The last monsoon

By Dr. Swasti Charan Leimapokpam *

The drizzle had then turned into a gushing downpour and the raincoat that I was wearing did not provide a face saving protection. I was drenched from head to toe. For some reason I could not stop at a bus stop or a Dukan and wait for the rain to stop.

Not that I had no time but it was that someone who was waiting did not have much time. I knocked at my friend's door and when they opened and saw me, they were surprised because I was really wet. As they gave me a towel to dry myself, I peeped my face to the next room to say, "I am here already." I could not hear his voice but I knew he must be smiling and beaming ready to burst out into a silent laughter.

After drying myself, I barge into his room in real military march, with a syringe in hand and bowed, "Your highness, I am here. I was told that the Delhi June heat was causing your Highness little discomfort that I decided to bring in some monsoon with me. I respect and love you so much that, in fact I had packed some for you in my raincoat pocket."

By this time he was tossing on his bed laughing. Had I said these a few weeks ago, the neighbours would have wondered why there was the roar of laughter in that room. But that day, there was no such thing happening. He had lost his voice a few weeks ago.

One evening few weeks ago, when the family was sitting down to have dinner in their home on a hill-slope in the North-east Indian town, he realized that his voice was simply gone husky. The following weeks followed and saw him running form clinic to clinic undergoing many tests and they finally diagnosed him having a secondary malignancy in his vocal chord area.

The biopsy revealed secondary carcinoma and the doctors could not find the primary. This was the main cancer growth from where the secondary lesions would finally spread. As usual, the board of doctors met and decided that he be sent to some good hospitals in India. Thus they arrived at Delhi a few weeks ago and by this time his voice was gone already.

He was undergoing his treatment in AIIMS. Here too they could not locate the primary lesion. The minutest section of CT even failed but going by the type of cells seen in the biopsy they presumed that it must be in one corner of the naso-pharyngeal region. Thus it was an NPC (Naso-pharyngeal carcinoma).

Though the disease continues to elude the ENT specialist form time immemorial, they in most times kill the patient. On the first day I met the patient, something told me that the disease would pop up its head everywhere. I had a feeling that the cancerous cells have already been swept down the current of the blood stream to seed elsewhere. I did not say it to anyone but kept my fingers crossed.

Finally, the usual chemotherapy regime started and the turmoil of going to AIIMS for day admission and then back home. Suddenly one night I got a call from my friend saying that the patient was complaining of pain abdomen and was having diarrhea. The next day I noticed that he was having ascitis.

Soon he started complaining of bone pains. Then I knew that the disease, as I had feared, had spread to everywhere. The doctors then advised him to attend the pain clinics and he was prescribed pain regime comprising of medicines opioid derivatives and normal analgesics. I was there in connection that day. I got a call from my friend saying that he was in extreme back-pain.

I had finished my duty in Central jail Hospital, Tihar that day and just after lunch I rushed to meet the patient. I was no specialist to treat him. But I had developed a bond with him. Every time he saw me his pains would disappear. I used to tell him, "My Lord, the bullets are ready waiting for your command, just yell and I will pump them into your highness's body."

Thus I would stay for few hours and talk to him and narrate to him the funny stories inside jail. "You are my doctor." It was a fast moving world where nobody had time for anybody. I somehow had time for things I loved to do and I was mad. When I am mad I would not bother for the rain, heat or fire.

Nothing could stop me. I would run inside me saying, "Well Swasti, for you the next monsoon will come again. You will see the sunshine, rain or the thunders again. But for him, this might be the last monsoon."

That day, I gave him a diclofenac injection and it did give him some relief. The days passed. One day he started having difficulty breathing and when I reached his place at night I saw that the ascitis was giving him the discomfort. I told them that we have to tap the fluid carefully.

That meant that we do the procedure at home or get admitted in AIIMS again. He requested me to do that for me. I did it for him. That day, I sat with his wife and told, " Ma'am. I think the time has come to let it go. I am glad that you brought him here and tried your best to treat him but God had destined something.

At a point, I believe we have to let go. The time has come. Take him home while he is still strong enough to fly. Let him meet his children and spend some time with them. You can continue the chemotherapy back home. I will send them for you."

As I complete this she burst into tears, and said, "I knew it would happen this way. I wanted to give my last fight till it is possible." She could no longer continue. She wept and wept. After sometime she knew what I meant.

She started discussing the travel plans. When the day was over, I bade goodbye to the patient. He was no more laughing. Laughing and even breathing had become difficult. As his wife saw me off at the door, she told.

"Thank you. Doctor. I will tell my children about you. I will ask them to work hard in life to become a doctor like you." As I left them, she put inside a small packet into the bag that I was carrying telling me that that was my birthday gift. My birth day was coming up the next week and we had discussed in lighter moments that we would have it there with the patient. But he had to go home early.

That night as I drove home, I remember my dear friend, his wife and the children back home. I knew how time would give them a miss and could feel the pains of separation that would soon creep in to kill. With tears in my eyes, I stopped at the gate of my Quarter and looked up to say a silent prayer.

A small droplet of water fell onto my face and I said, "Oh, Lord. Was that the last monsoon for him? Please take care of him as you had always done so. He had come from you and now he is coming back to you. Bestow upon him the best of monsoon laced with rainbow in your heavenly abode."