Friday, May 28, 2010


…We enter the chaotic world, the lobby; once again I leave her to wait patiently: ‘patience’ has become a way of life with us by now, and joins the long and crawling queue at the reception.
… we entry the restricted Oncology OPD. Jeet takes a vacant seat in the front row; strangely the rear rows are full, leaving the front one’s vacant. I with her papers, approach the OPD reception for registration.
I keep glancing back at her as the line moves forward; Jeet is looking straight ahead eyes unfocused, deep in her own apprehensions and worries; she gives me a wane smile as I approach.
I come and occupy the seat next to her and await our turn with Dr with whom I have already fixed an appointment on phone.
I look back and around at the sad spectacle: the affected toddlers in laps of desolate looking parents, the elderly in wheel-chairs with, disinterested paid, attendants and also fit looking young of both sexes men and women; fore lone and in no apparent hurry, patiently waiting their turn with glum continence, possibly trying to postpone the diagnosis or the treatment as long as possible.
There are no smiles on the faces of those around and very little talk, if at all, it is in whispers. A near silence is prevailing; a silence of a morgue
…I in lead with Jeet closely following enter the inner chamber and knock on the door of the cubical with the name plate of Dr....
How strange that once again I am going to trust and place the well being of one, who matters the most to me, in the hands of some one whom I am yet to face. The question, if I am taking the right decision, is still haunting me, even as we enter the doctor’s chamber.

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