The Second Chance in Life

A Life Changing Moment

When things go well in your life, you assume you are in control. I had assumed so too.Meticulous planning and preparation covered all eventualities. But when faced with unprecedented decisions and overwhelming emotions, it is important to maintain trust inyourself and keep control.

Waking to a New World

‘Nurse, I can’t feel my legs!’ I could barely keep the panic from my voice as I called out.

Something was not right. Why did my body feel so different? Why couldn’t I move my toes? Why somany pins and needles?

Calmly, the nurse responded, ‘Don’t worry, Doc, it must be the anaesthetic and surgical stockings. You’ll be fine by the morning.’ Groggy from the anaesthetic, I convinced myself she wasprobably right. Everything would be okay.

Despite those assurances, my mind was in turmoil as red flags fanned my fluttering heart.

From my initial cry at midnight, with every hour that passed, those odd sensations crept upwards and Icould not lift my legs without a great deal of effort. This was scary. I waited eagerly for the surgeon,hoping that, surely, he would have the answers to all my questions. When he arrived, my anxious tone as I expressed my symptoms contrasted with his calm reaction. The problem was probably the result of the anaesthetic, he said, and easily resolved by medication.

I was prescribed a high dose of oral steroids as well as painkillers and physiotherapy. I tookcomfort from the surgeon’s words and assurances and hoped for the best. However, rather than anyimprovement, my symptoms worsened. And continued to do so. By the third morning my legs felt likelogs of wood and the ever increasing numbness had reached my groin, giving me a feeling of wearing tight, wet underwear that was way too small. I couldn’t even get out of bed without support. What was going on?

Doctors often make bad patients. I tried not to fall into that category. After all, I was now on theother side of the fence, not the one making decisions, but the one abiding by them. Even so, Irequested a post operative scan, just to check everything was okay. The response - to increase my dose of steroids then wait and see - did not sit well with my instinct. Surely something had gone wrongeither during surgery or just after.

I am used to being in control; I like being in control. Don’t we all? But this time it wasn’t mecalling the shots and I became increasingly convinced the consequences were going to be damaging. Four days it took to persuade the surgeon to send me for an MRI scan. Four days during whichmy helplessness escalated from significant to overwhelming. Finally, much to my relief, the surgeon agreed to a repeat MRI scan. In fact, by this time his body language suggested he was alsobeginning to worry, after all, the sensation in my lower half had radically deteriorated since the operation. What would the scan reveal? What could have happened? Was it too late to reverse any damage?

First thing the following morning as I was taken for my scan, I prayed. Was there somethingterribly wrong or was I being an anxious, bad doctor-patient? Around midday a nurse came to reveal that the surgeon had been in touch, and everything was fine; I just needed to continue the steroids and physiotherapy. I would be well - normal - again, there was nothing to worry about. My wife, Mili, went home to offer her gratitude to God. But was her offering premature?

During my medical career, I have always found that instinct plays a crucial role. And this time, once again, that instinct was correct. I was eating my hospital lunch and thinking of having a nap to free myself of worries when, around 3pm, my surgeon rushed in. ‘I showed your scans to my colleagues,’ he said, ‘and unfortunately, you will need emergency surgery. We don’t have the facilities here either for the surgery or post operative support, so you are being transferred to another hospital. Right now.’ Two years later those words still ring in my ears. Wasn’t this the same doctor who, a few hours earlier, had insisted everything was fine? Yet now I needed an Anterior Cervical Discectomy operation and fusion along with urgent cord decompression.

In a scene which wouldn’t have looked out of place on a TV drama, I was rushed by ambulance,blue lights flashing, to Queen’s Hospital, Romford, a neurosurgical institution. Accompanied by ananxious and tearful Mili, I was strapped to a cervical board during the bumpy, hour and a half ride, facing upwards, staring at the roof of the ambulance, knowing my life was going to change, and change dramatically, perhaps for ever. Looking at my wife’s worry stricken face, I promised myself I’d stay positive, no matter what.

Positivity can play a big part in healing. Over the years I had said this to many of my patients, andnow I was saying it to console myself.

When I arrived at the ward in Queen’s, it was quite late. My little daughters, home without theirparents, were being looked after by our great neighbours and friends, Varun and Heena, who madedinner and took care of them overnight.

Initially, Mili was told she was not allowed to remain in the ward, but she was firm, insisting she would notleave my side until the surgery was over.

Eventually the kind nursing staff relented and fetched her a blanket as she tried to rest on the bedsidechair at the end of a long, harrowing day. I was relieved when she fell asleep. This gave me time to myself to think, to reflect on what had happened, why it had happened. Everything has a reason, I pondered, this turn of events must have one too.

My second, more extensive surgery took place the next morning. I do not remember muchabout it though apparently, under anaesthesia, I kept babbling on. Perhaps this was because it was my birthday, my first (and hopefully last) birthday on an operating table. Afterwards my friends, brother and mother in law brought me a cake and sang happy birthday to me around my bed. Allegedly I sang too - out of tune, as usual!

Only later, my birthday celebrations over, did I realise that the second operation had been too late. The damage was irrecoverable. I was left with a permanent disability, the consequences of which wouldaffect not only my career but also my family.

I now have reduced power in my legs, sensory ataxia (a condition where you can’t feel where youare standing or stepping so causes loss of balance), loss of function of three fingers in my right dominant hand, severe and chronic neuropathic pain that feels like electric shocks passing through my body, reduced movement and pain in the neck and an inability to walk without an aid even for short distances.

Writing those words, expressing my condition on the page, is still a surreal process. Did this really happen to me? Will I one day wake from this dreadful dream? Ah, if only. Somehow, I have to deal with my pain, my limitations, yet how much easier this is with a fine heart and a functioning brain. I will never give up. I’m ready to take on the world again.

The Beginning

I was born in the remote but beautiful city of Guwahati, Northeast India, in the state of Assam, in1975. We were not wealthy but rich in love and closeness, blessed with loving but strict, disciplinedparents, who gave us the freedom to dream and the strength to pursue those dreams. They empowered in us, two brothers, the ambition to reach for the sky but to keep our feet on the ground. And dream I did, to be a good doctor. All I ever wanted to be was a doctor.

In those days of black and white television, medical dramas and documentaries were popular. Iwas so impressed with the white apron, the stethoscope hanging from the neck and the rush of adrenaline while treating trauma. The power of healing, to be able to make people feel better, this wasgoing to be more than a career, it was going to be my passion.

My childhood was fun, too. One of my earliest memories is my fifth birthday party when a close cousin put chewing gum in my hair. You’re right, there’s no way to remove it so I had a telling off while the gum was cut out, as well as chunks of my hair!

In school I was taught by some great teachers which was a blessing. Those teachers played a great part in who I am today, leaving their imprint on me forever. I am full of gratitude to them and, over three decades later, we are still in touch. I feel their blessings every single day. Are there still suchteachers?

Nalini Miss was my science teacher who looked after me as her own son. She would always have extra time to answer my queries, however silly they were, and I did have lot of questions, always. AnjanaMiss was my English teacher, a beautiful lady who was my first teacher crush. We would eagerly look forward to her class just so we could seehow she looked that day. In one of the tests, I misspelt the word ‘beautiful’. She called me to the front of the classroom, told me off and made me write the correct spelling 10 times in front of everyone. It was so embarrassing. I have never forgotten that spelling! Moreover, thanks to her, I always make it a point to recheck every spelling before submitting any document.

I thought I was a good student, but one incident left me with consequences for life. There was a lot of healthy competition in the classroom where, for two consecutive years, I came third. Notsurprisingly, I was happy and content with myself. Then one day, when the results were announced, my headteacher invited my father to meet him and I was also summoned. I thought I was going to receive a pat on the back, but instead the headteacher said, ‘You, Bhaskar, do you always intend to travel third class in your life, or do you have it in you to get into first class? I know you can do it, but do you really want it? I don’t think you do’. I was lost for words. My head hung in shame. I had let my dad and my teachers down. I would not let that happen again. I promised that from then on, I would do my best to be a winner, nothing less. Life is about doing your best to win, and I knew I could. That embarrassing incident continues to inspire me whenever I feel down.

In fact, looking back now on that incident, I think my headteacher actually did me a huge favour by taunting me. India is known as the country of a billion people, 300 million of which, at any one time, are school children. Unlike in the UK where education is about progress, in India education is not just a way to get ahead in life, it is a struggle for existence. To stand a chance of gaining entrance into a premier government run institution, you have to score in the high 90s. Even then there is no guarantee. Last year one of my nieces scored 95% in her A Levels but still didn’t get a place at her chosen college. The pressure is huge. To survive means being a winner. That tough competition toughened me up. Incentives also helped at times. In year 8 my dad bought me my first wristwatch afterI had come first in my class.

While this survival of the most competitive kind of education has led to many Indians heading top organisations globally, sadly, it has also led to suicides and mental health conditions amongst those students who couldn’t do as well as they had hoped. Fortunately, I was blessed with teachers and parents who kept me focused, and I managed to get into the right colleges and universities.

My teachers advised me to join the Indian Civil Service, believing I would make a goodadministrator, but I wasn’t convinced. I couldn’t see myself sitting in a bureaucratic office giving orders, or taking orders from half educated politicians. My mind was made up and, with my parents’ support, I decided to pursue medicine.

My school fees were Rs 5 (5p) per month, followed by two years in a premier institution of its time - Cotton College - where monthly fees were Rs 10 (10p). The government medical college was Rs 25 (25p) per month. I made great friends during these years, lifelong friends who are still contributing to my life. We studied books written by professors from the UK and US. Since these books were expensive and mostly unaffordable, we photocopied them page by page or borrowed them from the library. Those were the days! The internet was something we were only just beginning to hear about. Computers were big white boxes, televisions looked like kitchen cabinets and ‘Google’ was a new word.

‘Come out, come out, there’s been a big accident outside,’ someone was screaming at the hostel corridor. It was our final year night at medical college and there was a rock concert. I, along with all my buddies were pretty much stone drunk by midnight but the night was still young, and we all wanted todrink more. After all, following years of studying, we’d soon be doctors. We’d taken a break from the concert to go to the boy’s hostel to raid therooms for any leftover drinks. At that time brands didn’t matter; any alcohol was good enough. But,hearing the excited voices, I also went outside to see that a car had toppled over and looked pretty much like a broken cardboard box. It was quite a scene. The guys ran to the spot to see what had happened. I was too drunk to run so walked slowly without much bother. Then, lo and behold, I recognised the registration plate. That smashed car was mine! Actually, to be honest, it was my dad’s new car that I had borrowed for the night. Good Lord, I had no clue what just happened as people looked at the car and then at me. I wasn’t even anywhere near the vehicle, who on earth had driven it?

My very good friend Rupant, who is now a senior Neurosurgeon, while stone drunk, had, without my knowledge, taken the car keys from my pocket while I was busy with others raiding the rooms for alcohol, and decided to drive somewhere to buy more drinks for everyone. But he drove in the wrong direction and ended up hitting a lamppost and toppling the car, as if in a Hollywood action movie. Fortunately, he escaped with just a few scratches and bruises. The car wasn’t as lucky though. By now the word had got around and the broken car almost became a shrine as more and more people gathered and made up their own stories, each raunchier than the other. Meanwhile the shock sobered me up and soon I began to dread the morning and how to face my dad. Rupant however, went to sleep after getting some first aid. Sometimes alcohol helps you forget your worries, you know!

Next morning both our dads came to the hostel to inspect the damage. In front of more than 300 medical students, I got a tight slap from my dad while Rupant’s dad apologised to my dad and reassured him that he would bear all costs for repairing the car. Both of us were told off badly by our dads while all the guys, from their balconies on three floors of the hostel, enjoyed the spectacle.

Some even encouraged our dads to punish us more. From that day onwards, the two of us became the butt of jokes for everyone, especially the girls. Even our professors would ask us to narrate the event and make fun of us. There was no way we had any chance of dating a girl in the university after that incident.

Still, I’m glad to say that the car was eventually repaired (although I was never allowed the keys again) and Rupant and I are still the best of friends. He is a great buddy any day.

Many memories later, I graduated from Guwahati Medical College. This was the moment I started to live my dream, over the next two decades devoting myself to my patients, tending not only to their medical needs but counselling them, too, building relationships, understanding the importance ofconnecting on a personal level.

Whatever my role, my core values remained the same: applying knowledge and experience to make people feel better and in the process, learn more every day. What more could I want?

However, after working 14 hour days for more than 15 years I developed neck and left shoulder pain. It was not a major issue to really worry about, so I tried to ignore it most of the time by keeping myself busy at work. After all, I was in a hurry in life with a need to be productive and efficient. Everybody can do one thing at a time, I wanted to be smart enough to do two or more things at a time. I had to realise my ambitions, my dreams. I had to provide the best life to my family, a life to my girls where they could buy real books, not photocopies. I knew the reasons for my neck pain and stiffness were posture and long hours of work, but I could not afford to cut down. There was a lot to do, a lot to achieve, a lot toprove to myself and to a few others. So I put up with the discomfort, perhaps always too busy to confront an issue which would surely go away. It didn't.