Kaisey yeh Rishtey - 3

Chapter 3

So what was that? Khushi wondered as she half-walked, half-ran to the OT. Did I imagine it?

If I did, he obviously did, too, she thought, remembering the way he had jerked back from the touch. Strange. He's an attractive man, though. Very attractive, she amended silently, as she looked for the doctor in charge of Anjali Bansal.

But there was no further news, and Khushi came back only a few hours later, to find Anjali still in the OT. The baby was out, and struggling to survive in the incubator in the neonatal intensive care unit. She was a tiny little thing, pale and frail, and Khushi found herself praying that she would make it. By the looks of it, three lives depended on her. And also by the looks of it, those lives were hanging by a very slender thread. The baby was not only premature, but had lost blood along with the mother, and was breathing too fast. The neonatologist was worried, and told Khushi so.

It was with a sinking feeling she went back to Aman Bansal, and when she told him the news, he sank down on the bed with a groan, his handsome face haggard and torn.

"Save the baby," he pleaded, and grasped her hand again. This time he was too upset to feel the shock, which coursed through her at his touch. "Please, Khushi, save my daughter, or I'll lose my wife as well. I'll lose everything!"

Khushi couldn't stop herself. The strange pull she felt toward this attractive man, together with her genuine desire to comfort him, made her sit down next to him, and take both his hands in hers.

"Pull yourself together, Aman," she said softly, not realising she had used his name. "You have to pull yourself together. If you lose your calm, who will help Anjali? Who will take care of her, comfort her, if you go to pieces? She will need you, your shoulders to cry on, your support, your encouragement. If you give way, how will she manage? If she thinks the baby is in danger, she won’t be able to take the shock. You have to hold strong, convince her that everything is all right, the baby is all right."

"I know,” he said desperately. “I know I have to hold it together … but my wife … my child …!  Khushi, I have no one else to live for! The two reasons I have for living - they are both in danger.  How can I keep it from her? She’s my support as much as I am hers!"

“Not at the moment,” said Khushi firmly. “Not in the state she is in. You can’t tell her about the baby yet, Aman, or she’ll lose her will to live, to pull through. She can’t take that stress yet. You have to hide it from her till she’s better. She needs your support now … she needs all her strength - and all of yours as well.”

“And me?” he asked desperately. “I’m alone, Khushi. Do I bear this all alone? Tell me? How do I do this?”

"I’m here, Aman,” Khushi said softly. “That’s what I’m here for. You come to me when you want to cry, when you have questions, when you need support, someone to talk to. Till she can take it, you don't cry in front of her. She will think the baby is far worse than she actually is, and that will hamper her own recovery. Show me your tears, your fears, your worry. But for her, you stand firm. You have to do this."

He looked at her, and wordlessly, he put his hand over hers and held it. Khushi looked at him, startled. How much he loved his wife, she thought wistfully. How much he loved his daughter, only a few hours old. Had her father ever felt like that about her, even when she had been so young. He certainly never showed any trace of any love now, of that she was certain.

Slowly, hesitantly, her other hand came to cover his. Gently, hesitantly, she pressed it in an unspoken understanding of his fear, his dread. And wondered anew, when he wordlessly put his other hand over both of hers, and let silent tears course down his cheeks unchecked, at the strange bond she felt with this man. She held his hands gently, soothingly, as he leaned against her shoulder and cried softly, silently, head bowed, and she murmured words of comfort. She felt as though she had known him for ages, not that they had just met this morning.

He looked up after some time, his tears slowing. And sat up, and moved away from her. He looked away from her, a little shame-faced.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I think I needed…"

"You needed a good cry, and to get it out of your system," she replied firmly, and he grinned at her a little crookedly.

"Yes, I did, but I didn't need to let you bear the brunt of it."

"So what would you have done?" she asked, bluntly. "Saved your tears, like a good hero macho man, till you could cry into your own pillow at night, alone, with no one to see you, hear you or comfort you, for a very natural feeling that you felt? Why you men always have to hide your feelings, I'll never understand. You’ll feel better now, believe me."

He smiled again, a little awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the discussion.

"Can you find out how she is?" he asked, awkwardly. She got up, smiling inwardly at his transparent attempt to change the topic. No, she didn't think any the worse of him for breaking down, in fact, she admired him more. His love for his wife and daughter shone through so clearly. But as usual with all men, he obviously didn't feel the same way. Tears were a sign of weakness, to be hidden.

"Yes, I will ... I'll check with the doctor again, and after that, I have to go home," she said. "Your wife should be out of surgery now. I don't know what's taking so long."

"Somehow, I don't think it's good news," he muttered, as he followed her to the OT.

He was right. His wife was out of the OT - just. The surgeon who followed her stretcher, did not have very good news for Aman.

"I'm sorry," he said, gently, when he saw Aman. Dr. Khurana was a family man, with children of his own, and he understood Aman's face. "We tried our best, but there was too much damage."

"What… ?" Aman began, his face pale. Dr. Khurana put a hand on his shoulder, his face sympathetic, his tone soft as he tried to break the news as gently as possible.

"One foot was very badly crushed. We did a below-knee amputation in that leg. The right one. The other leg…" Dr. Khurana smiled slightly. "Well, I'm glad I can give you some good news. We have managed to save the left leg. It’s badly crushed and the bone has multiple fractures, but she will be able to walk again, though it will take a long time. It’s going to be a very long recovery period, Mr. Bansal. But she will need one artificial leg. However, since we have managed to save the knee joint, her walk will be almost normal, once she gets used to the artificial leg."

Aman sat down on the bench, stunned. "You mean, she's lost her leg after all? How could that happen? We brought her in so quickly. Couldn't you save any thing at all?"

"Our first job was to save the baby," said Dr. Khurana, softly. He hesitated again and looked at Khushi.

"I already told him," she said, softly. "I told him that the uterus was torn and had to be removed."

"She's lost one leg, and if this baby doesn't make it, she can't have any more children," Aman spoke dully. his face was haggard, and he suddenly looked far older than he had in the morning. He looked up at Khushi and Dr. Khurana desperately. "What will she live for? What will my Anjali live for?!" She'll die!!!"

"No, she won't," Khushi spoke firmly. She sat down on the bench next to him, and took his hand in hers. "She has you to live for, Aman ... and she has her baby. Aman, that tiny little baby is inside an incubator, fighting for life. That baby has so much spunk, so much courage, she's fighting against all odds ... can you as parents show less courage than her? You are her father, and Anjali is her mother. That little baby needs you both. Aman, you have to give Anjali hope. You both have a reason to live, a reason to fight, the biggest reason in the world. Pull yourself together, Aman. You have to do it for her."

He nodded, but she could see that he was broken, and her heart ached for him.