A matter of heart

The year-1995.I have returned to Delhi from Chandigarh by Shadabdi and it is 11pm by the time I reach home.With the AC set at 20 degrees Celsius I start sleeping.Around 3 am I get pain around the navel and as time progresses the pain startsshooting upwards towards the neck When it becomes unbearable,I wake up my wife who becomes panicky and immediately summons the company doctor as well as family friend.He rushes in and I vaguely remember the conversation veering around heart attack,immediate hospitalization etc.I wake up after three days and understand that I had a heart attack and is under emergency treatment in a nearby heart hospital.My bosses talk to me and shift me to the top most heart hospital in Delhi.I am 65 in the waiting list for bypass surgery after diagnosis of a triple vessel block.While Doctors put me through innumerable tests,I make myself friends with fellow patients,their attendants and hospital staff.I establish a good equation with the hospital barber who is the first to know the names of patients scheduled for surgery next morning.

My room mate is fifty and a complete teetotaller.A wife who chats with the neighbour unmindful of the pressure cooker which is on and a teen age son who zooms on his motorcycle far above the safety limits have driven him to this stage.His BP shoots up every evening out of fear of his name appearing in the next days surgery list.’I get a Balaji picture and keep it in the side table.I also ask him to keep a hundred rupee note in an envelope with the tirumala address ,his name in a slip and seal it.He feels better.

Adding a touch of adventure is a Bihari trade union leader with multiple gun shot wounds.He is rearing to go back and settle scores with his opponents.He throws tantrums every time regulated diet is served and the staff seek my help.I persuade him to take the hospital food on the plea that to effectively deal with his opponents he needs strength.From then on,a mention of my name is enough to make him quietly partake of his meals.Similarly I counsel a boutique owner in his early thirties and an advertising executive in his late twenties driven to this condition due to a dangerous life style.

Being a tamilian with working knowledge of Malayalam,I become a hit with the nursing staff.Even at this stage, a jealous patient complains of partiality and special attention to me.On the day I am scheduled for surgery I present the sisters in the pre operative ward a finely illustrated book on Indian Hair styles.The sisters are thrilled.That there were nearly forty people waiting to donate blood for me puts me in a cheerful frame of mind.The only sobering fact was the terrified look on my wife’s face and anxious look of my teen age daughtersIn a playful mood, I count the instruments on the side table..To the doctor’s query I reply that I want to make sure that the same number of instruments are outside after the surgery.The doctor is not at all amused and his look conveys that I should undergo brain instead of open heart surgery.
After three days of excruciating pain and sedation I am moved into my private room.I t is then I realize how my DW has pampered my palate all these years.I am unable to stand the hospital food.Out side food is not allowed to be brought in and there is a three ring security to prevent outside food.I tell my wife that God created nine yards saree for this purpose and it can effectively help bring in enough Vatha kozhambu and paruppu thogaiyal for three days.[Tamarind sambar and dhal chutney].My wife refuses and adding fuel to the fire is my brother’s threat to go back to Chennai if my wife attempts such an adventure out of f loyalty.
After ten days of intense care and medication the D day for my discharge approaches.On the appointed day,ten of us are herded into the conference hall for interaction with the chief who conducted the surgery.Pin drop silence greets his majestic entrance into the hall.He surveys us with a smile reminding me of shri satya saibaba’s darshan to his devotees.Not a word is exchanged.He pats a privileged few and rushes out to give a new lease of life to those in the waiting list.
As I am discharged,I presnt a delightful book on Indian Cookery to the sisters in the post operative ward.There follows a hush hush discussion among the sisters.One of them summons courage and say”you want the sisters in the pre operative ward to look beautiful whereas you want us to spend the rest of our life cooking”I reply with a twinkle in my eye”The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. It is not a mechanical but affectionate send off by the ward staff.As I am helped into the car I clutch the discharge certificate which among other things says”A cheerful and pleasant patient.”Afine compliment you will agree ,under the most trying circumstances..

 

Thanks Prettina for the nice words.My philosophy is that I should seek a friendly atmosphere or do whatever I can to make the atmosphere friendly.This helps reduce the pain and anxiety.
Regards
LAKSHIMINARAYANAN

 

Dear iyerviji,
Thanks for your FB.Sisters offer selfless service day in and day out.I have often seen grumpy patients all the time complaining and ordering nurses and vitiating the atmosphere.We go to hospital for healing.This is possible only by having a congenial atmosphere for recovery.Apart from hospital staff patients also have a role to play.
Hope you are ok after the second surgery.
Regards
LAKSHIMINARAYANAN

 

Dear Lalitha,
Thanks for appreciating the punch dialogue.I lost my pain by helping other patients to get over anxiety.When I saw a late twenty patient being readied for bypass surgery,I thanked my stars for getting into this situation in my late fifties.When we care to look at the positive side even under adverse circumstances,we feel confident and better.As for your dad he is not there to defend himself.
Regards
LAKSHIMINARAYANAN