Thursday, July 09, 2015

Death of A Patient

When the first phone came, he was sick with fever and pain in the abdomen. The second call, barely twenty four hours later, told he was dead.

I was shocked. I found it hard to believe. The death was awaiting as it were between two phone calls.

The caller, his son, elaborated: Since you said you would not go to clinic, we took him straight to hospital. The doctor in the emergency administered an injection, and he died then and there.

I didn't detect any hint of complaint in his tone. But I had sort of guilt feeling. After all, he was my long-time patient and always sought my advice when he or any member of his family would fall ill.

But what followed his death was more intriguing. I had this account from my clinical assistant.

As the news of his death spread, the ruling party wanted to pay its last homage to him. He was one of its local leaders but I didn't know about it.  In fact, I thought he was a leftist. May be he he shifted camp after the regime had changed.

It took all of the night to get prepared for the occasion. When the party members shepherded by the local MLA reached the hospital with wreath, flowers and all, the hospital authorities had already shifted the body to the morgue.

So they went to the morgue and retrieved the body from the heap. The body was way swollen and disfigured beyond recognition and what was more, the air around and over it was heavy and smelly and hard to breathe.

It's needless to further go ahead with the narrative.

What a death!


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