Last month, by this time I was more tensed than ever. I felt like someone had stolen my heart. I felt empty and void and numb. It pained me. I was lost in praying. I prayed more and more with each second knocked and passed by.
More than me, it was my beloved mom who was worried and lost in agony of pain. She was burying her pain in silence but her little eyes told me she can’t bear it anymore. She had been laid on the bed. It was on bed 25, third floor in maternity ward in Thimphu Jigme Dorji Wangchuk National Referal hospital.
Her case is serious and she is late to admit, a doctor said and looked at me scornfully. I don’t have to say anything. She had medical records. She had visited Zangthi BHU, Jomotshangkha hospitals and even Dzongkhag hospital at Samdrup Jongkhar. Those doctors didn’t have slightest idea that she needs surgery. She suffered.
It was hard persuading her to come here so that she can visit national referral hospital in Thimphu. I succeeded at last and they travelled to Thimphu for first time. Had I failed in convincing them, I can’t imagine the consequences. Doctors never referred her beyond Jomotshangkha BHU.
She was admitted exactly at 1800 hours on 4th of September. In 14 hour from her admission, she would be in OT room. Sleep escaped that night. I was tired and felt like sleeping but my eyes refused to close. Sitting by my mom, holding her hand, I prayed. The drop of tears counted my prayers.
There is one hell on the earth. Where one can count the every breath you take. Times get stretched and every second seemed like hours. You look at others; all wear the same face, worried and tears brooding over otherwise lovely faces. Three hours I spent in hell, the waiting room of Operational Theatre. And those 180 minutes seemed like three centuries. It made me restless. I sat on rusty aluminum chair, I stood up took several steps and sat back where I was seated, I craned through the window expecting some good news. I watched at my three years old fastrack watch for hundredth times. I lost the patience. Still I prayed. The goose bumps appear on my body as I type these very lines.
At last my prayers answered. Doctor called me, with smile she said; your mom had successful surgery. She pad on my back and said don’t worry kota. I was so happy then. I felt like prostrating in front of that doctor. I felt like hugging her and thank her by touching her feet like an Indian do. But I couldn’t. All I could say was thank you doctor and you saved my mom’s life. I also said you are a god to me, but this last sentence I just mumbled, for some reason I did not want her to hear.
One day after her surgery, she spoke to me. She said I was suffering more than her. Those lines touched my heart, not because she was pity on me, because she spoke for first time. I loved her more. I kissed her hand and said ‘just get well mom.’
|mom with Buddha Dodrelma|
|towards Tachog Lhakhang....|
She regained her health, and after one week she was discharged. Never think of coming back in this ward mom I said as packed our belongings. I thanked every nurse who took more pain than me for every patient.
Its one month and she is back to normal. I didn’t let her go back to home. I will keep her with me at least for five months from now. I will take her to every possible neys and lhakhangs in Paro and Thimphu. She had already visited Ta-chog Lhakhang in thimphu paro high way, Ta Dzong, Kyichu lhakang, Buddha Dodrelma Memorial chorten in thimphu to name few. After her full recovery my priorities are Taktshang, Dechenphug, Tango Cheri and others.