The Longest Few Minutes

Disoriented, I look around. Where am I? Why are there so many people around? I can see them discussing something, but why can’t I hear them? A worried someone leans close to my face and says something. Who is he? What is he trying to convey?
He jolts me and the one thing that proves I am sane and breathing is the excruciating pain that follows the movement of my body. I scream in agony, but no words, no sound come out. I am drenched… in sweat, tears, or was that blood?

Then the realisation strikes – I am on a gurney… or a stretcher… or a hospital bed!

The pain drags me back to consciousness, forcing me to focus on my surroundings and the mob gathered around me, speaking in hushed tones, discussing me as though I’m not even there. I am hurt. Badly hurt. It pains everywhere – inside out.

I can now recognise a few faces – very panicky, very worried ones, of my husband and my brothers! A team of doctors, nurses, and attendants rush in. They start checking my wounds, my pulse, blood pressure, oxygen levels, etc. Someone rushes for an oxygen mask and straps it onto my face. I am wheeled into a room.

I see the doctor consoling my husband, probably explaining my condition. I have never seen my husband so helpless – his eyes laden with salt, threatening to spill into a tsunami if provoked any further. To be frank, he doesn’t look good this way. The ‘angry, aloof man look’ suits him better.

But wait! What is all this confusion and emotional outburst about? Am I really going to die?

No, no. I haven’t lived enough to journey into the nether world. Oh God, you must have sent me into this world with some purpose, right? I don’t think I’ve completed it yet. So please spare me a little longer. I need to see my kids. I haven’t hugged them goodbye.

What? Goodbye? No, I’m not going anywhere.

My husband, my kids, my brothers, my father—they’ll all miss me. My father – how will he bear to see his favourite child leave him so soon? Yes, I am his favourite child, and how jealous my brothers used to be of me and how much I loved showing it off. My mother smacked me many times for that.

Anyway, now I can join her up there when I’m gone and keep bickering with her for a long time – the one thing I missed the most after she left. I realised only after losing her how much I loved her and how badly I failed to express it. I can finally tell her personally when I meet her.

Hey, hey! What is making my mind run so wild? My mother wouldn’t mind waiting for her hugs from me. I don’t want to leave this world yet.

In the midst of my incoherent thoughts, I see the doctor approaching me. He says my condition is a bit critical. How critical, I want to ask…but the mask only responds by blowing vapours like smug signals.

Doc says I have multiple complications and that they’re going to prep me to go under the knife. My head starts generating all the wrong ideas. I barely hear what the doctor says next.

Did he say knife? What knife?

He assures my husband that the surgeon is an expert and will bring me home safe. But surgery? A knife? The whole world knows I’m scared of needles…and you’re going to cut me open and stitch me back?

No way!

I howl at the top of my voice. I thrash, jerk, and roll. People all around try to restrain me. And then I see the needle. No, no…they’re going to knock me out!

With all my might, I push and kick the people around me. They seem to fly like villains in a movie, and for once, I relish the stardom of being the hero. But every movie has a climax, even if it’s not of your choosing.

The inertia of my push and kick throws me off the bed I was lying on. With great pain and shock, I lift my head – only to see the stunned and furious face of my husband, who had been ruthlessly kicked off the bed in the wee hours of dawn.