\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1265105-Jeejivisha-a-hope-to-survive
Item Icon
\"Reading Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
by shweta Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Short Story · Medical · #1265105
a medical practitioner writes off her journey to the present
                                          JEEJIVISHA - hope to survive

                                          If I can stop one heart from breaking
                                          If I can ease one life from aching
                                          or cool one pain.
                                          I shall not live in vain


Today, my father recited these extracts from a poem by Emily Dickinson as we celebrated the invention of Nixon, which is highly effective than the widely used Taxol. This minor progress is a crucial achievement in our fight against suffering. Cancer is a stubborn disease but not as obstinate as me.

I have struggled very  hard for this white coat and stethoscope. My father always wished to make his son a doctor. He never had the former, but I could be the latter. Moreover, even I had the craving for the respect, honor, and status, the medical practitioners enjoyed. But, the road to the dreams was not straight and smooth. It had the curve of our low income and status, loop of my mother’s irrational thinking and trenches of my dying determination. However, I had someone who always lit up my way and helped me get up each time I fell. And, that was my supporting agent, my alchemist, that was my father, a pharmacist who owned a very small Sandhya medical store, named after his only child.

At 12, I found a new tutor in papa when he came know what I aspired to become. We had fun while studying; he would enact the boring historical characters to me. I saw in him Mohammed bin Tughlaq, Akbar and even Rani Lakshmi Bai. He had a melodious voice too and helped me to memorize long paragraphs by singing them. He turned a loser into a topper. He made me tough and I moved ahead with unshakeable determination of reaching great height and status. By the age of 15, I had learnt the chemical formulae of more than 30 medicines. I was progressing and so was my papa’s business

30th March 1982, two things happened on this day, first, my high school result was announced, and second, the inauguration of my papa’s new and bigger chemist shop in central Delhi. My father was happy to near madness as I topped with a boastful 89% and there were just four years between me and Dr. Sandhya, which passed with a blink of an eye. However, I got engrossed in studies and friends but I missed my papa all this while who got busier and busier to take his flourishing business to great heights. He set up a pharmaceutical plant in  Nagpur and stayed there for months.

At college, we were the batch of twenty students with only five girls. I enjoyed studying there but could not bear the senseless and boring preaching of the moral medicine classes, which were mandatory for all students of AIIMS (All India Institute of Medical Sciences). I always prioritized knowledge over morals. For a cynic like me, ethics were just the abstract principles that could be easily molded to justify any behavior or situation. Therefore, unlike others I never praised the philanthropic services of our friend Rashmi who worked part-time in an old age home. In my view, the voluntary services helped the poor girl to supplement income and gain a hand on experience on palliative care. She was a brilliant student who funded her own studies through scholarship. I liked her that way.
I enjoyed a lot in college; we all friends would go out for movies and were a die-hard fan of the heartthrob Kumar Gaurav. We watched his movie, Love Story, four times. By the end of our term, I realized that boys too are likeable. I found new friends in Rajesh and Shankar. 

My degree in medicine called for a huge celebration. Thereafter, I worked in Delhi’s best hospital bearing the most illiterate and dunce patients who could not understand even the simple course for taking medicines, they exhausted me with their silly queries. And those heart sink patients would distress me with their imaginary ailments. I was frustrated being a general doctor dealing with common diseases. Hence, decided to pursue a specialization in a high profile field of medicines that was surgery. But before taking any decision I wanted to consult my father who was usually away from town.

Rajesh, my college friend who served in the children’s ward of the same hospital became my confidant. Rajesh liked me and I knew it much before his own realization. Rajesh is the most tactful, loving and dedicated physician I have ever met. He would always advise me to adopt the stay cool and take it easy attitude especially while handling the poor sufferers. 

However, it was getting difficult to be patient with the patients. It is hard to say, but I confess that I was a ruthless physician until Rasika appeared. She complaint of chest pain, and I suspected something dangerous and referred her to our senior oncologist Dr. Subramaniam who later confirmed my suspicion. She was suffering from breast cancer, which had grown beyond all available treatments. The newly wed Rasika was going to die. I worked until eight that evening as the virulent fever was at zenith. As I reached near the hospital gate, I heard somebody sobbing. Rasika was left away by his husband after being diagnosed with the incurable disease. “usne kahaa ki tere marne tak sewa karne ke liye na to mere paas paisa hai hai aur na sabr…. par main apne gareeb boodhey maa baap ke paas nahi jaoongi. Ab main ek bojh hoon. Maut to ho hee chuki hai bas ab marna baaki hai” (“He said he does not have money and patience to take care of this dying body. But, I will not go back to my poor and old parents. Now, I am a burden… Already dead before death” she cried). These lines still echo in my head.                                       

I took Rasika home and discussed her case with papa who apprised me of the unique concept in medical institutions called hospice. Hospice provides palliative care to the dying patients. There was only one hospice in Delhi named ‘Jeejivisha’, which means a hope to survive. On my visit, I learnt that the charitable ‘Jeejivisha’, which provided free care and treatment to people inflicted with deadly diseases until their last breathe. My college friend Rashmi who worked in Raksha described it as a hospital cum home for the unfortunate patients like Rasika. I was extremely surprised to feel the liveliness at a place where lives end. Jeejivisha’s mission is to make pain less painful and joy more joyful. Rasika died but not before death as she was treated and caressed with a dose of love and laughter. The feeling of warmth, pain, and joy at ‘Jeejivisha’ melted away my cold heart.

Today, I am a part of this family consisting of over thirty patients, eight full time doctors, ten compassionate nurses and many loving volunteers. I am glad being an oncologist, a scientist, and a part of Jeejivisha. I am glad because

I am trying to stop hearts from breaking
I am trying to ease lives from aching
and cool their pains
I am trying not to live in vain

© Copyright 2007 shweta (magictree at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1265105-Jeejivisha-a-hope-to-survive