I peeped through the little glass hole in the door, and all I could see was a green curtain which hides her from me. Nurses were running around, and following their lip movements, I could see the doctors shouting to them. The door was opened for making way for some equipment into the room and the shouts which I saw a second before fell on my ears as real sound. I could feel the tension in the air. Trying hard to keep the life in her body. Seal it within her.
Doors closed again and curtains were moved inside the room to get the machine in. I couldn’t see anything other than a few doctors with tensed eyes and a few more equipment. My view was shut immediately with the green curtain. Blinded from the scene, I gripped the door panel hard, concentrating harder to guide the leaking sound from the room to my ears.I stood there for the time I believe the longest ever I waited. The wait for a life.
A couple of hours before, I was dressing up to bring her home from Hospital. Today was the discharge date. And last night, doctors claimed her fit enough to be discharged. Even when I was confused with the urgency in Dad’s phone call this morning, I never guessed something to this extent was awaiting me. Everything was calm, and clear until I reached Hospital. Until I was asked to come to the ICU..
The oldest memory I have with her is some 25 years old. I must be an infant graduating to a toddler then. She is with me at the kitchen door, trying to feed me , playing hide and seek. She will close one pane of the door and hides her face from me. I have to open the pane and see her face. She may have done that for a day maybe. Or that might have been a routine to feed me. Some how, my memories with her start with that scene. Her face behind a door, trying to feed me.
The door was pushed open, another machine was dragged in. And I saw her for a second and I shut my eyes. That was one moment I wish I could undo in my life. I didn’t want to see her suffering for life. And every time I think of her now, this image fills my eyes. The pain, the suffering, the involuntary attempts to grab a breath. I wish I closed my eyes a second earlier. Someone pulled me off from there. I sensed the outcome. The door was opened again and this time, I was asked to go in. It was the main doctor, and she stood there silent. I was too weak to look towards the direction of the bed, as I failed to hear the rush in air that was there before. I looked into the doctor’s eyes. She tried to say something, but stopped in middle. Those moments where we prefer silence against words. The world was getting blurred for me, but I walked out of that room towards my Dad. Clueless, he stood there watching me. Waiting for a word from me. A word of hope, reassurance – which I couldn’t.
I walked away from the crowd, into a corner of the ward. I cried, I was numb. Memories flew before me. The love, the fights, the sorries.. And my last memory with her, which I never want to have – She behind a door, trying to grab a breath.