A satoric tryst with death

It was a busy day as usual at our outstation clinic. As part of my job, I used to travel the second weekend of every month to see patients at our outstation holistic healing clinic situated 250 km away from our mother institution. Our medical team would camp at the clinic for the two days where the number of patients would be between 300 to 350. Naturally, all of us physicians and paramedical staff would be completely drained by evening. To unwind and replenish after all the exertion, we would go out to dinner on Sundays before returning home.

That day, we had decided on a small local food joint famous for its signature chicken fry. We were famished and the mouthwatering aroma that wafted through the air only made us all the more impatient and when the first plate of the delicious dish arrived, we scampered like little children to get a piece (the little joys of being in a profession you love with colleagues of your own wavelength). I succeeded in procuring the best piece and greedily dug into the juicy flesh. The fun and frolic had just begun when I suddenly felt a piercing, sharp pain in my throat. A piece of bone had got stuck somewhere inside. I impulsively clutched my neck and tried to catch people’s attention above all the noise in that dingy restaurant. I frantically gestured with my hands for help as I couldn’t move my lips. After what seemed like a lifetime, people took notice. Amongst the shocked faces, the first one to jump to action was my junior physician. She forced me

to drink a glass of water. The waiter panicked and gave me a banana (a grandma’s remedy) which I gulped despite the agonising pain. Another junior physician tried the Heimlich manoeuver (the technique to dislodge stuck foreign bodies). My eyes welled up and my bladder burst. I felt embarrassed as my clothes and chair got soaked with urine. All hell had broken loose. 

In the drama that ensued, I soon found myself at a local hospital but it being a Sunday night, there were no surgeons on duty. The sole resident physician tried to depress my tongue to get a view of the throat. The bone dislodged and travelled further down which only augmented my agony. I wet my clothes all over again, but this time, I felt no embarrassment. The young physician panicked and gave up. We went to three more hospitals that night but there were no surgeons on call anywhere. Finally, it took all the good offices of my boss, to pull some strings and arrange for an emergency surgery at one of the most reputed multispecialty hospitals in the district.

By then, I was on a downward spiral, breathless and gasping for air. In the pre-operative ward, a junior surgeon showed me the position of the stuck bone on the scans; it was on the cricoid cartilage, next to the vocal cord. She quickly explained the procedure of the endoscopic surgery that would be done in a few minutes. The staff nurse then wheeled me into the operation theatre and asked me to lie down on the surgical table but I couldn’t tilt my neck backwards due to the critical position of the bone. The kind nurse helped me into a comfortable sitting position and went out to inform the surgical team, leaving me alone in the theatre for a few minutes. My eyes soaked in the disinfected room and all the surgical instruments which would be used on me in a short while. A shudder went up my spine awakening me to three possibilities: I may come out like nothing ever happened, I may come out with permanently damaged vocal cords, or I may simply never come out of the surgery. Just the previous week, a similar case had occurred in a nearby mall where a lady had collapsed and died on the surgical table.  

This was a moment of satori! ‘Hey Gal, these could be the last moments of your life on earth. Are you frightened?’ I asked myself. Faces flashed across my mind; of my son who would be orphaned, my bedridden parents who were dependent on me, my supportive siblings and their families who always stood by me through the worst phases of my life, and my sir, who has been my mentor in both professional and personal lives. I asked myself if I wanted to see any of them for just one more time. The answer came as a calm no! Did I regret any of my life’s decisions? Did I fear death and the unknown realms after that? The answer was again a calm but emphatic no. 

Right then, I experienced the true meaning of the word ‘serenity’. It was the most beautiful moment of my entire life. I smiled inwardly and wondered why this ultimate truth called death is such a frightening prospect for all. I had read stories of near-death experiences where people had beautiful encounters. However, they were all comatose people, transitioning through to another realm of existence and back. Here I was fully conscious and aware of everything around me. As a physician, I have witnessed many of my terminallyill patients wailing and wishing for a few more years on earth. To my amazement, I felt no such yearning. I made myself comfortable on the cot with a chant from the Holy Quran on my lips. I felt immensely grateful for every moment spent on earth till date. Death seemed like just a transition and not an end to anything. There was a profound realisation that all loved ones are on the other side waiting to get reunited in the eternal tapestry of the universe. It was like a call to that goal of lasting peace and joy, the promised land talked about in every spiritual literature. I was ever ready for my transition.

As the anaesthetist closed in on my face, I promised myself that if I were to open my eyes to this world again, I would write about this beautiful tryst with death.