The Reminder by Murad M. Khan (guest writer)
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| Illustration / Photo-credit: Saniya Kamal |
'Any man's death diminishes me
Because I am involved in
mankind.
And therefore never send to know
For whom the bell tolls
It tolls for thee'
- John Donne 1571-1631
Some things are meant never to be
forgotten. Some things are meant to remain imprinted in one's memory long after
the event has passed. Some things have such a profound effect on one that
witnessing them changes one's life forever. Many years ago I was witness to
such a happening. I have never forgotten it. It has remained imprinted on my
memory. And- it changed my life forever....
Fate, it seems, conjures in all sorts
of ways for us to be in a certain place at a certain time. More than twenty
years ago, fate intervened in my life and I found myself on the tiny
Mediterranean island of Malta. You see, when I graduated from the Dow Medical
College, Karachi the Pakistan Army wanted me to serve in their ranks for two
years. I thought otherwise. In Malta the island's doctors and the government
were locked in a dispute in which the then government of Mr. Dom Mintoff wanted
the doctors to sign some sort of a bond regarding their work practice. The
doctors thought otherwise. Not finding a way out of the dispute many of the
doctors had left the island; others not permitted to work in the government
hospitals. Only a small number were allowed to work at St. Luke's Hospital, the
island’s only teaching hospital.
In Pakistan when I found out that
Malta required doctors I was unaware of any problem on the island nor did I
know the background to it. I only wanted to get out of Pakistan before the Army
caught hold of me, put me in uniform and post me on some outpost on the
foothills of the Himalayas! So when the opportunity to work in Malta came along
I grabbed it with both hands.
Karin Grech was fifteen years old.
She was the daughter of Professor Grech- head of the department of Obstetrics
& Gynecology at St. Luke's Hospital and one of the few doctors who retained
his position at the hospital. Karin had been studying in England but had come
home for her Christmas vacations. A few days before Christmas someone sent her
father a parcel bomb. Karin happened to open it.
In the middle of the ward round on
the surgical floor we were told to rush down to the casualty..…
Sitting alone in my room that night,
going over the events of the day, I tried desperately to make sense of what I
had witnessed. Try as I might, I could not. I was confused, angry, sad,
depressed and numb. And I cried. I could not understand how one human being
could inflict such horrific injuries on another. I wanted to erase from my
mind's eye what I had seen. I wanted it to be as though nothing had happened.
As though what I had gone through had been nothing but a bad dream from which I
would soon wake up.
But the more I thought about it the
more I realized that there had to be some purpose, some sense even in
an apparently senseless and wanton act like this. After all, it was fate that
had taken me from Pakistan, brought me to Malta and made me rush down to the
casualty ward of St. Luke’s Hospital on that fateful day. Surely all this
couldn't have happened by chance or mere coincidence? But what was the moral,
what was the lesson in this for me? Indeed, was there one?
Having spent the better part of the
night thinking about the events of the day, the answer came to me in the early
hours of the next morning. I had been a doctor only a few months. Yet, so early
on in my career I had been witness to a young human being's suffering of the
extreme kind. Rather than try and forget what I had witnessed, I had to make
sure that it remained fresh in my mind so that at every turn, at every corner
in my life I would be reminded- not of Karin's injuries or her suffering but of
the frailty of human life, of man's inhumanity to man and of that vital,
essential element of human existence we so often forget- that despite what we
may think of ourselves, in the grand scheme of things human beings have but a
tiny, insignificant part to play. I had to remember this for the rest of my
life. As a doctor, who would deal with all kinds of sufferings I had to use
this incident as a reference point in my life. I was to make sure that at least
for one person this young girl's suffering would not be in vain.
The moment the realization dawned on
me I decided to put down on paper what I had witnessed and experienced in the
casualty ward the day before. The words are now more than twenty years old but
even today when I read them it seems as though I wrote them only yesterday.
This is what I wrote.....
“You passed at a time when youth's
morning was just touching it's evening. When I first saw you, you were just a
tangled mass of blood, flesh and bones. Yet, a few minutes ago you must have
been a happy, vibrant, full of life fifteen year old. What happened in those
few minutes is now history.
I never knew you, Karin, except when
I stepped in the cubicle where they had placed you in. Yet in those few
precious minutes I was with you, I developed a special feeling for you.
I never spoke to you yet I knew
through your soft moaning you were trying to reach out and tell me
something.
Your delicate hand now hanging so
precariously by a few tendons and nerves must have picked many a flower or done
many a beautiful drawing.
Your pretty face now full of shrapnel
wounds and so horrific to look at must have attracted many a young man.
Your gentle blue eyes, now blood shot
and moving lazily must have seen many a beautiful sunset
Your ear now missing from its place
must have heard many a bird's song
Your beautiful body now lying
lifelessly must have swayed to music at many a disco or a party
Your tender legs now lying listlessly
and looking so strange with needles and tubes sticking out from them must
have run many a time after the spring air
You lie there, Karin, moaning softly,
moving slowly, each breath an agony, each heartbeat a challenge, as they try to
fight off the inevitable ".
Karin was taken to the operating
theater, although it was obvious from her injuries that she had virtually no chance
of surviving. The whole of her anterior abdominal wall had almost completed
vanished from the intensity of the bomb blast. She was bleeding profusely- both
from the inferior vena cava as well as the aorta, her abdominal organs floating
in a pool of blood. Incredibly though, she was alive- hanging on to life by the
slimmest of chances. It was as if God was keeping her alive long enough for us
– for me, to witness the spectre, so that it may remain etched in my mind and
change my life forever.
In the operation theatre Mr. Apap
Bologna, Mr. Felice and I scrubbed for the operation. Dr. Azzopardi tried to
anaesthetize her. But where was one to begin? What was one to do in such a
situation? It was hopeless. Thankfully her agony ended within the next few seconds
and Karin Grech passed into history.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
Today, as I practice psychiatry in Pakistan, dealing with human suffering of a
somewhat different kind, the time I spent in Malta seems a distant past. Yet I
am frequently reminded of my brief, but fateful encounter with the brave young
Maltese girl who in her death gave me a lesson for life.
CREDITS:
About
the Author: Dr. Murad M. Khan MRCPsych, PhD is Professor of Psychiatry at AKU. He
holds special interest and expertise in Bioethics and Narrative Medicine /
Reflective Writing. You may read his previous narrative here.
About the Reviewer: Dr. Rija Rehan, AKU MBBS Class of 2015, is a budding psychiatrist. She's also interested in
the performing arts, astronomy, literature, singing badly and celebrating the
many beauties of life.
Illustration
/ Photo-credit: Saniya Kamal, AKU MBBS Class of 2018, is curious about life, the
universe, and everything in between. She hopes to become a neurologist, pursue
art, popularize meta-fiction, conquer the world and stay happy.
Editorial
Note: This
is from a series collected as part of the Narrative Medicine Workshop at AKU on
January 20th, 2016. The editorial work was performed by the
Writers’ Guild, an interest group at AKU, with the purpose to promote love
of reflective reading and writing, within and outside of
AKU.
DISCLAIMER: Copyright belongs to the author. This blog
cannot be held responsible for events bearing overt resemblance to any actual
occurrences.
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