We speak the same language

“How was the weekend?” I asked my friend during the initial years of college. 

“It was okay,” she said and walked away. I was stumped by her curt answers.

A decade later.

“What did you do last weekend?” I asked. 

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. You remember my school friend, who accompanied us to that movie The Bourne Identity in college? She is now here in Bengaluru. She came home and she is just the same. We also spoke of all our school friends. Let’s go for lunch and I’ll tell you all about my weekend,” my friend replied.

Wow! What an influence I hold!

Another ten years passed.

“Hi! How are you feeling?” I asked as my friend, who was at war with Tilotama.

No reply. 

“Do you hear me?” I asked again. 

She looked at me and nodded weakly with eyes welling up as she tried to hide her pain. 

“You remember my friend from my dance  class, who was also our senior in college? She called and we were talking about you at length,” I said. 

She didn’t respond. 

I thought I was disturbing her and decided to read a book. 

“Talk to me,” she said, “Your stories are keeping my mind distracted. I like that.”

She never talked, but loved listening to my gibberish. Has life come a full circle? I wondered.

Until one day, when she couldn’t talk, nor breathe, nor swallow.

“I….. ca….brea…,” she whispered as words failed to tumble out, but just gusts of wind. Her oxygen saturation level fell to 70. Her pulse rate was over 120. She couldn’t breathe. As she was rushed to the hospital, her temperature rose up to 103. 

Aren’t these typical COVID symptoms? I shuddered at the thought. Her parents wondered the same. The COVID ward was packed as Bengaluru was fighting the third wave with Omicron being the current variant wreaking havoc all over the world. 

Her parents looked at me anxiously. I knew what they were thinking. I held their hand and said, “Even if it’s COVID, we will get through this. I will be with her at the COVID ward. We will not leave her alone. I promise.”

They broke down like little children - helpless and terrified. I was equally terrified.

She was in the COVID ward. I walked up to her when she tried to shoo me away, “Don… sta… he… go… go….,” she fought to catch her breath.

I held her hand and said, “Don’t talk please… I will take care. Don’t worry. Do you want some water?” 

She said no for she had no strength and she dreaded walking up to the loo later. I managed to feed her a slice of bread. Imagine trying to chew a dry piece of bread inside your mouth that is as barren as the desert. I didn’t know what to pray for. Should I hope it is COVID and be relieved we know the culprit that landed her critical? Or do I pray it’s not COVID and launch a manhunt to find the new culprit?

Her Rapid Antigen Test turned negative. Her parents and I were awaiting our RAT results. The RTPCR test result for my friend was still awaited. 

As she was being wheeled in for a CT scan, she noticed that one side of the wall was freshly painted, and the other side was dilapidated. She said to the nurse, “Th… ar… two… sides… to… thi… hosp….” She looked at me and smiled. I wanted to scoop her in my arms and tell her, “We will not rest till we get you back on track baby!”

Our oncologist was kind enough to immediately shift her to the Platinum Ward. Meanwhile, her CT scan result didn’t point to COVID, but the doctors said they can’t be sure. 

Certainty is never our friend, like many others - from luck to success.

I rushed to the Platinum Ward and I was a tad too late. My friend was taken into the ward. The administration staff refused to allow me in without my COVID negative certificate. It was pure coincidence when I saw our doctor enter to check in on my friend. I tagged along and finally stepped into the ward. 

My friend looked forlorn, malnourished and debilitated. The doctor patted her back and exclaimed, “You are a bag of skin and bones. But don’t worry, we will fix you.”

This 54 kg patient lying down next to me couldn’t even smile nor complete her sentences. “My mo is dr… ,” she explained to the doctor. I took on the role of providing subtitles. I told the doc that her mouth is dry. She is unable to swallow. It’s like her mouth is devoid of saliva and she can’t breathe nor speak. My friend nodded, looked at me with gratitude for exactly narrating what was on her mind. 

“We suspect she is suffering from Pneumocystis Pneumonia (PCP), which is a fungus-related infection residing in the lungs. We will wait for the detailed reports of the CT scan. But I will immediately start the medication irrespective of the reports,” the doctor said and left.

The nurses were skeptical of my presence there, for I had no COVID negative certificate. “There is no one by my friend’s side. This is an emergency. My RAT results will be out in 30 minutes. I promise to remain put in the ward and will not stir out. Please oblige,” I begged them till they agreed. My friend’s parents were asked to remain in the lobby, until the RAT results were out. 

We were all COVID negative. My friend’s RTPCR result was negative too. We were thankful on one hand, but were distressed about this new villain in our lives - PCP. 

My friend was breathing with external oxygen support. She was also asked to use the nebuliser. She was prescribed a combination antibiotic - Bactrim, along with a steroid - Wysolone. Since she couldn’t swallow, her medicines were administered through IV - in this case, her chemo port. She was on paracetamol and fluids too.

She couldn’t eat much. Her body pain had multiplied. When she attempted to speak, “u… u,” I tried to preempt it and present her with multiple sentences and statements. “You want the fan... you took the tablet… did you mean the letter u or the word you?” She’d get irritated, “Le me com… com…,” and I cut in, “I know you want to complete the sentence. But I want to save you the trouble.” 

We resorted to using sign language. She showed the letter ‘U’. Her mom cracked it. She is referring to the tablet Ultracet. And my friend heaved a sigh of relief.

She then tried typing on her phone. As she typed, “I am sweating,” I butt in and tried completing the sentence. “I want the fan. But the AC is on. You want me to reduce the temperature? Or shall I get you something cold to drink?” 

She was fuming by then. She erased the message and typed again. “I am getting angry that you aren’t understanding what I want and you are not allowing me to complete my sentence. Don’t you get it?” 

As I read it, I was fighting back tears. I don’t know why. I was upset that I couldn't read her mind and complete her sentences accurately. I was upset because she was getting irritated while I was trying to help. I was upset to see her gasping for breath and struggling to utter even a simple word like ‘hi’. 

The hospital staff was stringent about having only one attender. COVID fears made it worse. I said I’ll stay with her. Her parents didn’t have the heart to leave their child like this.

We managed to get the table fan, apart from the AC. My friend was sweating buckets all of a sudden, especially her face and head. By the time I got the man to fix the fan, the AC played truant. And by the time I got the guy to fix the AC, her parents would hyperventilate. It was chaos as the sun set.

Her parents were contemplating taking the booster shot, just to be safe after what we went through that morning. My friend overheard this and started weeping. She said, “Don… I… fev… worry… fee… ba….” 

She meant that she would be worried here if her parents took the booster shot and got a fever. And she didn’t want that. Her parents started crying along with her and assured her that they wouldn't. As they were leaving for the night, my friend said, “Don worr ab me. I ha my frie. She is my heart.”

I wept like a baby. To me, she is my lifeline.