Kaise yeh Rishtey - 2

Chapter 2 

He was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. His eyes, dark with grief and anger, bored into hers. His face was ravaged with pain, and there were traces of tears on his cheeks, but he was still easily the best looking man she had seen. 

He wore an expensive suit, which now bore blood stains. Blood stains, too, on the crumpled blue shirt he wore, its expensive luster hidden, but not completely masked by the stains. His tie was askew, and his hair was rumpled. His gaze held desperation in it.

"The baby? Will she make it? Will the baby be all right? Please, tell me!"

Khushi dragged her gaze back to the girl firing the frantic questions at her. She gathered her frozen thoughts together, to what the doctor had told her on the way to the ward, and with an effort, spoke gently.

"Anjali, we need to take you in for surgery. Immediately. We don't have much time. You've lost a lot of blood, and your blood pressure is sinking. We have set up blood for you, but till the doctor repairs the blood vessels in your legs, which are torn, you're going to continue losing blood. But you must calm down. We have to give you injections before we take you in. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The man spoke, and his voice shocked her. After the first look, she had been trying not to look at him.

"Do what you have to, but save her life. I'm her husband. I'll sign whatever forms are needed."

Khushi looked at him directly.

"I know you can sign the forms, but it's her body. She has a right to know what is happening to her."

He looked at her, a trace of arrogance in his look.

"I told you, I'm her husband. I give you permission to do what is necessary. Don't waste time, for heaven's sake."

So he was concerned about his wife, thought Khushi, not just the baby. Her voice slightly softer, she replied coolly.

"In this hospital, if the patient is conscious, we like to tell them what is happening to them. It helps them, and it helps us to care for them. Can I talk to you later, please? I appreciate your concern for your wife, but I have a job to do, as well. Please let me do it to the best of my ability."

He looked at her swiftly, not pleased by the way she had answered. She met his gaze calmly, steadily, he held it for a moment, then seemed to relax slightly. He moved away from the bed, and Khushi turned back to her patient, and started talking, clearly and simply, with the ease of long practice putting the technical explanation she had been given, into simple, direct, less threatening language.

"Anjali, your legs have been very badly crushed, and we have to try and save them. But that is second priority. First, the surgeon is going to take out your baby. Even a seven month baby can survive, but you are too badly hurt for it to survive inside you. We have to take it out quickly. You are losing blood in your legs and that is impacting your baby. We have to get it out, to have any chance to save it. Do you understand? We are trying to save it. We are also going to try and save your legs. But that we cannot promise. The baby comes first. Ok?"

The girl nodded, and some of the frenzy went out of her eyes. The waiting nurse bustled forward, and got busy in giving her the pre-anaesthetic injections. Khushi turned back to the girl's husband, who also looked slightly calmer after listening to her explanation. She addressed him in a softer tone, trying to hide the strange emotions he aroused in her.

"They are taking her into the operation theater. You can go with her till the door, then if you could, please come back and talk to me. I'll wait here for you."

He was looking at her, and there was a glimmer of …what? Was it respect she saw in his eyes? He nodded, and followed his wife's stretcher out of the ward.

Khushi heaved a sigh, and sat down suddenly on the bed. That poor girl was going to lose a good part of her leg, and it was by no means certain that her baby would survive. What would her family's reaction be? What would her husband's reaction be? He didn't look the type to tolerate imperfections gladly. Would he tolerate a handicapped wife? One who might not be able to bear any more children, if this one did not survive?

This is why my own problems seem insignificant, thought Khushi, wryly, as she waited for the husband to come back. A bullying father and brother are not so bad after all. At least I have my own legs to get me out of the house!

He came back after almost twenty minutes. Khushi was just about to leave when she saw him returning.

"I waited till they told me she was under anaesthesia," he explained, briefly, and held out a hand. "I'm Aman Bansal, by the way. Thank you for talking to her. She was more calm."

That was all she was going to get for an apology? Khushi thought, then she smiled. From an obviously rich and successful man like him, even that was something. She looked at him frankly.

"I'm a psychologist in the social and rehabilitation department here, Mr. Bansal, and I think I should warn you from the beginning that you are going to see a lot of me. Your wife is very badly hurt. I met her surgeon and her gynaecologist on my way up. They may be able to save this baby - we have a very good nursery here. Unfortunately, there will be no more babies. Her uterus is torn, and will have to be taken out."

He blanched.

"They didn't tell me that! They just told me about her legs!"

She nodded, her face calm and emotionless. Breaking bad news was part of her job, the part she liked the least. Unfortunately for her, it was the part most doctors had no time for, so they preferred to leave it to her. She had become used to it, used to hiding her own feelings in the process of dealing with the reactions her words often evoked. Some patients were stoic, some were tearful, some simply disbelieving ... and some even got angry and violent. She dealt with them all with a calm facade, hiding her own pain and sympathy as best she could. 

"That's my job. To tell you the bits they left out. Her legs… well, we'll  try to save what we can. One foot is badly crushed. However, we have a microvascular surgeon here, who is in the theater with the team at the moment. He's trying to save that foot. The other one…" she tailed off, and he looked at her bleakly.

"So you're telling me that my Anjali may be left with one or both legs useless, a baby who may not survive and no chance for having any more. Can't you give me any good news, Ms…?"

"Gupta ... Khushi Gupta," she supplied. "At the moment, Mr. Bansal, the only good news is that they do hope to save the baby. Which, considering her injuries, is quite remarkable."

"No," he corrected her, standing straight, his face firm and suddenly calm. "The biggest good news is that her life is not in danger. She will live, and so will the baby. As for legs, well, there are all sorts of artificial legs now, aren't there? We'll face it together, whatever happens. Just…" he turned to her again, and there was a desperation in his voice, "just save the baby, Khushi. Without the baby, she will not be able to go on."

He put his hand on hers in pleading, and she felt it. It was like an electric shock. His touch sent off ripples in her body just like she had read in the books, and never believed actually happened in real life. Yet it was happening to her.

What was more, he felt it too. He looked at her, startled, and withdrew his hand quickly. Both of them withdrew in confusion, not understanding what was happening. He looked away, cleared his throat, and spoke again, without looking at her.

"When will I know what's happening?"

"I'll pop into the OT on my way out, and check. If there's any news, I'll let you know, otherwise I'll be back later, after my rounds." Khushi spoke hurriedly, stumbling over her words, and he nodded, his tone more abrupt.

"Fine. Thanks."