Love

There is an Ahma in my ward who lays in her hospital bed by morning light and by night. She doesn't open her eyes unless we open them for her first but she is fair with a chubby face and I can imagine that she must have been great company, a wonderful mother, wife, grandmother. For she is so very much loved. Day after day, at all times of the day, there is family, perhaps one, perhaps all together, sitting on foldable chairs that they bring from home keeping vigil by her bedside. Sponging her face, massaging her calfs, stroking her arms, wiping away the bubbles that she blows in her sleep. Every day during rounds they wear a common protective worried look that may come across as demanding to one seeing them for the first time. Their chairs may intrude on the neighbour patient's space, they may have stolen the opposite patient's "granny chair" for Ahgong to rest more comfortably, and be labelled as "difficult family who deprives other patient of granny chair".

Their care is so observant that they were able to tell the doctors what time it was on an unfortunate day that they noticed the change in Ahma's responsiveness, sharper than our around-the-clock care, alerting us that the change in her mental state may not be due to just sepsis. Also, what is remarkable is how well-informed they are about Ahma's past medical history. This is not surprising as they request for updates during daily morning rounds.

Today it was just before 11 am as I listened to the update given to Ahma's family. They were informed that Ahma had suffered another stroke the day before, so during the exchange they were concerned primarily about her prognosis (not likely to be able to understand and speak again), causes of the new stroke, rehab...... Ahma's daughter asked all the questions that I would have asked in her position, one question leading to another and another, trying to get an understanding (really, of what we learn everyday- diagnosis, severity, aetiology, complications) and her despair and the family's deep sadness and loss were evident. Just then, Ahma's grandson, who is around my age came into the ward to visit his grandma. As he walked in I could almost see his thoughts through his eyes..... first the reality of it all hits him anew, then he greets his grandma, bends over to hug her, talks to her, gently pries open her eyes and tells her that he has come to see her. The doctor is still telling Ahma's daughter and son about the abovementioned issues and I am close to tears.

When I was about 11 an ambulance came to my house to bring my grandma to the hospital and the paramedics carried her onto an orange stretcher. My mom told my grandma that we would pack some stuff and come to visit her slightly later at night. I stood at my door watching them take her way and I was so scared and overwhelmed and had so many questions but I didn't ask them cuz I was trying my very best not to cry (thought I had to be strong or something). I remember asking God over and over to let her be okay.

They are older yes but is it any less scary now for them? And unlike the young me who didn't know anything except that grandma is sick enough to need to go to the hospital, they understand their Ahma's condition.... which is worse?