I woke up to a parched throat, and mumbled, “Wwwattteerr!”
I realized I was unable to convey my request forward for my mouth felt paralyzed. I shouted at the top of my lungs but the nurses still couldn’t understand.
“Wwwwaaabbbeeerrrr!”
They looked at each other cluelessly asking, “What did he say?”
I lifted my left thumb to insinuate that I needed water.
“We cannot give you water. It will only be given to you the next day after the doctor confirms it.”
The next day? What time was it? How long have I been out?
I signaled time, and someone said, “8.30 PM”.
Was I out the whole day? Why did the surgery take so much time? Should I ask if it is the same day or would it be daft?
Within a few minutes of passing out, I felt dehydrated again. I shouted once again, “Waaaaaatttttteeeerr!” this time my voice clearer,
I hoped to change their mind with my conviction but their reply remained the same.
I wet my shriveled lips then tried to take in the moisture.
I am missing a salivary gland now, maybe that’s why I am so thirsty all of a sudden.
All that discomfort made me miss my parents. If they knew something was bothering me they would have acted on it almost immediately.
“Mom, Dad…..when can I see my parents?” I struggled to ask.
“Tomorrow morning when you will be shifted to your room,” replied one of the nurses who happened to be in the vicinity.
Helpless, I had no choice but to slither back into the world of darkness. At least there I was a little less miserable.
On disclosing my eyes again, when for the third time nobody tended to my demand, I coughed a painful cough. Something had been there inside my neck. It ended up wetting my throat, thus killing the need almost immediately.
That should do it, I thought trying to turn towards my right for I had a bad prolonged body ache. When I did, my attention shifted towards another crucial element for survival – air. I realized I could only breathe from one nostril.
I would often end up with a clogged nostril owing to the AC in general and it was a very cold room. I wasn’t clothed properly. I wrung my hand helplessly. It took an effort to hit the stretcher’s edge. But nobody heard, or maybe they chose to completely ignore me wondering if it was the same boy who was crying wolf.
I tried to close my eyes and I felt a small dark hole forming right at the center. It made me feel as if I was without a body. That I was converging to that hole, to that nothingness, which was sucking me up. I opened my eyes at once to register that I was a part of a bigger piece of flesh. But why could I not feel the existence of my body? I closed my eyes again and the hole returned. I kept getting sucked in as if in a whirlpool.
No! I have to beat it, I have to stay awake. This discomfort has to go. I can’t give in. I can’t accept defeat. I have to fight.
I woke up and shouted at the first sight of a nurse. Told her I can only breathe from one of my nostrils, that I am very uncomfortable.
She said, “That’s because you have a device inserted in your nostril. You are breathing directly through it.”
I said dramatically, “But it is very uncomfortable, can you do something? Because I feel it is not working, I feel there is no oxygen passing through it. My second nostril is getting blocked too.”
She realized I was right, and she chucked something from behind my head. I felt a stream of cold air hit both my nostrils.
I was lying on my back when she left me in my semi-conscious state. I tried to close my eyes, once again the black hole returned and I realized I was even more uncomfortable than I was before.
“Ma’am!” I shouted.
And there was no one around. I lifted my hand and struggled a bit before I reached my nose. I pushed the pipe away from my nose but realized it was tucked tightly around as if an insect was trying to claw its way inside.
Women who wear nose ornaments must feel that way.
I tried lifting my hand again to an empty room. I looked at different things on the ceiling from that punishing AC to weird devices I knew nothing about.
I tried eavesdropping on a distant conversation and resigned at the idea of calling that nurse. She seemed busy and far.
Luckily one showed up and I shouted, “Ma’am! Could you please remove this nose thingy?”
She refused. Before she would leave I asked her to at least slow down the pressure, which she did and it was such a big relief that I couldn’t thank her enough.
It felt better if not perfect.
I was drowsy again, and only woke up to a voice saying, “I am removing your nose plugs.”
She tugged at the device in the nose which went deep into my mouth. I nearly screamed in pain at that forceful yank. But it was like pulling a bandaid. So it didn’t last long. A big relief! I could breathe a lot better now as if I was back to being my normal self.
A guy started hauling my stretcher. They were moving me after all. The same night. Another big relief. I was taken into a lift. I could see the man moving me. Being driven like that felt weird. Hitherto, I had only watched it happen to someone in the movies. My vantage felt as if I was in some kind of a game.
When my room 411 neared, I hoped to see a known face. Mom or dad. They should be here.
Did they know I was being shifted? They wouldn’t know, would they?
But when the room opened and I failed to see anyone from what little vision my eyes allowed, I was heartbroken. My stretcher was swiveled and I went inside headfirst. I tried to hear but the room sounded empty.
Suddenly I heard my father’s voice. I was so relieved, I could breathe properly sans stress.
I held his hand when he finally came up to me after everyone left.
“Good to see you again, Dad.”
The warmth in his hand was reassuring of life and the fact that I wasn’t alone anymore. It also defined my ingress back into the world of the living.
We talked about what all had happened since I had passed out in the morning, the complications that required some nerve grafting to be done, how two different types of surgeries lasted almost three hours each. Doctors went back and forth to my family to explain what was going on inside the OT. Some relatives thronged outside for support.
Everyone somehow seemed sure, sure of the fact that there was nothing to worry about. Right from the very beginning before I even knew that I was headed for a tunnel. Right from the confident doctor to everyone who had encountered me had said that it was going to be alright. It almost felt as if an engineer was going to fix a robot. Take away the bad unit, tighten some nuts and bolts on their way out, and voila! – as good as new!
To me, I foresaw my world crumble, lived the pain of going through that journey even when it hadn’t started. Clouds of apprehension raining on my parade whenever they felt like it. Wild wretched possibilities reeling in a doubtful death into the equation. Guess it is a curse of a writer.
When I took that plunge, I realized had stepped into a different world altogether. The surgery hadn’t happened on my plane. The plane I had become a part of was blank. In that deadpan shuteye, I couldn’t remember what took place. What all happened to me. For the first time in my entire life, the 12 hour wasn’t just a slumber. The anesthesia had knocked me out cold. My brain had shut down. There was not a single thought.
All I could manage to bring to mind was a canvas. It was pitch dark but with a yellow hue in the backdrop followed by a feeling of unease.
I generally remember my dreams, but I couldn’t remember anything in my absent span. It felt as if I had gone somewhere for good, and then returned with one tumor less and a paralyzed face.