The Post-operative Ward

The post-operative ward was, as usual, buzzing with activity and beeping with monitors. There were also patients moaning in their sedated state, while some others had regained consciousness and were groaning with pain being unable to move or turn sides. The nurses were on their feet attending to one or the other patient and also restricting the movement of visitors. Theirs was a thankless but responsible and strenuous job which ranged between getting hold of an ayah to keep the bedpan, or fetch a kidney tray for someone puking; arranging food for those who were off fluids and had to be given some other diet; accompanying the doctors on their rounds and taking note of all changes in treatment; raising an indent for the pharmacy….. When they found time to have their food is anybody’s guess.

Having had my knees replaced just that morning, I had been wheeled into this ward in the afternoon. Having gained consciousness towards evening, I was happy to glean sight of my daughter who somehow managed to enter the ward. The emotions that run within one during such a predicament have to be experienced to be understood. Lying on the bed with a leg seeming to be made of iron which you could not move even an inch, with a drain in between the legs and a catheter hanging by the side of the bed, surrounded by patients of all ages who have undergone surgery, each cut off from the other by a thin curtain; are all things you would not wish to go through again.

When my daughter came to see me, I would have loved to hug her but with the latest protocol in force, she sanitised her hands before coming to see me and kept a safe distance. I had to tell her many things, but seeing her made me forget what I wished to say! I inquired whether she had eaten, but she brushed that question away. “Try to forget others – think of yourself and get well soon”, was her advice. In her presence, my dinner arrived and one of the male nurses took it upon himself to feed me. I felt awkward but he fed me so kindly that I could not refuse. In the meanwhile, a nurse came calling out to all visitors to leave as the doctor would be coming on his rounds. Though the attendants wished to meet the doctor and clarify their doubts, they were all shooed out.

My dinner was over, I kept staring at the ceiling and listening to the cacophony of various sounds in the ward. The patient next to me seemed to be very calm – probably he had not recovered from the anaesthesia. The cardiac surgeon came up to him while the nurse checked his vitals and looked up to the doctor for his instructions. His junior wrote in the chart whatever he dictated and they moved on. There were seven cardiac patients and they visited each of them before leaving. The nurse went back to the nursing station to prepare the order for medicines prescribed by him. Next was the general surgeon’s turn. I was passing my time watching each and everything till I fell asleep.

Well past midnight, I got up a start hearing someone wailing. It was the patient next to me. “Pushpa, Pushpa”, he was shouting. “Where are you going? Don’t leave me alone. Here, they are killing me. They have not given me my food – I am famished. Come, Pushpa, give me something to eat.” One of the nurses very politely and kindly said to him that he could eat solid food only the next morning and that it was only 1.30 a.m., and there was a long way to go. “Oh my God! Nobody is listening to me – here I am starving and no one is caring about a poor old man. Pushpa, only my Pushpa will understand me and my needs. Call her, call her immediately. Aiyao, these people are so heartless, they are not giving me anything to eat. Call her, please, I beg of you. Pushpa, Pushpa, can you not hear me? Please, Pushpa, come back to me.” His voice was so loud and booming, that no one would believe that he had undergone a procedure just a few hours back. The milk which was brought for me was in the flask behind the nurse’s table. I called her and said that she could give it to him as it would not be possible to procure anything for him at such odd hours. She said that drips were on and there was no need for anything now. After a few minutes, he started ranting again and even started cursing the nurses.

Not able to hear it anymore, the nurse relented, poured the milk into a glass and brought it to him. Half-heartedly he drank it all up and started his rambling all over again. Some patients from the other side started grumbling that they were unable to sleep with his shouting, but all that fell on deaf ears. He went on like a broken disc, saying the same thing over and over again.

I was awake all the time and as I was divested of my mobile and wristwatch, could not know what time it was. Just then, I noticed that in the corner of a room, was a wall clock. It showed 2.25 a.m. Attendants were allowed only after 7.30 a.m. I tried my best to go to sleep, but the patient next to me would not permit anybody to sleep in peace.

Time went by very slowly. I thought of striking up a conversation with him so that he would be distracted but he would not listen to me. Further, as his back was turned towards me, I could not see him face to face. When I tried telling him to wait till morning and try to sleep now, he barked at me: “Do you know how much I am suffering? Never in my life have I had to be hungry like this. My Pushpa would never let me know what hunger is. Here I am in such a big hospital and there is not a soul who can give me what I am asking for. I am actually begging, but nobody is hearing me”, he started off.

All others in the room had gotten used to his shouting and covering themselves with pillows and tried to sleep. Somehow, I too fell asleep and woke up when I heard some clanging. My neighbour was the culprit. This time he had mustered enough strength to push away the drips stand which hit the corner of my bed and fell down. Fortunately. as the drips were in plastic sachets and not in glass bottles, there was not much damage done. The nurses and ward boys rushed to set things right and calm him down, but that was not going to happen.  

One of the nurses pretended to make a call to his “Pushpa” and told him that she would come in the morning with food for him. He seemed to be quiet for a moment and then said, “Let me talk to her. If you had her phone number, why did you not call her before? Call her again. I have to speak to her and admonish her. How can she leave her husband in the hands of uncaring people? How can she let me die of starvation?” The clock showed 3.55 a.m. Still, a few more hours to go.

Having secured the drip stand, the nurse went back and got to work. I had hardly closed my eyes when I was rudely woken up. “Madam, I have come to sponge you”. I said “at 4 o’clock?” “Yes”, only if I start now, I can finish before I hand over charge to the next person,” she said and without waiting for my reply, ripped off my blanket as well as the hospital gown. exposing me. I protested and only then, did she draw the curtain. I asked, “What about brushing my teeth? I normally brush my teeth before my bath”. “Yes, another nurse will come for that” she said. While sponging me on one side, she was also changing the bedsheets. If we observe dispassionately, this job calls for special skills! After rolling me this side and that, inconveniencing me in all possible ways, somehow, she was done with her job. 

After about half an hour, another trainee nurse came toward me with a kidney tray with two paper glasses on it. She extended it to me and I was at a loss to understand how and what I should do with it. Only after seeing the contents of the glasses, did I realise that I was to wash my mouth with that minuscule mouthwash in one of the paper glasses, and use the other containing water for me to rinse my mouth! Very economical use of water, I should say. Anyway, that ritual is done, there was still more time to wait. The complaining patient did not tire himself out and went on endlessly. I thought it was truly remarkable for someone to keep on calling his wife for so many hours at a stretch!

Anyway, everything has to come to an end. It was dawn and there was more activity in the ward. The housekeeping staff reported for duty and went about cleaning and mopping. The nurses had about an hour more before a change of duty and they were busy with their paperwork. I called the boy who seemed compassionate and who had fed me the previous night and asked him if he could somehow quieten the patient to my left.

He then bent down to tell me that Pushpa who accompanied him to the hospital for the various check-ups preceding the angioplasty, had tested positive for COVID and had been admitted to the COVID ward of the same hospital. It seems that she was ailing for quite some time before they had come to the hospital and both her lungs had been infected. Even though she had a fever and other symptoms, she had not disclosed anything to anybody as she was keen on getting her husband admitted for treatment. What he then revealed, was truly shocking. At the very moment my neighbour was calling out to Pushpa, she had succumbed to COVID! The hospital authorities tried to contact their next of kin, but apparently, they lived alone as their sons were abroad. A message was sent to them but nobody knew when they would be able to come. 

All of a sudden, there was silence. I turned to see that the neighbouring patient and found him facing me intently listening to what the male nurse was telling me. There was no expression on his face, and his sudden silence was intriguing. The nurse moved to check him, only to realise that he too had left the world to be with his “Pushpa”.