I felt small today. So small that I wanted to sink beneath the depths of the earth. 

I felt like an atom before a mountain of sorrow that refuses to pass. Small before a piece of corporate kindness that was handed over to me in a neatly wrapped favour. 

I felt small because none of the trophies I have won, the honours I have collected, and the respect I have gained held even an ion of weight. 

This Everest has made me bow before it. I was on my knees already, today I felt the ground beneath them taken away. 

It was deeply humbling, almost humiliating. 

For the last one month and a half, Abhishek and I (alongwith Esther and Mom) have adamantly refused to resign to difficult circumstances. We have fiercely held on to our faith amid the nightly sobs and the daily hospital grinds. We have fought hard. We have cried and laughed and tightly gripped hope in a fist. We have joined hands like an effficient corporate team, dividing duties and times in the hospital, managing to keep infection away from Anaiah, managing work and personal life while ensuring Dad continues to feel comfortable as he takes his medical battles head on. 

My father’s brain stroke and the subsequent illnesses have tested us to our wits and dried our tears for the night only to fill our eyes up to the brim the next morning. We have been tested left, right, and center – our pride brutually shaken up, and our faith violently struck. 

We have endured the physical exhaustion in the same breath as we have swallowed bitter pills (literally in case of Dad himself) of unkind words. And the wounds are beginning to show. Today, they began to unravel me and for the first time in the last month I have surrendered. 

I have surrendered to circumstances and decided to allow them to break me piece by piece or all at once, whichever happens first. 

Brain stroke takes away basic cognitive functions from a human body. A person’s memories come and go as they please, his speech is slurred or slow and on some days, none at all. This person stares in blank, brooding over God only knows what. He forgets to swallow water some days. Other days, he confuses his loved one’s names. There are days, he replies with his old personality’s sense of humour (I love you three), other days, he just looks at you without a word. 

I bow down before the person who invented the phrase – “Only a shadow of his former self”. That’s exactly I see my father these days, just a fragment of what he used to be. 

Yet, here’s a fragment we are all so desperate to save and to savour. Last night, I saw him staring in the blank, so I just sat beside him holding his hand. Not the first time. His right hand shakes involuntarily sometimes, and I hold it when I can. For a long time. Last night, watching him drift into a peaceful slumber while holding my hand was a strange kind of joy. So last night, I clung to that joy and slept like a baby. 

The torture of the fine balance 

Every day, we find something to look forward to. The hospital, one of the most top-notch medical facilities in town, keeps my father’s day full of activity. There are endless medicine rounds, wheel-chair mobilization twice a day, early morning sponge baths,  physiotherapy, doctor visits, impromptu interactions with nurses and house-keeping staff. There’s kindness to look forward to as much as inconveniences. 

Slowly, we have got into a routine. Dad and I have been living in the hospital practically for over a month. It feels like a shared journey now, except that I am nothing more than a benched soldier who helplessly watches his King take the deadliest blows. 

Mom stays most of the day in the hospital, I stay the nights and sometimes days too, Abhishek coordinates with doctors, payments sheets, billing counters among many things, and Esther cooks for all of us while taking care of little Anaiah and the household. 

But I will never forget the brief two days that we brought Dad home. His air bed mattress on a folding bed with nebulizer and suction machine all on the ready. I cooked 8 liquid meals for him, fed him via ryles tube with the help of a nurse, Mom sat beside him, Abhishek ensured all equipment was delivered on time. Yet, it all failed. He coughed one entire night, aspirated the food intake and we all watched him sink helplessly. He was losing breath the 3rd day and was soon back on the ventillator for the second time in less than a month. 

We thought we had seen it all – blood vomits, brain stroke, ventillator, quickly eroding hope and the medical insurance, questions on our medical decisions, the ICU, and the endless stream of good and bad voices . But that was just the beginning of a bigger battled ahead.  

Dad’s aspiration led to a respiratory pneumonia that obstructed his breathing sending him straight to life support. What ensued was another round of tubes and pipes inserted into his body, saving his life yet dehumanizing his persona in every way possible. 

I found the suction most torturous and dehumanizing. An intubated person develops irritation in his lungs and throat leading to severe cough. Dad’s coughing out abilities were also impaired so the cough would gather around his neck and throat and would be sucked out artificially through a machine. I just dreaded seeing his face after the suction, he felt violated in some way. I would reach out, hold his hands, put my hands on his forehead and remind him that he was still a precious human who deserved to be loved and beheld. 

I have begged for mercy from God each night I heard him coughing so severely. Hundreds of people have prayed for his cough to go away and it has to a great extent. Back at the hospital, they intensified the nebulizer and brought a lot of his cough under control. Prayers answered, thanks given. 

But maintaining his health and medicines while making sure he doesn’t aspirate again turned out to be a nightmare. After the ICU, he was still being fed via ryles tube from his nose. This was the safest bet considering food had got into his lungs leading to pneumonia. Yet, as his health improved, the doctor got the RT removed and ordered oral food. That meant, if he didn’t eat much during the day, his medicines would not work efficiently. If he didn’t eat his medicines on time, there was no other alternative way to administer them. We were given strict instructions to stop immediately if he began coughing while eating. 

This was the most torturous balance ever. On one hand, the nutritionist would strictly command us to make sure eats all the food all the eight times he was fed. On the other, the feeding process would take 30-40 minutes and by the time he had barely digested that, another round of meals would arrive. 

He is till not eating 100% of all his meals, and feeding him protein powder with milk has been nothing short of a troublesome exercise. If he starts coughing, we stop feeding but then he doesn’t get the requiring nutrition. 

The dream of giving him the best medical care 

As our insurance balance shrinks, we are left with no choice but to shift him to a general ward, and eventually to a cheaper (and less than) hospital. And this has what’s been breaking my heart lately. 

I have seen tremendous progress in Dad since we shifted him to a private ward, but that would change soon, and I don’t know how he would feel. 

It is our heart’s desire to see him sleep soundly without the noise of other people’s snoring, pain, and shouts at night. It is our deep desire that he watches TV as he gets bored in the day, TV has successfuly provided him with a lot of mental stimulation. I have also used TV to serve as glue so I could feed him without him feeling full. Even these little joys would be taken away soon, and I can do nothing about it. 

For a middle class family, despite the insurance, it remains a dream to see parents pass their most difficult time in comfort in a state-of-the-art facility. 

Competant facilities come with a price. It feels so worthless when you can’t even provide decent healthcare to parents.

We are dreading to take him home. Not yet, not untill he is really better. Until then, we continue to fight and wrestle with circumstances and earnestly pray that God makes way. 

And no, we are not questioning God. That’s because it’s both ridiculous and selfish. The book of Job says, “Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?” 

God and prayers have got us this far. And I am aware that God’s will is difficult at times, but I would rather be even on His wrathful side than be on any other side in the world. 

Gratitude 

My heart is deeply grateful for the numerous friends and family who have held fast and prayer for Dad, who have supported us morally and prayerfully, who have just stayed by our side. You have a great reward in heaven, and you have no idea what these gestures mean to us. They have held us tightly together. Thank you.