The patient gathered up her papers and backed out of the
doctor’s room, marvelling at the brilliant young professional, “So much joie de
vivre! What an amazing woman!”
Quiet as a graveyard, the hospital stretched around her.
There was sombreness to patients milling about in the waiting areas and the
dispensaries. Even the cafeteria smelt introspective, knitted brows hunched
over plates of food. People sat in a common shroud of silent acceptance and
grim fortitude.
Images of Dr Neela’s smile kept Preminder company on her
trudge to the parking lot, “I am lucky to hit upon such a positive
gynaecologist. It is a minor procedure. I am in confident and upbeat hands.”
At a social event later in the day, Preminder could not stop
talking of her happy doctor and the affirmative energy she exuded. “Woman troubles
anyone? Neela is your saviour,” she
urged her friends. There was interest, ears perked up; this was after all, the retired
uterus community. Hot flashes, post-menopausal abnormal bleeding, generic
fatigue were their staple diet of conversation.
It wasn’t until five days later, having completed the oral
medicine dose, that Preminder texted Neela, asking for the tentative surgery
date. There was no response. “That’s strange! Neela is a very prompt and
courteous doctor,” Preminder cast about for possible reasons other than an
ongoing operation or an outpatient visit or a ward round. “Doctors keep terribly busy,” she decided to
wait a day. But the silence extended into the long Easter week end and then beyond.
By now, a peevish cloud had begun to gobble up Preminder’s good natured acceptance
of Neela’s preoccupation, “How can a gynaecologist take off on a pleasure trip this
long?” she grumbled to herself. “There are alternatives available, we can go to
another hospital,” her husband suggested. But Preminder had taken to this
doctor and would not hear of trusting another.
“Ma’am, yours is not a medical emergency. We can perform the
procedure when convenient,” Neela had assured her, she recalled. And so the
wait turned into a month long drag. Life put Preminder on the roller coaster
that it invariably does and before long it was time to move out on a transfer.
In that all too common panic of gathering up the most one can, when leaving a city,
thoughts of Dr Neela came bubbling up Preminder’s busy head like flotsam.
“Better get this done here before moving to a new place.”
“Pancreatic cancer? I had no clue, she was so full of life,”
her new doctor smiled gently at Preminder’s agonized incredulity across her table.
She waited for the words to wash the distress away before holding out a metal
badge. It had ‘NO CODE’ embossed on it. Preminder turned it over with a frown
as the doctor spoke, “Some of us in the business of saving lives choose to die
differently Ma’am. This here is a wish expressed, negating any CPR or
cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Neela had done her paper work. She did not want
any chemotherapy, radiation or surgical treatment.”
Preminder couldn’t believe her ears, “But how could a doctor
not want the care she administers others?”
“You are right Ma’am, Neela had access to the best
oncologists but she wanted to go gently, knowing modern medicine’s limitations.
No heroics, no life support, no futile care for her. She chose to manage her
pain and spend time with her family, dying in peace, at home.”
The two sat in silence for a while. “She used to say Ma’am, that the state-of-art
of life’s end is death with dignity!”
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