I got a call in the hospital when I was neck deep in seeing my own patients...
"Mom!", my older one was in panic,"Please come home now. Now!" I had to calm her down and ask her, "What happened sweetie?" I was sure it could not be anything serious.
After all, the children were at home, and their granny was with them. Nothing could happen!
But the panic in my daughter's voice was palpable. My maid took over the phone. She told me in broken sentences that my younger one's hand had got caught in the door and the hand was cut off. Now this is a south Indian maid, so I had to calm HER down and understand what she meant by 'hand cut off'. She started sobbing and told me to just come home. I called for my daughter on the phone- she was quiet. Deathly quiet.
I will never forget that silence on the line. I kept trying to talk to her- to get her to tell me something I could make sense of. My darling was scared. She was very scared. And her grand mother's presence did nothing to help. For a moment I resented that. I resented the fact that a child could not be safe despite the granny, that a child could not feel loved in spite of a grand mother right there.
Not able to make out much, I got into my car and raced home. I do not know how I drove, I have no recollection of how long it took.
All I remember is the look on their faces when I reached home.
My son, barely a year old was howling- crying so loud that he could have collected all the neighbours! Strangely, the neighbours were no where near! There was blood all around the house. His hand - the left one was tied in a dirty blood stained handkerchief and the room was a mess. I ran to hold him close, asking for where was Saniya, my very special daughter.
She has always been a part of my soul. She is an angel- but she forgot to put on her wings, always smiling and great with small children, she had prayed a whole month for a little brother. She wanted to hold him the minute she laid eyes on him. She adored him.
I found her crouching in a corner- scared out of her wits... scared of so much blood in the room, scared that something really terrible had happened. It was heart-rending. The fear and the panic were so unnecessary. Saniya was the one who had brought ice in the handkerchief foe her little brother.
I hugged her close and kissed her, with the other hand I picked up my son. He stopped crying instantly. I talked to both of them and tried to understand what had happened. I took off the hanky and saw the hand.
And I gasped.
The little baby of mine was looking at me with big huge eyes and he had the confidence that everything would be OK. My little daughter looked at me with her own fears and also had the confidence that I would make it all OK.
Both of them had faith that their mother would set it all right. And in this space no one else mattered We were together.
I finally found out what had happened.
My daughter and her friend were playing. My daughter's friend closed the door and Moksh's finger got caught in the hinge. The terminal one third, with the nail, and the soft bone of a small child was hanging with a fragile tag of skin. It did not look like it would survive. The ice had stopped the bleeding but it could have blocked off the blood vessels that could give vitality to the cut segment. I put them both in the car, got into the driver's seat and called my husband to meet me at the hospital.
Fortunate that both of us are doctors and can let our logical brain take over at a moment's notice.
He called a plastic surgeon friend of his. This plastic surgeon met us outside the OR and took my son into the operating suite immediately. He told us that the injury was a lot commoner than we had thought. That the results would be dramatic. That he would do the best.
It took unbearably long waiting outside for Moksh to come out. And when he was brought out, he looked delicate, fragile, as if he needed to be protected. I took him in my arms and talked to him. His hand had been placed in a Boxing glove dressing so that he would not disturb the wound. I taught him the treat it like a baby on the opposite shoulder, pat it and try to make the baby sleep. He went around the house with "Baby!" for a fortnight.
I sat down with Saniya and tried to tell her it was OK. It had looked scary but it was not that bad, and most importantly, it was not her fault. But she would have to be more careful as the elder sibling.
The trauma was not so much a nearly chopped phalanx but more the scarred , scared psyche that confronted Saniya- herself a baby.
But she took it remarkable well. She is a great person. And so is Moksh. They know, deep inside that they have to stand by each other and use their head in a moment of crisis. And using their head means that they must inform their mom or dad.
And it brought us close as a family. We went places with that boxing glove baby. We played with this new born. And we bade him bye bye at the final dressing a few days later. We all came out of it with our hearts stronger and our heads in the right place.
Too much blood does not mean it is hopeless. It means that the life still pulses with vitality and hope.
Mistakes and accidents will happen. They are just that- mistakes and accidents.
My son does not any longer really remember the 'baby'. My daughter will probably never forget the incident. But they are both special and blessed to have discovered their own strength and their own confidence that fear can be overcome. That fear is simply a state of the mind.
And my mother-in-law? She has aged. And she probably does not remember the incident either. She needs her own looking after and is like a baby, but a more difficult one than the children who are now growing up. She does have periods of lucidity and has periods of being totally absent from the context of the world. The neurologists say she could be having Alzheimer's.
Now how does one overcome THAT?
"Mom!", my older one was in panic,"Please come home now. Now!" I had to calm her down and ask her, "What happened sweetie?" I was sure it could not be anything serious.
After all, the children were at home, and their granny was with them. Nothing could happen!
But the panic in my daughter's voice was palpable. My maid took over the phone. She told me in broken sentences that my younger one's hand had got caught in the door and the hand was cut off. Now this is a south Indian maid, so I had to calm HER down and understand what she meant by 'hand cut off'. She started sobbing and told me to just come home. I called for my daughter on the phone- she was quiet. Deathly quiet.
I will never forget that silence on the line. I kept trying to talk to her- to get her to tell me something I could make sense of. My darling was scared. She was very scared. And her grand mother's presence did nothing to help. For a moment I resented that. I resented the fact that a child could not be safe despite the granny, that a child could not feel loved in spite of a grand mother right there.
Not able to make out much, I got into my car and raced home. I do not know how I drove, I have no recollection of how long it took.
All I remember is the look on their faces when I reached home.
My son, barely a year old was howling- crying so loud that he could have collected all the neighbours! Strangely, the neighbours were no where near! There was blood all around the house. His hand - the left one was tied in a dirty blood stained handkerchief and the room was a mess. I ran to hold him close, asking for where was Saniya, my very special daughter.
She has always been a part of my soul. She is an angel- but she forgot to put on her wings, always smiling and great with small children, she had prayed a whole month for a little brother. She wanted to hold him the minute she laid eyes on him. She adored him.
I found her crouching in a corner- scared out of her wits... scared of so much blood in the room, scared that something really terrible had happened. It was heart-rending. The fear and the panic were so unnecessary. Saniya was the one who had brought ice in the handkerchief foe her little brother.
I hugged her close and kissed her, with the other hand I picked up my son. He stopped crying instantly. I talked to both of them and tried to understand what had happened. I took off the hanky and saw the hand.
And I gasped.
The little baby of mine was looking at me with big huge eyes and he had the confidence that everything would be OK. My little daughter looked at me with her own fears and also had the confidence that I would make it all OK.
Both of them had faith that their mother would set it all right. And in this space no one else mattered We were together.
I finally found out what had happened.
My daughter and her friend were playing. My daughter's friend closed the door and Moksh's finger got caught in the hinge. The terminal one third, with the nail, and the soft bone of a small child was hanging with a fragile tag of skin. It did not look like it would survive. The ice had stopped the bleeding but it could have blocked off the blood vessels that could give vitality to the cut segment. I put them both in the car, got into the driver's seat and called my husband to meet me at the hospital.
Fortunate that both of us are doctors and can let our logical brain take over at a moment's notice.
He called a plastic surgeon friend of his. This plastic surgeon met us outside the OR and took my son into the operating suite immediately. He told us that the injury was a lot commoner than we had thought. That the results would be dramatic. That he would do the best.
It took unbearably long waiting outside for Moksh to come out. And when he was brought out, he looked delicate, fragile, as if he needed to be protected. I took him in my arms and talked to him. His hand had been placed in a Boxing glove dressing so that he would not disturb the wound. I taught him the treat it like a baby on the opposite shoulder, pat it and try to make the baby sleep. He went around the house with "Baby!" for a fortnight.
I sat down with Saniya and tried to tell her it was OK. It had looked scary but it was not that bad, and most importantly, it was not her fault. But she would have to be more careful as the elder sibling.
The trauma was not so much a nearly chopped phalanx but more the scarred , scared psyche that confronted Saniya- herself a baby.
But she took it remarkable well. She is a great person. And so is Moksh. They know, deep inside that they have to stand by each other and use their head in a moment of crisis. And using their head means that they must inform their mom or dad.
And it brought us close as a family. We went places with that boxing glove baby. We played with this new born. And we bade him bye bye at the final dressing a few days later. We all came out of it with our hearts stronger and our heads in the right place.
Too much blood does not mean it is hopeless. It means that the life still pulses with vitality and hope.
Mistakes and accidents will happen. They are just that- mistakes and accidents.
My son does not any longer really remember the 'baby'. My daughter will probably never forget the incident. But they are both special and blessed to have discovered their own strength and their own confidence that fear can be overcome. That fear is simply a state of the mind.
And my mother-in-law? She has aged. And she probably does not remember the incident either. She needs her own looking after and is like a baby, but a more difficult one than the children who are now growing up. She does have periods of lucidity and has periods of being totally absent from the context of the world. The neurologists say she could be having Alzheimer's.
Now how does one overcome THAT?
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