purchase more interesting. So what more can you ask for?

When it comes to dhakis (drums and cymbals), one goes to Kalighat to select them. The dhakis came from nearby villages and return back after the pujo. There is a usually a line-up of dhakis and selection is based on the sound and rhythm they create.

Bengali are connoisseurs of food and that makes them even more finicky when it comes to choosing the cooks. After rigorous screening tests the cooks are selected and they have a set menu to cook every night, which is offered to Mother Goddess and later distributed to public.

So, who gets the corner office?

They say milk and honey flows in heaven, but in Bengal during puja it is fervor, felicity and devotion that flows in streets. The pandals that mushroom in streets corners comes in various shape, sizes, designs and material (eco friendly, recyclable, scraps). And healthy competition between the neighborhoods gets them to work harder and showcase more creative ideas and artistic designs. And it is Durga and her family (Lakshmi, Saraswati, Ganesh and Kartik) who get the corner office and all the attention.

My friend says it is the inherent slow lifestyle of Bengalis that adds to their creativity and perfection. So what the world calls lazy is just time to perfection and creativity. Irrespective of the concept, designs, material used for the pandal and size of the Thakurs, it is their love for Mother Goddess that brings people back to their roots, out of their homes and get them to hop pandals as friends and families and relive their childhood memories while enjoying the bhog.

Blessing and blessing!

Shops are closed, and streets bear a deserted look during the day but by sundown the scene changes dramatically. Every inch on the street is punctuated with decorative lights and not headlights. Streets are brimming with people and traffic though slow is regulated, and not neurotic. The family decked up in new clothes and and jewellery is out on the streets merrily hopping pandals to receive Maa Durga’s blessings, enjoying the bhog and carry home memories.

It started with Home pujas that eventually turned into Community pujas today. Home pujas referred to as “Paribaric pujas” were put together by the rich zamindars in those days and is still alive in some parts of the city. Today the community pujas in each locality are popular and are often funded by corporate. And corporates who sponsor the pandals have their marketing kiosk near the pandals with an idea to take home contacts and business which adds to the commercialism hounded world. But nevertheless, there is no dearth of food, love and affection in the Land of Mother Goddess.

The day after Navami!

On Sapthami (spelt as Soptami), day 7 mother goddess gets her weapons and without any Bofors kind of scandal. On day 8, ashtami (oshtomi) she kills Mahishasur, the demon and her homecoming is celebrated with joy on day 9, Navami (Nabomi). And after nine days of bonding with friends and family over prayers and food, the Mukherjees’, Chatterjees’ and Banerjees’ have little energy left!

A farewell can be teary, but it is made colorful and fun filled by the women folks applying sindoor on each other forehead and cheeks! As Goddess gets to ready to leave for her abode the women folk in the neighborhood gather for the “Sindoor Khela” ritual to give Maa Durga a fitting farewell. Having your guest filled to the lips and giving her a fitting send off by applying sindoor on her forehead makes the farewell warm, loving, light and friendly. Truly, nobody can beat the Bengali hospitality and farewell.

The spiritual Mardigras ends!

It is not just the locals who go to Babu Ghat to take the ferry service to Howrah and other places, but Maa Durga also prefers the same route to travel back her abode. Though lorries arrive by mid morning at pandals on the farewell day, the visarjan usually starts at around sunset. Lorries from various pandals parade the Thakurs around the city and gravitate towards the ghat while the locals sing and dance to dhakis tunes all the way to the ghat. The atmosphere feels like a spiritual Mardigras.

The idols are brought down the steps of Babu Ghat to the tunes of the beating dhakis and blowing conches. After a few rituals (rotating the statue thrice, etc.) the male members in the family get down the river along with the idols while the women stay on the shore and shed a few tears of love before Maa Durga vanishes into the Ganges.

Will be back soon!

The adults and kids know Maa Durga will be back soon and the next year celebrations will be better, bigger and brighter with friends, family and travelers like me adding to the zing. And even Maa Durga knows she is going to be back soon. I boarded the flight with a heavy baggage of memories and the only thought that kept my eyes from turning cloudy was “one doesn’t need an invite to come home and visit your mother”. So are you making your travel plans for next year Durga Puja?

Here are the pictures from the trip: http://picasaweb.google.com/108289564546757100555/KolDurgaPuja2011?authkey=Gv1sRgCOuApLbKiPGzqwE

Tuesdays with Chandra: A Voodoo Doll for Seven Days

A week has elapsed after surgery and there is still pain and fatigue lingering, but that has not prevented the new crop of hair from popping out of my skin, I look like a man-sized cactus. Every time I adjust my dhothi and shirt, it feels like pulling piece of cloth entangled over bush of thorns. For a change I am thorny!

The idea of having someone help you scrub your back and douse you with mugs of water and wipe you (while you are in an adulthood) can sound “Guzzarish” but having none besides me was more like “bizarrish”. For the first time in a week I managed to give myself a bath without any help, though mom prepared the water with some antiseptic solution, and placed the bar of fragranced soap near the bucket and left the towel in the rack. The last time she had prepared something like this was when I had measles (25 years ago).

The endurance and fitness that I built through 12 years of disciplined routine won some admirers and appreciations evening the hospital but seem to all have vanished for now. Every action had to be slow and almost hitting the pause button for a few seconds, and anytime I tried to increase the pace of the activity my body reacts very differently. The surgeons had corrected the direction of blood flow in my heart but bouts of palpitations, lumps in my throat and sweat beads in my head was a testimony to unhappy and angered heart. How do I placate him?

Starring at the mirror and wiping my body after bath, I examined the wound and ran my fingers on it to register the contours and marks left behind by the serrated surgical knife. While I was wearing my Hawaiian print shirt I noticed 4 attempts made by the medical community to get a Central line in place for loads of Heparin to be pumped into the system. The needle marks from the two peripheral lines used to pump antibiotics and two arterial lines for collecting blood samples in either hands was still visible. I realize I was a voodoo doll for seven days punctured by needles, lying in a maze of colorful tubes taking and bringing fluids into my body and in the spell of doctors.

Finally when I sat down this morning after prayers, I felt like I have some conserved energy from not socializing to be used towards recording and sharing my seven day experiences (Resurrection?)

Day d-2: Bags were packed, itouch, gas tanks, car tires and snack bags were filled to the capacity for the journey, doesn’t it sound like a family trip? With my brother in the driving seat, me in the front passenger seat, while mom in the rear seat, the car cruised on NH 4 at averaging at 70km/hour. In 5 hours we reached the Silicon Valley of India. The first day was spent pretty much unpacking and giving my brother, mother an orientation of the neighborhood and discussing hospital roles and responsibilities with my friend over for dinner.

Day d-1: We waited for Rahu’s time to get over, the Mumbai Stock Market to open and a few minutes after nine am we left the service apartment. With brother driving mom and me with a packed bags and dropping us at the curb made it appear like some vacation. Before proceeding towards the admission area I took them on a hospital tour to help them familiarize with the place. At quarter to Eleven before I was given the keys to my private room on the eleventh floor, the doctors called me and my family in for a meeting to all risks related to the surgery and ask us to sign the consent forms and protect themselves and the hospital from any possible lawsuit. To live, everyone needs some immunity in this world in the name of consent. There were no surprises or chaos and everything in the hospital seems to follow a logical process.

11:00 AM: I was escorted by a hospital staff to my private room: a large room with huge windows overseeing the old airport. Atleast a hospital room with a view if not an office with a view.

The welcome kit had a booklet with all instructions for the patient’s attendant and the bed had a towel and hospital wear. Within minutes the nurse collected my earlier medical records and asked me to change to hospital gear; while she arranged the set up to measure my height, weight and other vital parameters. Soon the hospital staff parked a wheel chair outside my door to transport me to the Echo and X-ray labs. Looking at the staff I was not sure if she would be able to cart me around and moreover I was healthy to walk. 

12:30 Noon: Walked over from the Echo lab to the blood bank to find out if my donors had turned up without fail. There was one no-show, but I had a Plan B! I was getting close to my lunch time and was getting tired and irritated with delays at the Echo Lab.

3.45 PM: Shortly after the lab visits the barber arrived to prepare my body for the surgery. The razor sharp blade harvested almost a kilogram of hair from all over my body and for the first time I saw my real skin hidden beneath the hair; it was wheatish and healthy. Post shave, the nurse handed over a bottle of Betadine solution and gauze to scrub my body. A few drop of Betadine was enough turn the bucket of water bloody, a 100 ml of it turned the bucket deep red and frothy.

4:45 PM: Hardly a few minutes after the wash and scrub the surgeon arrived with his junior opened up my shirt, starred at my clean, bacterial and fungal free chest and briefed me about the next day’s procedure, duration, etc. The doctor and his team seemed calm, comfortable and confident and asked me if I had any questions about the procedure. He asked me if I had some auspicious time during which I need to be wheeled into the theatre. So his last word was, “All the best and let’s see you on the table tomorrow.”

I was surrounded by friends and family and it was a good hour to gossip, discuss politics, make vacation plans and here and there make references to next day’s procedure. I was not sure who brought in anxiety into the room and it was hiding in the corner waiting for the rest to leave.

6.45 PM: The last medical staff to visit me that evening was the Anesthetist. The poker faced women in a surgical garb ran through a printed sheet of questions noting down my medicine allergies, etc. finally she noted down my weight to calculate the amount of sedation required for the surgery. I looked at lurking anxiety in the corner and expressed the need for an anxiety medication for the night and the plan for pain management post surgery. she said I was going to be on Fentanyl (100 more potent than Morphine)

7.30 PM: Visitor hours was over and all my friends had to leave. I was left in the room with my mother and anxiety. Nurse came to remind me that I should finish my dinner by 10 pm and not take any fluids after 11 pm.

9.30 PM – The dinner was so unappetizing that I made my mother eat the dinner and While enjoyed a full bowl of cereals. The Nurse walked in while to check if I had finished my dinner. She handed over two pills and gave me a run-down of activities for the next morning. She collected a few more films and reports to be made available for the surgeons in the OT. I reminded that the Anesthetist consent was yet to be signed by my family.

From dawn to dusk I was physically and mentally busy preparing for the surgery. I was only hoping to have a restful sleep. Did the anxiety medication work or make it worse?

D-day:

5.30 AM: The Nurse knocks on the door and I answer it. Before she hands over the bottle of Betadine scrub, a set of new clothes and a towel, she verifies the last time I consumed fluids. I asked her if she heard back from the doctor on the surgery time. She said she was awaiting a response.

6.00 AM: I came out fresh and clean from the toilet and sit on the freshly made bed. I complained to my mother that I hardly slept after having taken over by anxiety and nightmares. I cursed the poker faced anesthetist and I hoped her cocktail to work today. But then I had to be positive

7.00 AM: A few doctor friends of mine arrive; we read the newspaper and exchange some banter and gossip from the newspaper. I switch off my mobile phone.

9.00 AM: My stomach starts to growl and I walk up to the nurse station to check on the surgery timings. I wish they had let me sleep a little longer. Anand’s mobile burps, my friend Stephanie sends a message to check if the procedure had started.

10:00 AM: Nurse comes over and announces the earlier surgery has run into complications and is taking time to wheel me in. I complain that I’m thirsty and hungry. I know how much ever I complain I would never ever get to see water. To stop me hunting for a waterhole the Nurse starts me on intravenous. I remind her that a consent signature is due on the Anesthesia form.

10.45 PM: I was tired of handling the anxiety and wait though I know I was going to transition them to my friends and family as soon as I enter the operation theatre. But for now I was restless and wanted to be rushed into the theatre. The junior surgeon in surgical attire, shows up to check on my condition and says I will be wheeled in at noon.

12 noon: Finally the much awaited stretcher arrives, the room turns quiet and family and friends stand up to give me a fitting farewell. It almost feels like I’m headed to the execution chamber. I asked the nurse if she would allow me to walk to the theatre, but she insisted that I should lie down on the stretcher. L I still don’t feel like a patient! The old patient identification tag is now replaced with the broader tag that gives more details (blood group, type of surgery, doctor’s name, etc.)

12.10 PM: We are still on the 11^th floor waiting for the elevator. I put my head up from the stretcher, while rest of them stand away from me. I keep smiling while the rest and stare at me as though I’m some museum piece.

12.20 PM: I being pushed in the OT area and for the last time I wave back to my followers. I enter the theatre complex and the anesthetist asks me a few basic questions to ensure that I am the right patient. He realizes that a consent signature is missing and calls for my family again. Who would turn up? Will it be my mother, brother or close friend?

12:25 PM: My doctor friend shows up and swears he is my cousin and signs the consent form. He walks upto me and says a final bye. Then the theatre staff asks me to scoot over from one stretcher to another. 

12.30 PM: The stretcher makes a left turn and I notice the first theater to my left was busy and a bright red bulb indicated the same. To my right I see a bunch of doctors enjoying their cups of coffee after the surgery. None of them were smiling, but I wanted to wave at them. We skipped the second and then enter the next theater.

12.31 PM: The anesthetist walked ahead of me and gave me a warm reception. I surveyed the surgery room and it was in no way close what we see in the movies. I was well lit, clean, spacious, mobile shelf packed with surgical instruments, while those to be used for today was sterilized and packed in a green cloth and kept ready. I was once again asked to scoot over from the stretcher to the operation table.

12.32 PM: The table was not very spacious and the doctor asked me move up a little more. They gave me a little head rest that was no very comfortable. I was sure I was going to sprain my neck from using the head rest. The chief surgeon was yet to arrive.

12.33 PM: Anesthetist stood to my right and briefed about the procedure for a few seconds. He said he would inject a mild sleeping drug for me fall asleep. I looked up at the clock again while the drug was injected through the arterial line. The assistant held the oxygen mask at a distance and before the LCD display moved to the next minute I was knocked out.

Did I wake up in the middle? How long did the surgery last? Was it a simple surgery? Come back soon for more updates.

Tuesday with Chandra: The Story of US!

It is “us” time and here is an anecdote from last afternoon that precipitated the emotion in me and propelled me to write about our discovery and recovery. We were at “Rolls United” over at the first block in Koramangala for lunch. Nothing fancy for lunch, just rolls from all different cuisines in the world. We dropped the conversation abruptly and sifted menu card hoping to find what we wanted after an earlier disappointment from looking at the list of crappy movies playing in the city. I flipped the pages and fervently looked through from cover to cover only to find a nice salad, but to my disappointment it was parked under Monday’s special.

Hardly had the chalk dust settled down on the floor or the manager had come closer to the take the order, but my friend instantly ordered “Moroccan Eggplant Salad” while the manager was still filling up the empty space under the “Today’s special” column. We both came back to the menu, scanned through the remaining items and found our eyes transfixed on the same item and that is when she looked at me and said “they are going to think you are my husband” and I said “just because you know I was going to order some homemade lemonade and I know you would order Moroccan Eggplant Salad”. Some serious giggles were a part of our starter menu until the aromatic and intoxicating tomato basil soup and bouquet of Goodmorning Vietnam - shredded carrots and beetroot wrapped in rice paper and garnished with peanut sauce arrived.

When I moved to Bangalore she had just moved in and was still living a hotel room. Everything about the city was still new and unsure, but what made our lives easier was the friendship and stories we shared at the end of each working week. There was more than the lemonade and eggplant salad to make it all look scandalous. We made sure the new living room furniture went well with her existing furniture; we lay down besides each other and tested the comfort of the mattress while we recalled Charlotte and her partner testing the mattress in of the SATC episodes, and we sat in the dining chairs to ensure they were strong, comfortable and entertainable. Every trip of ours to the shopping mall or to the movie theatre was fun filled..

Two friends leaving their family behind, boldly embracing changes in their lives, moving into the new city with hope, helping each other settle down, and courageously facing challenges thrown by life isn’t new and caring about each other’s small comfort and happiness in many ways, sound scandalous, huh?

When I had to go through my extended diagnosis and tests in Bangalore she offered to take time off and stay besides me during the tests and send her car to take me back and forth from the hospital. With mom completely busy with dad’s broken hip in a different city, I thought my friend would be around me on the day of surgery. But all that changed when I received her sms last Friday afternoon, but that didn’t change our Saturday meeting. Our Saturday meetings were fixed – it was lunch at a nice restaurant, maybe a movie, but definitely a coffee shop followed by some errands and prepare for the week. This Saturday was no different, and we both had something in common and something soon coming up and we were out together checking each other’s to-do list.

Even before her SMS arrived on that fateful Friday afternoon, our plan to spend the last weekend together before my surgery was all fixed. But SMS made our Saturday meeting absolutely mandatory. When I mentioned the contents of the SMS to a colleague cum friend at work she was afraid to call her my friend and was ready to relinquish our friendship!

With my dad breaking his hip and giving me a stiff competition for surgery, my friend’s SMS only turned the surgical race more nervous and nail-biting. I couldn’t digest the fact that our surgeries would be just 24 hours apart. I was expecting to see her when the effect of anesthesia wanes out but now we were going to spend our days in different hospitals. But still we plan to keep texting each other from respective hospital beds complaining about nurses, doctors and our pain!

During the lunch break at Rolls United she mentioned about signing another year’s apartment lease during the week. A year was almost over and we were still shopping for some more furniture for her house. Thanks to my dad’s fall, it helped me come to speed on the hip stuff and now I was a self taught expert and ready to help my dear friend on a different kind of shopping trip. The ritual was still the same, we tested to ensure the chair was comfortable, the potty seat extension was safe, the walking aid was sturdy and we all ensured that all these were home when she returned from the hospital. There were a few things that I had to go around and check before she goes under the knife, while she had a check-list for me. We even checked on each other will – life support system, property, etc. Sounds like a friendship in geriatric years?

My friend had been suffering from a bad hip and a replacement surgery was imminent. In our earlier Saturday meeting I asked her to schedule the procedure after I had fully recovered so that I could be around her. But the Friday consultation with the doctor revealed that her hip needed immediate surgery and medical attention. Though we couldn’t be in the same hospital or be besides each other during hospitalization, but we have decided to join each other in recovery. As of now we would come home the same day and the spare bed in the other room was ready for me. Over a piece of cheese cake and coffee that evening I was telling her how we could spend time sculpting the head of her femur, while she was making ideas to stitch frock and make a finger puppet out of it, and do shadow plays. Then we discussed how to make SOS calls between two rooms, and how we can watch all episodes of SATC and Desperate Housewives back to back! Food was always a part of our conversation and she said she had a copy of the menu from Rolls United and they did a home delivery. In pain, pleasure, party and in recovery we are together as friends!

You can’t choose your family or relatives, but you can choose your friends. And I have had friends  with whom I had studied, shopped, partied, toured, but not the ones who would go together for a surgery. Sounds weird, huh? Every dot that appeared on our pages of life, we were connecting them and coloring them with hope, happiness and trying to discovery new meaning very often. It was not fun, but we made it fun and next few weeks will be the Koramangala  way - The Rolls will be united in recovery! Thanks Bangalore! We were making more than lemonade from lemons! And that is the story of US!

Tuesday with Chandra: Father’s day out and day!

Where do I start this week’s blog? Do I start with the unanswered question from last week’s blog? So, who goes first? Almost sounds like a race huh? Well when compete with Chennai motorist sitting in an ambulance you will answer this question right away.

I was back at Chennai on a Friday morning and dad had to be taken to the hospital for an x-ray and review. Since the previous night I was thinking about how we could bring down a 6 foot man on a stretcher through a narrow stairway. We need a Hanuman to lift this Sanjeevi. When we called in for anambulance in the morning I explained his injury and they promised to send a stretcher that could be folded into a chair.  

The paramedics showed up on-time but brought along a plain stretcher instead of the one that could fold into a chair. We had to send them back and make another request for a multipurpose stretcher. The clock was soon approaching “Rahu Kalam” and mom was all tensed and not happy making the trip to the hospital at that time.

And finally when the guys arrived it was close to 11 am. The stretcher neatly folded into a chair and dad managed to sit up. Like a temple Utsavamurthy on a palanquin he came out of his room and there was no Nacchiyar accompanying him on this trip. He quickly passed through the living room, foyer and finally descended two floors, thanks to Johnson Lifts. Before my dad could reach the ground floor all his belongings were loaded in the ambulance. Mom had packed his neivedhiyam, medicines and medical history. Well it was Daddy’s day out!  

I had my fourth ride besides dad in the ambulance. There was a sense of calm on his face and he fell asleep on the way to the hospital. Chennai motorists drive around as though they are driving emergency vehicles. They seldom obey traffic rules and are always in a hurry. It suddenly comes to the forefront when you travel in an ambulance and when every second is precious and crucial. Though we were in an ambulance but there was no emergency this time around. I must tell you that ambulances are equipped with pretty good medical instruments (defib, ecg, oxygen cylinders – not sure if they work) and copious medical supplies. More importantly contents of each of the cupboards were listed on the doors.

On reaching the hospital we went into emergency, but there was no anxiety since it was a regular check-up. The doctors ordered an x-ray and were planning to remove the pin traction (Bohler Braun Traction) if healing was on track and if the femur had descended. While the x-ray was being processed the doctor grinned when they heard my dad insisting on the use a local anesthetic during the removal of the pin traction. Doctors know the anatomy and seldom do they know or feel the pain of a patient. Xylocaine was my father’s trusted friend for the moment and it made traction removal smooth and painless. Finally with the help of doctors for the first time in 24 days his feet touch the ground. More than pain there was a sense of fear on my dad's face.

During my school days I remember my father being summoned twice to have a conversation with my teacher on my progress report. And I now had an opportunity to avenge. Doctors called me in and put up the X-ray film in front of the light source and explained the healing that was in progress around the femur and pelvic joint. Dad was lying besides the doctor intently listening to every bit of detailed shared by the doctor. But doctors needed him to wait for another 3 weeks before they could decide on his surgery.

Soon after our conversation was over dad started a discussion with the doctor over choosing his trusted companion. It was not a Ferrari and we didn’t have to argue if we should go for a petrol or diesel version and fight over mileage. Nevertheless it was going to make him independent, mobile and more confident. Shortly after the decision was made over the model, I brought out the neivedhiyam and medicines while my brother was  arranging for the ambulance to bring him back home.

After father’s day out, more peace and calm seemed to have descended on our house.  And that made me realize that the upcoming weekend was Father’s day. The next morning mom, my nephew and I went to the surgical store in the neighborhood to get home is trusted companion and a toilet throne - just in-time for Father’s day.

Later in the evening when physiotherapist came home and when he made dad walk a little with the walker, my nephew put his hands together and celebrated my dad's baby steps. Anybody who came home that weekend had to hear my 4 year old nephew narrate a story about my dad walking again. What a grandson!

It is not a easy feeling when you are asked to pee into a bed pan or let an attendant clean up your ass. The power was back in my father hand and he was on the seat of power! A new piece of furniture was added to our living room, a walker, and dad’s toilet had a new addition too, a raised throne to potty.

Suddenly everyone’s spirits at home were on a high, not high enough to fly, but atleast walk around with a smile. So this was our Father’s day!

Mom has always been the first person to wake up and the last one to sleep in the house and I am not even sure if she is sleeping well these days. There was a sign of relief on my mother’s face today and importantly the Rahu Kalam didn't trouble her for once. If I could gift her something priceless today, it would be some peace, sleep and lots of rest.

In three weeks we will have to repeat the x-ray and hopefully the cartilage and bones would have turned cosier and healthy. At the moment dad is bonding well with his new companions and hopping around the house.  As they say, one step at a time.....

Tuesdays with Chandra: Hip but not hip hop!

In 2009 December dad underwent a heart ablation procedure (to remove the scars in his heart from earlier heart attacks and reduce the recurrence of arrhythmia) and this was the last procedure to reduce the recurrence after having implanted a defibrillator. We were kind of satisfied after having done everything medically possible and there was nothing more from science. Having gone through 6 consecutive years of frequent hospitalizations, we were optimistic that the tough phase of life was over. But life always has surprises around the corner. After having mastered the heart, it was time for us to graduate to the next body part.

When I answered call on my mobile phone it was 11.30 am and it was mom on the other end. She said that dad had a fall in the toilet and he broke his hip and was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital. It took a minute to react to the news and I had a freeze in my throat. The next thing that came to my mind was medical insurance and savings in the bank to meet out the medical expenses. An old Tamil saying goes like this, “those who don’t have money have no place on the earth and those who don’t have grace have no place in heaven”.

While I was thinking about something different my mother was processing different set of emotions on the ground. Who gets to stay with dad in the hospital? Who gets to run the home and manage the 4 year old toddler? How long will he be in the hospital?  Well we were experienced managing home and hospital after having gone through such harrowing summers year after year. We all waited for him to reach the hospital and have doctors examine him. In the meantime I called up my cousin to go to the hospital and another cousin to head home and stay with mom. Sometimes, staying away from the epicenter helps, it gives you time to think about the next steps – emotionally, physically, and financially without being affected by the incidents on the ground and make better decisions.

Ever since doctors discovered the anomaly in my heart and the need for surgery I decided to educate myself. I spent my evenings watching videos on You Tube and reading medical journals on the latest procedures, etc. And when I got to bed my head would replay the images and text from the journals will scroll at the bottom. After 7 weeks of running the same images and text, my head finally got a break and another set of images and text to process and beam. And this time it was the anatomy of pelvis , not Elvis! It was hip and not hip hop!

Next morning I was at the breakfast table fishing for blueberries in my cereal bowl. The berries had settled to the bottom and I was trying hard to finish the milk with a little spoon and I know I had berries to look forward to. At the moment, life seemed so full like the milk in the bowl but I was not sure if there were wild and sweet berries waiting at the bottom. For the first time it occurred to me that my father was competing with me to get operated.

Towards that evening my brother called and briefed me on the procedure dad had undergone. Doctor put a pin below his knees and connected that to a tuning fork kind of a set up. Weights were suspended from that assembly to gradually help the femur descend from the fractured acetabulam cup. The low ejection fraction in the electrically wired heart prevented the orthopedic from administering any aggressive treatment on my father. For next three weeks dad would in bed and any update on the next course of treatment would be announced based on the x-ray doctors had scheduled after three weeks.

The first storm arrived on April 5 and the next one on May 31 and washed away all my plans for a family vacation. It was almost 20 years since we had gone on a family vacation. My dad was doing okay health-wise and my sister and her son were also planning to come to Chennai for a vacation and I felt this was an opportune moment. But then life has its own priorities. 

Fifteen days back, I was busy putting together a transition plan and organizing my hand over documents at work, while I was also making plans to make my surgical experience pleasurable and memorable, not just for me but also for people around me. I had an excel sheet with to-do list before and after the surgery. I had drawn a list of blood donors and I wanted to give them hand written thank-you notes and gift certificates. I wanted to fill the refrigerator with healthy stuff that my family can eat while I make them go through additional stress. I wanted to mark the right side of my chest with a big X mark and an arrow pointing to my left side, a small reminder to redirect them incase they were looking in the wrong side. I had also requested a doctor friend of mine to be in the theatre to ensure no surgical cutlery; gauze or cotton gets left behind in my chest. I had stacked lose fitting beach shirts to wear while I lie on the shore recovery intoxicated with pain-killers. I made a list of songs that I wanted to hear on my way to the operation theatre and again when I woke up and when tubes took over my body. Curious to know who all got on to my play list? Not now, but later.

I had planned the run-up to the surgery with lots of enthusiasm and I was afraid that everything was going to be postponed. Now suddenly I didn’t know if it was wise to go ahead with my surgery. With two people in the hospital and in two different cities, it would be a tough choice for my mother and family to pick who they would want to be with – my father or me. My leave plan was approved at work, my boss had broadcasted the plan far and wide, and I had finished the transition walk through and hand over. The surgeon’s calendar was blocked and the run-upto to the event was almost done. Life has its own choice.

When I arrived back in Chennai later that week dad was already home. My 4 year old nephew came running and explained in his little voice about what happened to grandfather. I left my luggage, picked up him and then walked towards my dad’s room. The double bed in the room was moved out and now there was a single bed in the center of the room and he was facing the door. He welcomed me and there was a male nurse seated at an arm’s length from him and his bedside table was filled with medicines and appeared like a mini pharmacy. Like a child he explained me what happened and my nephew butted in to give his version. The 6 feet tall man with broad shoulders was helplessly in bed and I was reminded of Shivaji Ganesan in the movie Karnan. Nothing else comes with you in the end, it is just your actions!

Ok I need to take a break. Here is some homework for you.

1. Make sure elders at home have a decent medical insurance and coverage (5 Lakhs each). Here is a link that can help you do comparison and buy one soon.
2. A simple two day hospitalization can run upto a lakh and if there is a surgery involved hospitals can dry up your insurance coverage in a few days. Ensure your insurance covers home hospitalizations expenses.
3. There is also critical illness insurance that gives you a lump sum payment after the diagnosis of the illness. You can purchase that as add on to your existing policy.
4. Make sure you have one year worth living expense available in your savings bank account and 5 Lakh cash towards emergency.

The race is on and I will see you next week with an answer to the question - who goes first? 

TWC: Filled upto my gills

It is Tuesday and I know you must be anticipating my next blog update. I will not disappoint you. Well almighty doesn’t seem to have any scheduling issues delivering my karma week after week and I don’t seem to find a better and cheaper way of therapy! So are you ready for this week?

I know I am not swimming on Dead Sea to expect to stay afloat all life, but sadly every time I come up to the surface to fill my lungs I get pushed down mercilessly. Not sure if it is gravity of the situation or density of the ocean, but to survive I have to evolve and I need to have gills. And this phase of life is all about evolving and developing gills.

Breaking news (definitely not the kind that you see scrolling at the bottom of your TV screens) about my heart condition to mom wasn’t that difficult. Though mother’s can be reactive, emotional, but they reconcile and cool down fast. Mothers remind me of dark colors that absorb heat quickly and at the same time cool fast. Fathers are like light colors, they react slowly, take time to warm up and take time to cool down.

For six weeks until I got all the tests done, results verified, doctors consulted, surgeons and hospitals narrowed down for my surgery I kept things under wrap and out of my father’s ear. I would call home to share updates with mom and brother, and we would refrain from discussing if my father was around. I was cautious from sharing the news to the outside world and didn’t want any Wikileaks finding its way home. It was collusion and stealth between the mother and sons.

That Saturday night, dinner was over peace seemed to be all pervasive in our mind, stomach and in the house. Dad was peeling and popping his medicines one by one and that is when I interrupted and with a silly smile on my face. I was not scared or ashamed and this was as simple as bringing out my report card and putting it under his nose and asking him to sign. We belong to a family were we have issues with both Math and matters of the heart. So I thought he would not fuss or fume.

And finally when I broke the news to my dad, he was speechless and his face turned pale and his head dropped down in disappointment. He knew I had no issues with either Math or matters of the heart and sudden disclosure was pushing him into denial. Barrage of questions followed on the discovery, diagnosis, treatment and next steps. His complaint was that why wasn’t I part of this discovery? And he hauled us over the coals for holding the news back.

I had no intentions of keeping him out of the discovery, but I wasn’t sure how he would react given his heart conditions and complications. Ever since he turned 56, we’ve had our yearly summer vacation in the hospital. And this summer seemed no different for the family. It was not an easy revelation to be digested and I expected him to go through the cycle of denial and acceptance. I gave him a copy of the reports incase he decides to consult another cardiac specialist.

The moment news reached to the extended family they had their own way of reacting, researching and interpreting the congenital defect. Sadly among Hindu families’ people find peace blaming karma for all ailments, congenital issues, etc. rather than understanding the science and biology behind flesh and bones and that we are all breakable, mend able and mortals. Their interpretations were freely floating in the market like pirated CDs. Their unasked sympathy and stupid logic didn’t mean anything to me.

To deal with people at work was a little different. They understood congenital defect as it and were kind enough not overlap other frames to make their judgments. I briefed my boss on my health condition and explained the need for time-off. The next day from people across our offices in India pinged me expressing their grief and sympathy. I felt like I was on the obituary column. I became food for the idle tongues and hungry mouths.

I didn’t worry what people spoke/discussed and I spent the next weeks trying to prepare for the surgery. As a first step I put together transition plan to hand over responsibilities at work, and on the personal front I was counting every penny in the bank account and trying to simulate my total savings account balance on the day of my surgery. Since the surgery was planned in Bangalore I had to make logistics arrangements for my family to come stay near the hospital. Doesn’t this sound like a vacation plan? As a family we’ve done a lot of medical tourism both within the country and outside the country. Dad went for his by-pass to US in early 80s, in 2005 he was admitted in Thanjavur hospital when suffered an arrhythmia and in 2009 he went to Hyderabad to undergo RF ablation to remove scars inside his heart.

The most difficult part was to put together a transition plan. I felt more difficult to put together the plan than my will. I loved my job so much and I was not ready to part with it. But then transition is the only way forward if I had to take time off from work.

I was in Mumbai last week to begin my transition and set the stage for my absence and surgery. When I booked my tickets last week I thought I would work the whole week from Mumbai office and hang out with my friends than head back immediately after transition. One week in Mumbai sounded like a usual annual vacation week. And to be with friends before I go on with my surgery felt assuaging. Thought it will be a regular work week, change of work place and scene made it feel like a vacation. Interestingly there is also a film festival that is opening that week and I thought I will catch a few of them while in Mumbai.

Everything seemed right and okay when I landed in Mumbai on Monday morning. There were no surprises with the hotel room, cab or at work. Seldom did I realize that this was the calm before the storm. Tuesday morning I received a call from home. It was my mother at the other end and she was in tears. I have received 3 such calls in the past decade and they were only serious. She would call me only if she couldn’t handle the situation. Mom had just gone for a routine health check-up the earlier week and the results were due today. I was not sure if they found anything in her health examination.

Now I was transitioning her tears, anxieties and worries. With four year old grandson on a vacation in Chennai, my mother’s hands were full and she sounded helpless. Interestingly this grandson was always around during my dad’s earlier hospitalization episodes. May be he brought dad back home? If you ask him about his grandparents his standard reply would be, “they’ve gone to the hospital to see the doctor”. Even to this toddler hospital sounded like an exotic vacation spot or an expensive cruise!

Till almighty is around and I am alive there will be posts on this blog. For now I am filled up to my gills, come back next weekfor more.

PS: Life gives a little reason to smile now and then, check out http://dipasub.blogspot.com/2011/05/lasting-impression.html