Why?

This had to be done... There aren't enough cynics around

Narrative

Now
                
                  Scrubbed up and all ready to open up this dude to plan either a plug and patch or a cut and stitch approach to deal with the perforation, I caught the gynaecologist in the next table show the finger to every anatomist that existed in the history by obeying the rules of closure much like how an auto driver in Pondicherry respected traffic rules. A bold surgeon is one who knows well that it is the patient who takes all the risk. And here I was, trying to be bold and that was when I noticed a healed transverse scar over the young man’s wrist. A closer look revealed a few more on either side.
              
  My eyes welled in tears.

***

One year ago

                I was all excited. I mean, it was like the first perforation case I would be doing. Having assisted quite a few cases, it was time to move on to doing one. After mentally rehearsing every step of the procedure, I went to my senior, he was on duty and I felt having him by my side would shut the anaesthetist’s mouth and would be quite the morale boost. But he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. His love life was suffering because of her parents and she wanted to get married right away. He was the calm and cool one and was trying to reason out. As I was about to make my request, an attender came in...

“Sir, one reference... “

                I put the noted sign, meaning the case would be seen by my colleague so that my senior could accompany me to the OT. 2 hours later, we were out, I was ecstatic. It was almost flawless. As I geared to make the treat preparations, my senior went to check the reference.

                The entrance to the emergency ward was crowded as ever and he could hear murmurs about the girl. She had succeeded in her suicidal attempt. His colleague in Internal Medicine put an arm around him and informed him that the patient had just passed away. He felt sorry for a moment but then, there was nothing that could be done in certain cases. Just as he turned, an odd ringtone caught his attention.

“It’s her’s”

                Panic ridden, he pushed aside the crowd and the screen only to see her lifeless body... Her lifeless body. It was his DJ... Without uttering another word, he walked away towards the minor OT which housed a dozen blades each sharper than the preceding one.
***

Now

“Sir, you can paint...”

                I proceeded, with a conscious look at my wrists where a similar scar could have existed, or worse could have happened. A year ago I had entered the minor OT with the intention to wield the scalpel one last time. As I was choosing the weapon to slice my wrists, my junior rushed in, all smiles not paying attention to anything. I was dragged out as the team went on to celebrate the surgeon to be for his first laparatomy. It is all a blur. But the bitterest slice of brownie was stuffed in my mouth as I tried to stay calm, holding back every teardrop that screamed her name. She was my DJ... No last words... No last touch... No last stare...

                Doctors save their patients and at times, the patients save their doctor. I will always remember when that doctor was me

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