Today was the day when God showed me the brevity of life. I met Suman (a friend of mine) and we went to T.U. Teaching hospital to see his younger brother’s wife. She was in the Emergency room. Everyday in that room costs around 30,000 Nepali rupees. That was a scary sight indeed. A room filled with people who show almost no signs of life. And here she lies in the corner bed. Helpless thin body covered with a green blanket. Air pipes, Ivs and 3-4 different size syringes waiting to be injected. The lady lying on bed is 21 years old. Her eyes are half closed so that you can see the whites. The life support machine keeps beeping. We pray for her once in English. I feel empty. I then pray second time in Russian and touch her cold hand. Still nothing. Then we leave the room. Suman and his brother ask my advice on what to do. Doctors said that they can hold her here for maximum of 3 more days. Brothers ask my advice on whether it is ok to take her home to Nepaljgunj. I can not hold myself from tears. Doctor said that she can die today in 2-3 hours. I go back to my life routine with a deep heaviness.
Now I wonder how doctors feel in the hospitals. They see death so often. It is like an everyday routine for them. As I find out that my kids got that and that mark at school, so they each day count the number of people that came to their hospital, stayed there, payed some money and then either recovered or passed way. Pass away is a nice euphemism for death. The word itself cuts our ear. We hate it, we don’t want to hear it, and we feel as if we swallowed a glass full of ice when it touches us or our close ones. The chill of death. That’s what I felt today.
And where is the escape? So far the only consolation is faith in Christ, or the person of Christ Himself who is stronger than death, who conquered death on the Cross of Calvary. The Gospel which promises the ressurection and life eternal with Christ and life eternal are the only true hope for Christians. Right now the only consolation is John Donne’s poetry. Here is the full poem.
DeathDEATH, be not proud, though some have called theeMighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrowDie not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;And soonest our best men with thee do go–Rest of their bones and souls’ delivery!Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;And poppy or charms can make us sleep as wellAnd better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then?One short sleep past, we wake eternally,And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
P.S. That lady died same day. I forgot to say that that was both kidneys failure.