In Later Years, Victor, My Father |
He was extremely impatient with those who fussed about trivial aches and pains and always made light of his own problems. He was known, trusted and accepted for his gruff bedside manner and no nonsense attitude, because he was an exceptional doctor. "Egan's don't cry!" was a phrase I grew up with and often heard when I was blubbering about something inconsequential.
I remember a time when the area was being terrorised by a vicious 'langur' who was randomly attacking passing vehicles and biting unsuspecting people. No one wanted to confront the problem because of the belief that monkeys are avatars of Hanuman. One morning as father was driving off to work in his open jeep, the simian pounced on him and tore open his arm with its massive fangs. We rushed to the hospital to make sure he was alright, only to find him dispassionately stitching up the mangled wound himself, without any help or anesthesia. All he had to say was that he hoped the villagers would see sense and destroy the animal before it seriously hurt someone else. It became a ritual over the next couple of weeks, for me to accompany him to the hospital, where I watched in fascination as he jabbed himself in the stomach with the anti-rabies shots sans any theatrics or drama.
Father always claimed he would never retire voluntarily and often stated "The day I stop working is the day I die!" The only time he missed a few days was in 1986, when he had a nasty fall and broke his hip. As soon as he was able, he insisted on Tara Babu, his assistant, driving him to work with his plastered leg protruding out of the side of the jeep. It was only when he slipped and broke his other hip in 1996, ten years later, that he was laid up in bed for a prolonged spell, which proved to be the beginning of the end. I never heard him groan or complain, though the indignity of ill health and dependence on others was the worst form of suffering for a man of his nature. "Yoy" he would mutter under his breath once in a while, which was the Hungarian equivalent of ouch or our desi 'hai hai' but that was all we needed to hear to realise he was in agony.
Even at the age of eighty four, before his second fall, father was still going to the hospital every day though his working hours were getting shorter and shorter. He insisted on always driving himself, and when people saw the old jeep trundling along they would scatter to both sides of the road to give him clear passage, as they knew he could not see as well as he used to. He had developed cataract in both eyes but never had them operated on as he felt it was a waste of time and effort.
Victor and Eva |
Unlike many people I know, my father had no fear of death, and towards the end of his life he often said he was prepared to go anytime.He had always been a firm believer in euthanasia and Derek Humphrey's The Final Exit was a book we had both read and discussed. I was initially chilled by the concept, but later came to believe in the principals of this controversial topic.I was convinced that if we could choose to put a beloved animal down to end its suffering, it was as important to give a human being the same respect of choice.
Towards the end of his days, father was suffering a great deal and I would spend as much time as I could sitting by his bed and talking about all manner of things, past and present, until he would tell me he was exhausted and needed to sleep. In the course of one of these conversations he asked if I would assist Tara, in expediting his departure from this world. He said it was just a question of time for him and he was fed up of living in such a debilitated, painful and pitiable state. He had worked out the medication to be administered and assured me that it would be a most serene and tranquil end.
His heart-breaking appeal made my blood run cold and I found myself sobbing in his arms telling him how much I loved him, how much I needed him and how I could not imagine a life without him. He held me gently till I had calmed down and then said "Do you hear yourself? All you have said is I, I, I. Why don't you stop a minute and think about how I feel in this hopeless situation."
Towards the end of his days, father was suffering a great deal and I would spend as much time as I could sitting by his bed and talking about all manner of things, past and present, until he would tell me he was exhausted and needed to sleep. In the course of one of these conversations he asked if I would assist Tara, in expediting his departure from this world. He said it was just a question of time for him and he was fed up of living in such a debilitated, painful and pitiable state. He had worked out the medication to be administered and assured me that it would be a most serene and tranquil end.
His heart-breaking appeal made my blood run cold and I found myself sobbing in his arms telling him how much I loved him, how much I needed him and how I could not imagine a life without him. He held me gently till I had calmed down and then said "Do you hear yourself? All you have said is I, I, I. Why don't you stop a minute and think about how I feel in this hopeless situation."
I was far away in Adampur when he passed away a few months after this distressing incident. I still feel I broke his trust and let him down that day, because I could not be there for him in the way he needed me to be. My love for him was deep and strong but selfish, and when it came to the crunch I did not show the altruistic strength that he expected from me.
But Egans don't cry.....
But Egans don't cry.....
A soul that is released from its cage prematurely, suffers till the exact amount of misery is balanced... Unknown to this, I know, your soul did the right thing. Though, of course, your father would have been proud of you if you had followed his instructions... It is so difficult to see a loved one's life ebb away pitifully slow...
ReplyDeleteLovely ! Love... can make you weak... can make you strong but never wrong.
ReplyDeleteI don't know you but have discovered your blog via Nina Sud. Thank you for sharing, so very much.
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