When she was here we planned earnestly for tomorrow. We, like
you, viewed death as an alien. We were trying our best; she was giving her all.
What better combination would a doctor want? The litany of body errors had
slowed her down a little.
Her once voluptuous rounded waist was now a framework of
unpleasant bones buried deep in scaly sagging skin. Her once fitting skirt sagging
generously to her knees just to cover them but revealing legs thin like the
reeds that hold papyrus. Well-oiled though as if to emphasize her will to get
her groove back and turn heads once again.
Up her face, it required a poet’s complex mind to fix her
now desolate look to the beauty in one of the snaps she keeps showing to those
who cared to lend her a minute. The snaps a constant reminder of her goal.
Her chest no more than a loose blouse worn over the loose
skin that was once the mark of her beauty.
She was supporting herself with a walking stick. She was 25
years old. She hoped to live for 65 more years, like her grand papa, she said.
Before the thunder of an unforgiving infection rendered her
hospital-chained, Maliya was a student and a single mother to a dotting angel;
Angel being her real name.
When she was here we planned each day for tomorrow. We looked
forward to her discharge from the boring hospital ceiling. Her daughter needed
her more than we did. Of course. For good measure, she needed to fulfill her
dreams. The first university graduate in her entire family, she would have
been.
“When I get out of here, I swear I will buy a whole sack of
mangoes hide in my room and eat them one by one.” She said, interrupting her
croaky voice with an equally croaky laughter.
So as I sighed out of relief, my legs up after a long day’s
work. My phone rang. It was the hospital. It’s never a good sign. And I heard
the narration.
While Maliya groaned in need of attention, the ward nurse
was too busy writing in those books they have and when she finally came and realized
things ‘were not so good’, she called the doctor. The doctor answered in a lazy
tone, that which says without saying it, that a bother is not welcome. “I will
come!” the doctors finally said and hang up. He was a good man though, he
showed up. Two hours later. Eyes a little too red. Maybe he was glad then that
there was no work left. God had done it. The lifeless body lay in bed, mouth
open to betray the ignored cries for help.
Without uttering a word, he picked his pen and wrote “pupils fixed and not reacting to light, no
cardiopulmonary activity. Patient certified dead” signed. And left. To continue.
Yes to continue watching the series he had been interrupted watching. What’s
the big deal peeps. That’s life man. Man up.
In as much as we grumble about poor working conditions and
poor pay and lack of equipment, what really is our attitude and contribution to
needless deaths. Did you play your role in treating another human being like a
human being?
I hope Maliya’s baby Angel will grow up to understand the
meaning of the words “pupils fixed.” As for now, the clouds have invited a dark
night, and I guess it’s time to sleep. Good night peeps, but do wake up when
you are needed. And do remember what someone else needs could be as simple as
to get to eat a sack of mangoes.
#Someone should hug little Angel really tight for all of us :)
