Don't let me die...

"Puchu...I am not feeling well.", Nisha dumped her handbag on the couch and sat down on the arm of his chair.
"Must be the food we had in China Haus last night", Pushkar didnt take his eyes off the editorial in Economic times.
" No...its not that. I have constantly been having this giddy feeling. And today after lunch, I suddenly couldn't see anything. Everything was dark for about...hmm..5 seconds maybe. Freaked me out totally..."
Pushkar carefully folded the paper and put it away. A deep frown was burrowing into his forehead. Nisha was watching him with asking eyes.
He smiled..."Dont worry...guess its time to see the doctor..."

******

Dr. Mehta was in his office. The last patient had been a psychosomatic guy in his 60's who kept concocting strange symptoms and demanding stranger medicines. Dr Mehta had scribbled all possible placebos he could think of in his scrawny writing on the prescription. And just to make sure that the guy doesnt return, he had charged him a very hefty fee.
He buzzed the receptionist to usher in the next patient. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his temples with his weary fingers.
Nisha peeped in with a very nervous look "Good morning doctor"
A broad smile spread across his face. A doctor's smile.

******

"Hello...Rajesh...I need you to do a MRI for patient no #102. And send me the report by this evening. Yeah..on the way there."
Rajesh Kumar Tripathi put down the receiver. Life in the MRI and CT scan department was extremely graphic. He loved the fact that he could read people's minds.
He smiled at his own pun and got up from his seat. Patient 102 would be just on his way. Or maybe...it wasn't a his. It could be a her...a beautiful single girl in her 20s. Pushing his luck a bit too far...she could be from UP...maybe Allahabad..he gave himself 15% chances that she was a Brahmin....
"Excuse me...I was scheduled to get a MRI done now..."
He mentally scratched out number 102 from his list. Maybe 103 would be 'the one'.
Silently he escorted Nisha to the inner chamber for the scan.

******

The lights in the pathology department were off ,save for one room. Ishani Khan was poring over the slides through the microscope. She had to send the results to Dr. Mehta before she left. She was concentrating hard..trying to block the distress signals that her stomach was sending her. The very thought of having a pizza out of a carton, surrounded by the little red-capped bottles with samples of body fluids and body wastes alike was so unappetising. Just two more slides and then she would be done.
"Dr.Mehta...yeah Ishani here. I just checked the slides. Its malignant. No Dr. Mehta...there is no element of doubt. Its a case that even an intern would identify.
Okay Dr. Mehta..have a great evening."
The final light in the department went out.

******

"But Dr.Mehta ....its very clear. The tumor is so big...we have to operate immediately. In fact, I am shocked that she didn't show any symptoms before. Its really weird."
"Dr. Ryan...isn't there any other way out ? I mean...we have seen cases like this before and the chances of the patient recovering from the operation are very low.
What..what chances would you give her?"
"See Dr. Mehta...going by the years of experience that you have had with such cases...I dont think you need my opinion. But I would say...without the operation, she has about a month. With the operation, maybe about a year or so.
"But what if..during the operation...."
"Its all a game of dice..."

******

"Okay Pucchu....what is the doctor's verdict? Listen...I am a strong person...I can take it....tell it to me"
"Its going to an operation...on next Saturday..thats 15th I guess...a major operation.....but nothing to worry"
"Oh...I see.....is it a hammoraege ?"
"No..its a tumor."
Nisha turned away from Pushkar and moved towards the open window. She didnt know if it was the cold wind or the word 'tumor' that sent the chills down her spine

******

"What is it Pucchu?"
"Its nothing dear...just a document which says that I take responsibility for whatever happens in the operation...a responsibility that I take as your husband. Just a formality..."
Pushkar signed on the dotted line. It was not the first time that he was taking responsiblity for somebody else's life. And yet he couldn't get himself to do it.

******

Dr. Mehta put on his gown. He scrubbed his hands one last time and put on the gloves. The nurse holding out the gloves was avoiding all eye contact with him.
He was a much revered and feared figure at the hospital.
Nisha looked very frail in the hospital clothes. The anastheisist was just explaining to Nisha how it is to be under anasthesia when Dr. Mehta walked in. Dr. Ryan was already there in the operation theater.
"Okay? So you clear ? Alright then...here we go...just the prick of a needle."
The anasthesia was fast closing Nisha's eyes. All she could see were blobs of colours around her..in a hazy blur.
Just before she closed her eyes..she held onto Dr. Mehta's sleeve.
"Don't let me die", she whispered. And then she was still...the rhythmic breathing the only sign of life in her.

******

The red bulb outside the operation theater went out. Dr. Ryan walked out, followed by the anasthesist and the intern assisting at the operation. The frustration was writ large over the intern's face...while Dr. Ryan's face was a hardened mask. Years of surgical practice had set his features into an impassive mould. Inside the operation theater, the nurse was trying to go about her job in her usual manner. But it was difficult for her...she had never seen Dr. Mehta this way.
Dr. Mehta was holding onto the pale hand sticking out from under the sheet...the only part of the body exposed to the outside world...pale and lifeless.
He was saying over and over again "Iam sorry I couldn't save you Nisha...but I tried.....I didnt want to let you die."

Dr. Pushkar Mehta (fondly called Pucchu by his family) had failed to save his most difficult patient...his wife.