Water-water everywhere.
I woke to water rushing through the room.
The hospital ward is now a lake.
Deadly silence.
Dark day.
There lay
my father, in a bed surrounded by water,
with a smile on his face,
blessed by cancer in his brain.
The nurse rushed in furiously.
“Vacate soon.”
The staff ran into chaos,
like the sinking of the Titanic.
She said, “We can’t afford now to treat one
whose death is anyways near.”
I knew that, and he knew that too,
and everyone knew.
But did that forbid him from love and respect,
when he needed it the most?
He was withered and devastated.
Trembling, I asked, “How will we go?”
The nurse stared as if it was not a question meant for her.
I said, "We are not going to go."
She declared, “We are closing the ward.
Hurry up, leave immediately.”
Darkness deepened, and water rose.
We needed a tiny and safe space to hide.
It made me shrink, but I stood firm.
It was not just a fight for justice.
It was also a helpless cry,
like a child’s yearning for a mother’s love.
The ward slept in the dark.
Wires flickered,
waiting to burst.
Suddenly, there came a ray—
an angel in white clothes
gifted us love and respect.
My tears added to the rising flood.
How privileged are those
to receive such grace,
drop by drop?
The above poem is based on my lived experience while taking care of my father (deceased). The moment he received a diagnosis of brain malignancy, it seemed death was sentenced to him. Doctors reconfirmed death was imminent and didn't want to treat him further.
He had throbbing head pain, rapidly developing paralysis, and was losing his senses. Without nearby supportive care, we found a compassionate Acupuncture practitioner to help with pain management.
Suddenly, he developed severe pneumonia and required admission.
Again, no one was willing to treat him because he was terminal. With a lot of effort, we got a place in a private Chennai hospital.
That year (2015), Chennai faced the worst flood until then. The ward, located in the basement, was completely flooded. The poem describes our plight during the triage. Staff urged us to vacate as they didn't want to keep him, believing he would die anyway. Due to the flood, there was no network or travel available. It was a way out to death. I refused to vacate.
After much persistence, my cry was heard. A compassionate chief doctor responded, and my father was shifted to the general ward. Care was delayed by 8 hrs. With cross-infection from flood patients, he eventually died. Still, I feel privileged to have been able to afford even this care during such a crisis. For the underprivileged, even this would have been inaccessible.
With a minimal and inefficient healthcare system in India, old patients with terminal illnesses might be the least priority. The debate continues about who should receive care first. My question here is not about equity or equality in crisis, but how we treat patients with terminal illnesses, especially if they are old.
How prepared is our Indian health system to deal with End-of-life care (EOLC), including palliative care? Studies show that most Indians die with limited or no access to palliative care.
Conversely, terminally ill patients often face unnecessary medical interventions in ICUs, causing emotional and financial burdens to patients and families. The absence of a national EOLC policy, lack of systematic training for healthcare providers, inadequate infrastructure, limited public awareness, and an ambiguous legal framework are barriers to good EOLC in India.
The WHO definition of palliative care emphasizes improving the quality of life of patients facing incurable diseases and their families by providing relief from pain and suffering, including psychosocial and spiritual needs. Kerala's Palliative care model could serve as an example for the entire country.
With the rise in life expectancy, there is a surge in patients with terminal illnesses; systematic interventions are the need of the hour.
Edited by Christianez Ratna Kiruba
Image by Christianez Ratna Kiruba
