JIGSAW
PUZZLE
The
baby's cry was inconsolable, incessant and purely nerve-racking. It had been going on for the past hour, and
other patients in the ward were looking at me as if I was the terrorist who
dropped this bomb here, their stares a thousand knives boring into my back. And
as the resident in charge of the ward I was the wonder-woman empowered to solve
ALL their problems. One well-meaning old gentleman came and told me, “Doctor
madam, just give one injection to stop the wailing please.” Hearing this, another commented, “Give
something so that the baby will never cry again!” I scowled at him. Another
wise greying grandmother offered this advice, “Madam! This baby probably has
some ghost attack! We should call a priest and do puja.” I retorted, “Grandma!
This baby is crying for his mother! As far as this hospital is concerned, only
doctors are there to treat!”
I
would say that Meenadevi was the most irresponsible mother I had seen in my
life. Of course I had heard of parents who neglected or abandoned their babies,
and the growing number of children in orphanages was obvious evidence. Meenadevi
was an enigma – one could never tell if she loved her baby or hated him. Her
unnamed baby was brought to our emergency room shortly after completing one
month of age, with uncontrolled convulsions. He was the patient who taught me
what a super-refractory status epilepticus was – severe convulsions controlled only
by anesthesia! He was on ventilator for a prolonged duration and was diagnosed
to have meningitis. After a stormy ICU course and miraculous survival, he was shifted
to the step-down ward for completion of treatment. That was where I had a stint
with Meenadevi. I was the resident in charge of the ward.
For
one, Meenadevi was lazy to the point of being apathetic. Even if her
baby brought the roof down with his hunger cries, she would continue her beauty
sleep unperturbed. People on neighbouring beds had to wake her up with violent
measures to feed her baby. But the moment the trolley bringing free food came
near her ward, she would jump out of the bed with her steel plate and
invariably ace the “food queue”, three times a day. Her highly selective
biological clock amazed me! She was too lazy to carry her baby around. At
times, she used to feed her baby with such loathing that if one didn’t see the
tiny human hidden in the blanket, her facial expression would force one to
think that she was feeding a baby skunk! She used to imitate and try to quieten
the baby by telling, “what waa waa!! Just shut up and drink!”
Also, Meenadevi was adamant. Once I found her bottle feeding the two-month
old baby with thick ragi porridge. The responsible doctor that I was, I rebuked
her and threw the bottle
in the dustbin. The next day with excessive humility and hidden pride I informed
the consultant about how I advised her against porridge and threw away the
bottle. The consultant suddenly removed the blanket off the baby, and there he
was, silently sucking the same ragi porridge in the same pathetic bottle. How I
wished that I could disappear like how Meenadevi did several times a day! I was
furious at her for the next few days.
As already mentioned, Meenadevi was the metaphor of irresponsibility and
incautiousness. Several times a day, she left the baby on the bed and
disappeared. Apparently, she went to take bath and wash clothes, which I had to
believe, since she had nobody to help. Meanwhile the baby used to create utter
chaos in the ward. Many patients requested and changed their wards. How I
wished I could change the ward! People used to question and shout at her
initially, but her wild and sharp tongue rested the case almost immediately.
I was alarmed when some caring mothers in the ward told me how the baby fell
a few times from the bed at night. And they woke her at times to take the baby
from the floor. Mostly they themselves picked up the baby and kept him back on
the bed, since the sleeping beauty refused to stir. Thankfully, an ultrasound
scan confirmed that the tiny brain was in one piece, and the X-ray established
that his bones were intact. Every time I
questioned her regarding neglecting the baby, I got a piece of her mind, sharpened
by her razor-sharp tongue. She made multiple excuses, which I could never
confirm. And strangely, we never saw any kith or kin visiting her throughout
the long hospital stay. It would be unfair if I didn’t tell that I was not even
sure if her name was Meenadevi! And I
should also not forget to mention that at times she cleaned her baby, played
with him and covered him in kisses delightfully. What an incomprehensible and
complex character she was!
Meenadevi's baby had few more health issues during the ward stay and was
not gaining adequate weight. We kept tackling them one by one. We weren’t ready
to give up so easily even if the mother was not convinced. The baby was alive
because of humongous hard work by the ICU doctors and some definite
supernatural miracle. However, one day, Meenadevi decided to take the baby and
leave. We counselled her as best as we could. Apparently, she wanted to take
care of her other child and was tired of staying in the hospital. I stifled my
anger at her for putting me down in front of the consultant almost every day
and requested her to complete treatment, but in vain. Who could convince Meenadevi-
she was queen adamance in all her magnificence!
I really could not ascertain Meenadevi or her problems. Not me, not
anybody else. She refused to tell anything about herself, and she rejected
sympathy. “Attitude unlimited” would be an ideal quote defining her! Irksome as she was, we knew she had some
social problems and we wanted to help her, but she would not budge. I could
never imagine how a mother could care so less for the child she bore and got
back again through something akin to a second birth. A mother`s love is the
highest form of mortal love, but could even that be so undependable? Maybe her
character was a result of a troubled childhood or abuse. Or it could have been
an unhappy marriage or marital abuse. Or maybe it was poverty and exploitation.
Or it was an unwanted pregnancy. Whatever it was, it definitely took a toll on
her. On the day she left, we finally saw her husband, a weather-beaten,
emaciated, manual labourer who came just to carry the bags to the bus-stop and
did not bother to talk to anyone.
We half-expected to see Meenadevi come back with a sick baby in the
coming days, but she never came back. We tried to locate them at their address
through the peripheral health care system, but they had moved out from there long
back. The mobile phone number she had provided was switched off. Meenadevi had
disappeared from our radar, never to be seen again. We could only pray that
another miracle would change her into a responsible and caring mother.
Some people we meet are like
jigsaw puzzles. While solving them, we begin to see something that was there
all the time, but hidden from us. Likewise, Meenadevi helped me to fathom this
verse from the Bible, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no
compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget
you!” (Isaiah 49:15 NIV) – which is a strong reminder that divine love is
higher than the highest form of mortal love. We can boast of love here on
earth, in all its multifarious forms, but it is no match for that love which is
unconditional. We can only hope that our hidden and manifest selfishness (read self-love),
will not discourage us from the higher calling to love and to be loved. Can we
respond to this calling?
Bought tears in my eyes,thinking about the poor baby..great writing dear
ReplyDeleteThankyou dear...Keep reading :)
DeleteGreat. ...
ReplyDeleteThankyou :)
DeleteY did u name her as meenadevi?
ReplyDeleteHer actual name is something very similar ka....I didnt want to give the real name.
Delete