"Sab saale *******,
"Eeh, chup, saare so rahe hain. You too should go to sleep."
Nose was blown noisily, red splotches on the white tiled wall, kidney tray,red goo trickling down matted beard, even as it thickened into dark red clots.
Miss M was livid .
"Kitni baar bola hai? Don't blow your nose."
'Yaar, thoda sa paani de do. One sip please. '
Miss M stood resolutely at the entrance to the cubicle. Arms determinedly folded, staring silently.
He, all of six foot something, bearded, loose long hair flying in all directions, bleeding in the worst possible way, from ears, nose, mouth, stared back and lowered his gaze,pulling plaintively and futilely at his restrained hands,bandaged firmly to the sides of the bed.
That evening , this huge sardar soldier was brought in from a desert exercise, a careless poking out of the head, and a swivelling barrel of a mounted gun hit him on the temple.He fell down unconscious and was brought to the hospital, screaming abuses, violent and bleeding horribly from every orifice.He was examined and after the perfunctory tests , was shifted to the ICU.He was on observation, nil orally, and not to blow his nose(an instruction which he disobeyed with impunity).
It was 2245hrs and he had passed red coloured fluid , as urine, twice, and was practically covered in red. All attempts to clean him up ended in a nought, as he would promptly blow his nose ,or gurgle up clots and spit it out on the sheets/tiled wall behind. So , it was decided that cleaning could wait as we prayed for him to "settle down", which he seemed not to, any time soon.
Interspersed with the choicest of abuses in Hindi/Punjabi would be the constant chanting of "Waheguru,Waheguru". Some times reaching the pitch of a shout , the name of God in all its pure sublime form. As the fog of hypoxia clouded his senses, he continued to oscillate between profanities and chanting the God's name.
All along he continued to bleed, large, heart-breaking and scary quantities of blood gushed forth. Only two pints of fresh blood had been infused plus some IV fluids. Scared to her wit's end, Miss M called the DMO twice. Twice in the night he came, and stood , helplessly watching, from the entrance to the cubicle, too scared of what met his eyes, to even talk to the blathering , blubbering, cursing and chanting person inside.
Morning dawned, to the collective hum of beeping monitors, bustling activity, cleaning up of patients, dispensing of medicines, drawing of blood, setting up of IV, making beds, tidying of hair and last minute rush to make fresh I/O charts, completing of reports.
In all this hub-bub, no one noticed that the sardar had quietened down,allowing the nurse to clean him, Miss M to draw blood for samples,even to the extent of helping the staff change his attire and blood soaked bed linen.
After a while , it was noticed that the sardar had actually stopped bleeding. This was nothing short of a miracle!!With the medical fraternity at their wits 'end ( an inconclusive dural tear was the unsatisfactory diagnosis written in his case sheet)
Interspersed with the choicest of abuses in Hindi/Punjabi would be the constant chanting of "Waheguru,Waheguru". Some times reaching the pitch of a shout , the name of God in all its pure sublime form. As the fog of hypoxia clouded his senses, he continued to oscillate between profanities and chanting the God's name.
All along he continued to bleed, large, heart-breaking and scary quantities of blood gushed forth. Only two pints of fresh blood had been infused plus some IV fluids. Scared to her wit's end, Miss M called the DMO twice. Twice in the night he came, and stood , helplessly watching, from the entrance to the cubicle, too scared of what met his eyes, to even talk to the blathering , blubbering, cursing and chanting person inside.
Morning dawned, to the collective hum of beeping monitors, bustling activity, cleaning up of patients, dispensing of medicines, drawing of blood, setting up of IV, making beds, tidying of hair and last minute rush to make fresh I/O charts, completing of reports.
In all this hub-bub, no one noticed that the sardar had quietened down,allowing the nurse to clean him, Miss M to draw blood for samples,even to the extent of helping the staff change his attire and blood soaked bed linen.
After a while , it was noticed that the sardar had actually stopped bleeding. This was nothing short of a miracle!!With the medical fraternity at their wits 'end ( an inconclusive dural tear was the unsatisfactory diagnosis written in his case sheet)
When the day duty staff came to take over, they found it difficult to believe that the sedate sardar clad all in white, sitting cross legged atop his bed, hair neatly combed into a bun,greeting all the sisters, is the same violent man who was admitted with uncontrolled bleeding the previous afternoon.
Whether the Gods took kindly to his non-stop chanting, or he had some good karma from his past -life, or it was a "self-limiting hemorrhagic episode"(as we were asked to refer to it ), we will never know. All we know is that he became a celebrity of sorts. He was questioned, examined, tested, re-questioned, re-examined, and re-tested; to no satisfactory conclusion. His case was presented and represented in various air-conditioned auditoriums, where doctors of various disciplines would present conflicting opinions and scratch their heads to come to a "logical conclusion".
What we, the nursing staff, witnessed that night was a miracle, no less; and we are content to leave it at that,in all our illogical faith.
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