Sigh of Relief, by Sanjukta Paul, Kolkata

Born and raised in Kolkata, West Bengal, and currently residing in Mumbai, Maharashtra, Sanjukta is a simple yet a dedicated person.

It was 9 p.m. My phone rang. There was nothing abnormal about my phone ringing at night, but somehow my heart skipped a beat. My dad had not been keeping well for the past couple of days, and I had been in constant correspondence with my mom regarding his health. 

Sure enough, I heard my mom’s nervous voice on the other side informing me that my dad’s blood oxygen saturation had been falling since the afternoon, and that currently the pulse oximeter read 89%. I had suspected my dad was COVID positive since he fell ill, but now, I was sure of it. He needed immediate attention.  

My father-in-law, my husband, and I started enquiring about ICU beds at several hospitals across Kolkata. But unfortunately, after two or three hours of making endless calls, we could not manage to find a single available bed. Being from a family of many doctors on both sides, I had never before had to worry about managing healthcare facilities for myself or my family members. The coronavirus pandemic is a different ballgame altogether. Even after exhausting numerous sources and going through scores of medical connections, my worst nightmare had come true.

At around midnight, we were finally able to arrange an ICU bed, and my husband and I ventured out of our home in an attempt to reach my parents. Since our area was restricted, as part of a containment zone, we had to walk a considerable distance in torrential rain to reach our parked car. By the time we reached my dad, his condition had deteriorated, and his blood oxygen saturation level had dropped to 70%. I had experience in handling such cases and immediately knew that my he could not travel alone in the ambulance without supervision. Donning my PPE and carrying a hand sanitizer, I stepped into the ambulance with my dad, and we started for the hospital.

Initially, he was taken to the emergency room, and we were slightly relieved that he was being medically attended to. Famished and exhausted, we could finally afford a wry smile, thinking that the worst might be over. We could not have been more wrong. Within half an hour, the hospital authorities informed us that my father’s initial assessment had revealed that his condition was much more serious than we had anticipated. The hospital’s ICU facilities were not equipped to handle such cases, and they could not admit him. 

I stood on the sidewalk at 2:30 a.m., drenched from the rain, crying my eyes out, thinking, after having treated and cured hundreds of patients, COVID and others, how could I not save my father? 

My husband had frantically started calling up all the other hospitals and reaching out to his medical connections, in the hope of a miracle. After an hour, one of my father’s associates informed us that he had arranged for a temporary ICU bed, and we needed to move my father immediately. We rushed to the other hospital with renewed hope and thankfully were not disappointed. A bed was ready for my dad, and the staff and doctors were already informed about his condition. With a sigh of relief, I saw my him being wheeled into the ICU, and somehow, I knew that he would be fine.

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(This story was prepared for an “Imagine Another World” online storytelling workshop held October 16, 2020.)

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