12 August 2010. Looks like payback time for the lifestyle choices made all through one's life. Knowingly. So no regrets.
But, before cutting and chopping, perhaps some more previews of the precious angio-graphic film are in order. We give ourselves two weeks and set out, avec la famille, to present it to half a dozen prominent cardiologists and surgeons.
A surgeon we meet loves the film so much, he sings along to the action on the screen drumming his fingers to the beat. He calls up the referring cardiologist and, without missing a beat, goes
“O.K. I have seen it. There are at least three grafts that I can see. But it’s a mess. I’ll have to take a final call when he is on the table. Probably end up grafting everything in sight.” Then turning to us, drumming incessantly, “You heard that. Any questions?” None now. Perhaps later. Can we call him? “Mr. Manchanda the moment you step out I will not remember your case.”
We love the guy. As we leave him knowing we will never see him again, he fires a parting salvo “Please don’t trust any cost estimates my hospital gives you. Just add 50%."
Next we call on a cardiologist friend who looked after us for many years. Those who know both of us think that we drove the poor soul away from regular practise into the relative sanity of medical research. Not wholly true. He is rabidly anti knife. His reaction: “If you go to a fish monger what do you expect him to sell you but fish? Dr. X is the guy I would trust to find a way around surgery, if there is one. Go see him. If he says you need surgery, you do.”
So we did as bid. Dr. X said we did indeed need surgery.
No way to bypass the bypass, we call up the Manipal Hospital, talk again to Surgeon One and fix a date. These are the people we are most comfortable with, and they have been endorsed by our friends in the medical profession.
Surgeon One tells us that all we need to do before going in is organise four units of blood. While it is not really needed during the procedure nowadays, it is collected as a measure of abundant caution. The man offers to be a standby donor, if we run short of donors.
Well wishers chip in
While all this is happening, friends and relatives, as also those in it faar-de-faanner-fit, write, call, visit or all three. Everyone has a story. Their own, or second hand. Almost all positive.
Our sole brother had bypass surgery some ten years ago. Our sole brother-in-law had two angioplasties some twenty years ago. He comes in from Chandigarh to be with the family.
An old college friend’s wife calls from Calcutta. From her personal experience on both sides we learn that it is much easier being inside the OT rather than outside. We are in because we have earned the privilege or been blessed with it. Anyway we are under anaesthesia. Those outside have done nothing to be there, are worried sick and have no idea what is happening inside.
An old college friend’s wife calls from Calcutta. From her personal experience on both sides we learn that it is much easier being inside the OT rather than outside. We are in because we have earned the privilege or been blessed with it. Anyway we are under anaesthesia. Those outside have done nothing to be there, are worried sick and have no idea what is happening inside.
Another lady visits and regales us with stories of failed open heart procedures. This includes the hilarious tale of a bloke declared successful who suddenly decides to give up the ghost after two uneventful days in the ICU. She has us in splits.
We prepare a will and brief the family on what to do if.
We prepare a will and brief the family on what to do if.
Like a vacation
Going in for a medical procedure is like going on a beach vacation. You don’t need any clothes.The latest wife, however, like all good Indian wives on a beach vacation, needs to pack practical but modest garments for the duration.
It’s sold as a package. Ten days. All found. Price depends on type of accommodation. Luxe block has more staff per bed. Attached bath. Fresh linen daily. Dedicated pantry. Room service on demand. Horrible food.
30 August 2010. We check in. Allotted the same suite we had for the angiography earlier. Received by the very same Florence One who had processed us then. In no time there is a parade of people coming in to check blood pressure, draw BUS samples, and carry out ECG etc. For some tests the labs won't come to us. We are wheeled out for a sightseeing tour of labs, escorted by Kusum. One lab is in the basement next to the mortuary. Just a reminder.
A dietician drops in as does the anaesthetist. Everyone is relieved we are not diabetic. Small favours gratefully received.
Somewhere along the line a moustachioed bloke turns up, demanding that we strip. He then unpockets a razor and proceeds to relieve us of body hair from neck to toe. It takes six blades. About three blades through, Surgeon One peers around the curtain between the living room and the bed room with a loud “Hello Anil”. This is followed rapidly by “Sorry, will come back later”. Followed by equally rapid exit stage left.
Through all this, No. 1 Son Alok is donating blood and co-ordinating with some half dozen donors. Mostly his friends. Including one young lad who very nicely comes up and wishes us good luck. And a remarkable, also remarkably attractive, young woman who happens to come in with someone and decides to donate. We do not get to meet or thank her. The only donor we know is young Abha Jhol, daughter of an old college friend.
Meanwhile, a couple of good friends are nice enough to come by and keep Kusum company. Making sure the two men in her life haven’t driven her completely bonkers. Yet.
The Man Himself
Towards the evening, Surgeon One drops in with his retinue. He spends a few minutes briefing us on what to expect the following day. We are relaxed before he starts. By the time he is done it begins to look like a picnic.
He then dismisses his staff and settles down to general chit chat. We agree that it is not easy to organise a family vacation when the wife loves shopping, the teen daughter is interested in ancient civilisations and you want to chill out in pleasant open spaces and beautiful landscapes. And how wives really do not understand that an emergency surgery is more important than a dinner date.
He then dismisses his staff and settles down to general chit chat. We agree that it is not easy to organise a family vacation when the wife loves shopping, the teen daughter is interested in ancient civilisations and you want to chill out in pleasant open spaces and beautiful landscapes. And how wives really do not understand that an emergency surgery is more important than a dinner date.
This diverting interlude is followed by a Gandhian enema. The day ends with a hot purifying bath. We are not sure if we are given a relaxant but we sleep well through the night. Dreamlessly.
P.S. There are many reasons to neither confirm nor deny the existence of a Pre-CAB club.
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