Fears

Over a period of 30 odd days in the hospital, we formed an unusual bond- one with the nurses in PICU. They had temporarily replaced us as Aarav's caretakers and they were our window into what went on behind the ominous looking closed door of the ICU.

One of the first things I noticed about that door was that it could be opened from inside but needed an access card to open it from outside. The first time we were asked to wait outside, I remember looking at the door and realizing that I couldn't get to Aarav even if I wanted to; I would need to be allowed in. A lesson in letting go, in the toughest form possible.

I still remember the first night in PICU, I asked one of the sisters for an extra pillow so that I could doze in the chair beside Aarav's bed. She politely informed me that patients with ventilators weren't allowed to have attendants at night. I can still hear her voice, I remember how my heartbeat sped up and I felt short of breath. How could I leave this baby of mine, who had never spent a single night away from me since his birth? Even though he was sedated, I wondered what if he woke up. He would be so scared and bewildered. How could I not be there to hold his hand as he fought the demons creating havoc in his tiny body? But rules are rules. And so I cried myself to sleep in the lounge provided for attendants. Hot, salty tears, slipping in silence, lest anyone else become privy to my grief and utter helplessness.

Fear walks alongside us from the moment we become parents. This fear becomes such an integral part of us that we often forget it exists. Fear of illness, fear of injury, fear of not being a good parent, fear of not giving our children the best they deserve. The one fear none of us ever confront is the fear of losing a child. Even the thought is so terrible that it is seldom allowed to germinate. But sometimes unspoken fears also get converted into reality. And that reality is far worse than anything we could ever have feared. The first time we felt we might lose Aarav, it was as though an iron fist sucker punched us. The pain was so tremendous that it became difficult to draw a breath, eyes blurred and the head swam. Blood seemed to slow down in our veins and limbs became too heavy to move. I remember calling up mom and the only thing she could hear me say was "mama, mama, mama" in harsh, gasping breaths.

I am an avid reader and often wondered at the many descriptive phrases I would come across. Today, I can tell you that one actually does double over with pain. The world can come to a stop and the floor does fall away from beneath one's feet. They are not just phrases. They are words waiting to find the right circumstances to come alive.

During our stay in PICU, we saw several other children come and go. One of them seemed to be in particularly bad shape and what stood out was the sheer devotion his mother had towards him. The child was older, around 11-12 years old and among other reasons, why I remember him was that his name was Aryan. One of the nurses had jokingly remarked that the only two patients in PICU had such similar sounding names - Aarav and Aryan.

Aryan has passed away. A few nights ago I was chatting with one of the nurses and she mentioned him. She sounded upset and said he had passed away the night before. He was 12 years old.

I can't stop thinking about that child. I can't stop imagining what his mother must be going through. I can only pray that she finds the strength to get through not only facing but also having her worst fear come true.