Lucky

I'll think my wishes through
before I wish again

-from the song Journey Home from Bombay Dreams
Two lines that kept running in my mind... over and over...


Thursday night
I'm on phone with my friend.. as usual we're discussing everything over and under the sun. We got to accidents.
"You know, I've always wondered. How will it be if I got caught in a road accident? Something like out of Kaaka Kaaka!" as usual it is me with this quirky thought.
The topic ran its usual gamut and ended.


Friday afternoon
I start my bike with my sister in the pillion. There we were, sailing along happily.
We reached a traffic signal just as it turned green. We sail past and reach a narrow bridge. Out of the corner of my eye, I detect a fellow walking drunkenly along the pavement. In a split second, he falls on my bike, flailing his arms.

I lose control. The world has gone black.

Someone has made me stand. I'm not able to. I lean on the railing for support. I can see blood drops falling on the pavement. Where are they falling from? My chin hurts. I wipe it. My palm comes away smeared with blood. My blood.

I turn back. About ten men (or so it felt like) are lifting up my sister. She is totally unconscious. I feel terror as I have never felt before. I black out again.

"Get inside the car", someone is pushing me. I see my sister being held up by two men. I sink into the seat and pull her towards me. "Wake up Wake up Wake up", I'm yelling at her, slapping her cheeks. The unknown terror is building up. "Wake up and look at me", I'm yelling out her name. I hear someone saying "It's nothing, It's nothing". One of the men holds out my phone. "Give me the number to call". I automatically punch in the letters and give him the number.

She opens her eyes. Unstaring eyes. She opens her mouth and screams...on and on and on. I turn and look out the window. I see the river beyond the bridge. A feeling of unreality sweeps over me. 'This cannot be happening to me'. I know no more.

I'm in the hospital. I see the terror stricken faces of my relatives. "What happened?" I ask them. A stranger steps up. "A drunkard fell on your bike. I was in a car behind. We brought you here". I could remember nothing. I feel a wetness on my cheeks. I've been crying. My mother and aunt lean over me. "I'm sorry" was all I could say. Over and over again. My uncle's face swims into view. Then my father's face. To all I have one thing to say - "I'm sorry"

My mother comes near me. "Where's my sister? I wanna see her", I cry out. A screen has been put up between us. "She's fine. Her wounds are being cleaned", my mother tries to pacify me. "I wanna see her. Take me to her. I wanna see her", I scream restlessly through my tears.
They open the screen and show me her face. She's looking at me. "Are you ok?" I ask her fearfully. Her small nod worked wonders to appease my conscience. I realise that the feeling of responsibility is the scariest of all!

A doctor comes to my bedside. "Since you're unmarried, we're gonna ask a plastic surgeon to come sew up your chin ok?"

"My head hurts", I whimpered. Through my whimper I noticed that her hair had been artifically straightened and looked very dry! Funny the things we notice!

"Hello!", A white coated man is leaning over me. "I'm the plastic surgeon, I'll be suturing your chin now." I yell out at him, "Before you do that, you gotta do something about my head. It hurts like crazy!"

CT scan machine is not working. We're both being shifted to another hospital. With the ambulance sirens screaming.

More about the hospital experience at Admitted to Apollo.

Maybe it's a coincidence. Or maybe not. Whatever it is, my belief in the power of thoughts has become stronger than ever. Because of this, I'll be more careful in voicing my thoughts.

There is a traditional custom practiced among us to ward off the evil eye. Camphor is the main player of the ritual. Camphor together with other stuff such as red chillies, salt, pepper, pumpkin etc are taken in hand and circled around person(s). Then they're all burnt up outside the house. This is supposed to cleanse the aura around us. It had stood by my stead in some occasions previous to this. That is why, though I have no belief in any religious ceremonies, I always submit to and practice this custom. This ritual was performed on us friday morning.

After the accident, opinions were voiced by various members of the family-

"It was a miracle they came out with so less injuries".
"This is all God's doing. Thank the lord nothing worse happened".
"Only because of the ritual they were saved with minor injuries".
"To escape with just this in such a busy road! You are very lucky".

Yes I was.

From now on, I'll think my wishes through.

Admitted to Apollo

We were taken into the Emergency. A smiling doctor comes to me, "I'll be first injecting this local. You have to bear only that. You won't feel the stitches at all". She pokes at the flaps of my chin skin with a needle. 'Only this? Woman you're killing me', I want to yell out. But I know that I had done enough screaming to last me a lifetime. I only grit my teeth and wait for her to complete her tailoring.

A series of tests follow. I'm being stretchered from room to room for X-Rays, CT Scans and whatnot. I have no idea which followed which. All I remember now are the bright white flouresecent overhead lights rushing by as my stretcher was wheeled here and there.

Doctor's Decision : Admit into Intensive Care for acute observation. Which translates to 'suck out as much money as you can from these fatheads'

We were in full control of all our faculties soon. We did NOT need to be the ICU. But the hospital wasn't happy with the amount it had made on us with just emergency care. It wanted more. Two days in the intensive care shot up the medical bills to more than what I make in a month!

A small example of the hospital's business strategy: A nurse came up to me on saturday with a large cotton swab. "We need to take a nasal culture sample. This is a routine procedure. Please don't be scared"(as if I was). She made a feeble swipe just inside my nostrils. I did not even feel it. "Thank you that's it", she smiled with a false brightness that is the trademark of all the nurses. "Did you even get anything?" I questioned her. "Yes mam", with another of those oh-so-bright smiles she left.
After getting home, I saw that I was billed 620Rs for those swipes!

Another funny term they used at that hospital was "Acute Observation". For all I know, they did not observe me, acutely or otherwise. I was visited by a series of doctors - A neuro surgeon, Two plastic surgeons, A general surgeon, A chief doctor and a few more guys who had some specialisation I've forgotten. None of them observed me acutely. They observed the monitor which had a series of wires connected to me. They observed a chart at the foot of my bed. And they left.
Two of them came near me and spoke to me. One of them palpated my stomach with a gloved hand. One tested my reflexes, once. Most of them spoke to me from the foot of the bed. That was the extent of 'acute observation'.

The monitors and the charts were given more attention than the actual patient. Once, one of the electrodes attached to my chest had come unstruck. So the monitor showed my respiration level to be extremely low. According to the monitor, I already had one foot in the grave. The nurse got excited and called another nurse. "Respiration level is 2". Both of them looked at me. I was placidly lying there, watching tv, breathing as well as them! But still she asked me to breathe in and out. I did. She wasn't satisfied that I was fully alive. Then one bright soul had the idea to check my ECG leads. What a relief! They glued it back and smiled at the monitor.

The next day, we got ourselves discharged 'against medical advice' not heeding the chief doctor's warning that there is a one in hundred chance that we may get fits.

Well, so far, no fit has seen it fit to come near me!