"Sir. Your patient is ready." - Morton.

 

I want to tell you a story. It may seem like a fairy tale. In many ways, it is. It is a journey that zigzags across all the corners of the globe over dozens of centuries, featuring saints and sceptics, sleeping chickens and screaming men.

This, my dear friends, is the story of how your stay in the hospital became painless.

'Pain was, and would always be an inevitable part of surgery.' 

- Liston's 1842 edition of Elements of Surgery. 

As late as 1842, Liston's book on surgery made sure that budding surgeons learned this by heart and became indifferent to the screams and cries of the patients as they were cut upon. In the centuries prior to that, man had not given up hope though their methods left a lot to be desired. Today, it may seems ridiculous to even think of such options but once upon a time, to make sure the patient did not scream while surgery was being performed, the options available to the surgeon were very different. To sample a few :

• The patient was strangled till he suffocated and lost unconsciousness... and surgery was performed. 
• The patient was beaten on the head with a club till he lost consciousness... and surgery was performed.
• Hallucinogenic drugs were force-fed to the patient till he had no idea which universe he was in... and surgery was performed.
• The patient was given alcohol till he was really drunk... and well, you know the rest.
• 'Refrigeration' where ice was placed along the places to be cut till it was numb. Effective... till you ran out of ice. Would have really helped to have a refrigerator back in the 13th century, I guess.
• The popular 'Ten people held the screaming man' while the surgeon cuts him open.

Ten Shades of Life : The Book Launch

Thanks in no small measure to the efforts of Fablery and the hard work and effort put in by editor Nethra Anjanappa, Fablery's first anthology of short stories, Ten Shades of Life, featuring contest winners across ten different genres was officially launched on the 4th of May in Bangalore.

The venue was the newly renovated Atta Galatta bookstore in Koramangala (a stone's throw away from Empire Hotel, a really good stone's throw away from Forum Mall!) which provided a very cozy and personal atmosphere for the launch.

(Left to Right: Shankar(co-author), Nethra(editor), Preeti Shenoy(author, The Secret Wishlist), 

Vinaya(co-author), Karthik(co-author), me(mua) and Supraja Pulla(Fablery)

India's best-selling author, Preeti Shenoy, was kind enough to grace the occasion with her presence and officially launched the book. (On a personal note: Years back, in 2008, I had been there at the book launch of her first book, '34 Bubblegums and Candies', in Pune. It was the first book launch I had ever been to and it felt great to see her and her lovely family again after so many years and have her be a part of this event.)

The Importance of Being Honest

Last month, there was an incident in the hospital I work in. A young girl, not more than 5 years old, accompanied by her parents came to our hospital with an apparent injury to her eye. There was obvious internal bleeding localised to a section of her eye, suggestive of an incident of trauma, though her parents denied any injurious event. As an anaesthetist, my role was to elicit any significant history from the local guardians and inform them of the anaesthesia I would be providing as the child was not likely to sit still during the procedure.

While asking her parents the routine questions, I was getting the usual 'nothing wrong' answer from her parents and was pretty much just ticking boxes on the form. When I asked them if their child had been admitted previously in any hospital for any other illness, the parents promptly said no and I looked down to tick the relevant box out of habit. As I looked up, I noticed the child looking at her parents and pointing towards her knee. The parents motioned for her to keep quiet. 9 out of 10 times, I would not have even looked up from the sheet I was filling. 99 out of a 100 times, it would have probably not even registered on my radar. But this time, it did. And doing so saved us all - the parents, the child and the hospital - from a catastrophe.

Ruby 1999-2013

I have written over four and a half lakh words in this blog over the last seven and a half years. And yet, I find I don't have the right words to describe what I'm feeling within my heart.

Ruby was put to sleep today after suffering complications related to her advancing age. We prayed for a miracle that never came. From her part, she too showed her love and resolve till the end. Even with no food or water within her stomach for nearly a week, she still stumbled and climbed up the stairs to sleep for a last time upstairs for a few hours as was her routine all these years. She still found the strength in her to accompany my mom for one last walk across the entire compound of the house to make sure there were no intruders who could harm us.
I want to say what's in my heart, but you wouldn't get it... how hard it is just to write just this much. You wouldn't understand why this is the end of an era for me and my family. She was the first dog born in our house, the last in a family tree in our house that dates back to her father's arrival in 1995. In a lifetime that has seen many wild animals disguised as human beings, she was the one constant in our lives that showed us that God still knew to put compassion in his creations. 

Featured in Indian Express - Mumbai & Pune edition.

Click for the full size picture.

Here are the links to the epaper Indian Express edition (of Mumbai and Pune) of Rohan Swamy's article on first-time authors and the exciting diversity they bring to the growing trend of short-story anthologies.

P.S. It goes without saying that I will soon be levying taxes for reading my blog. 

Which reminds me... none of you paid the taxes I levied last time (Rs 5 per visit with Rs 3 for refreshing page). Sigh. Such a corrupt nation, I tell 'ya.

P.P.S. For those who are wondering : Yes. That is me in the picture (cough cough) standing on the bike. 

The colours I never saw

“What do you mean, colours?”
For a moment, I think he hasn’t heard me. I imagine him standing there, his eyes focused on what lies beyond those windows.
“How old were you when you lost your vision?”
“Seven.” I reply.
“What colours do you remember?” I close my eyes. At first, there is only a familiar darkness. But then, the palette starts to brighten.
I see my mom’s wavy hair ..” Yellow” I whisper.
My toy car….”Red”
The beaches … “Blue”
“They’re all there, child” I hear his words, but the catch in his voice is even more audible.
“Why are you crying?”
I feel him bend down and place his arms around me, hugging me tightly, as the sounds outside grow nearer. “Imagine all those wonderful colours together”
“Like a rainbow?” “No. Even more splendid. The whole sky is just painted in all these lovely colours. Can you see it ?”
I keep my eyes closed and slowly all the colours start to appear. They flutter around, coalescing with each other indiscriminately. They envelop me within their vibrancy and I am one with them.
“Yes. Yes I see it.” I feel his cheeks widen as he smiles A moment later, the missile hits our building. I hear its deafening fury and feel the scorching heat but I see it not. In my eyes, I see only the last image my Abba painted for me.
They are the most beautiful images I have ever seen.

Authors note :  The above post, my attempt at short fiction, was first published in Tamarind Rice for the theme 'Colours', a fun free e-magazine where I will be a guest writer cook. Well, it's kind of like the animated movie 'Ratatouille' and like Alfredo Linguini, I'll be allowed to contribute till the creative heads there realise the truth - that a rat could do a better job than me! 

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