A haunting short story of grief, hope and the thin line between dreams and reality, for a loved one in the ICU. Literary fiction about loss and love.
Last night she dreamt again that she was at the waiting area outside the ICU. Dr Faisal walked out, came towards her, carefully removing his mask. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes matched the upward curve of his smile. His eyes glimmered as he gave her the news, “Atharv has shown movement. Just a little, reason for us to hope”.
Like the last steps a pilgrim takes to the shrine, saving the last of her breath for that ultimate divine view, Sheila’s steps slowed down, a strange mix of anxiety, fear and hope, as she was pulled by a force unknown towards that small rectangular glass pane on the ICU door.
Sheila’s face felt cold as it pressed against the glass. Habit of so many days, the ritual has always been to let the harsh cold hit her face, settle in before she opened her eyes.
And it was always that feeling of cold on her cheeks that wakes her up. Atharv lying on the hospital bed, a mire of tubes running across his body, a myriad of machines by his bed, each one having its very own note and rhythm…all these never left Sheila, in her daytime as much as in her dreams. The beeps were as vivid in her sleep as they were during visiting hours. The cold of the glass pane was no less harsh even in her dreams.
The afternoon sun today was lazy, gently strolling through her laced curtains and making a design on her couch. Since Atharv shifted address to the ICU, Sheila often preferred the couch to their bed.
Today the sensation of cold lasted longer, even after her eyes were open. The tip of Sheila’s nose too felt the cold. How is it that the sublime and surreal of her dream found ways to creep into her reality? She embraced it all, as she has been immersing herself with every tiny detail of Atharv’s stay away from their nest; it was her way of continuing their living together.
It was time. She swung her bag, collected her car keys and left for the hospital.
Atharv’s case and all like his were special. Visitors got here an hour before the regular visiting time. Wait in front of the elevator was less. The elevator took forever to get down from the 12th floor. Over the months, Sheila had coached herself to allow the slow halted pace of the elevator to train her in patience. Who knew what news awaited her. Pushing the inevitable to the far corner of her heart, she welcomed the wait. ‘Wait’ was her steady companion who kept her safe from the ugly truth lurking at the corner of the elevator, the corridor of the ICU floor and her life.
Each day for the past eight months, Sheila trained her heart for the worst. From the time she pressed the elevator button to the time she set foot on floor number twelve.
Twelfth floor seemed to have arrived without a pause today. As she set foot, there were only a few people around. The friendly nurses at the reception to this ICU floor were the nicest people chosen, always helpful beyond their call of duty. Perhaps they too had a steady friend in ‘wait’, halting their final bidding of goodbye to the everyday visitor like Sheila. Seema noticed Sheila and walked towards her. Put a friendly hand on her elbow and took her steps down the long corridor together. Sheila looked at Seema and wondered, “Why this?” Every minute habit done differently evoked a sensation of cold fear in Sheila.
They walked a while together till they were outside the second last door on the left. Atharv’s address for the past eight months. Sheila’s overtly active, talkative and impatient Atharv, lying still, blissfully oblivious of the void he left behind. The one who made plans, forced her to go on sudden getaways and always, always on the edge of finding excitement in life, has been on recess for eight long months.
Seema walked till the ICU door today. Dr. Faisal took less than a minute to walk out. His tall burly physique, a head full of unkempt curly salt and pepper hair and those kindest of eyes had been Sheila’s God for the past months.
He walked towards Sheila and removed his mask. Just like in her dream. Only that upward turn of his lips and the glimmer in his eyes were missing. Sheila noticed he wasn’t smiling. He gently touched her shoulders. No words spoken.
A storm had ripped apart the peace and quiet of a home. It raged on for days, then days turned into months. The human left alone in this rampage had grown used to this menace for too long. Wrong turns could be handled, worrisome reports could be battled. Sheila was just not prepared for this silence.
Seema supported her from the back while Dr. Faisal’s firm hands maintained their steady grip of her shoulders. With her hand, Sheila reached out and touched the tip of her nose. It was still cold.
She lay suspended in the realm between her dream and reality. Someone was shaking her. “Wake up, you lazy bones. We need to leave.” Atharv with his impish grin and that lock of hair on his forehead, which made it impossible for Sheila to be angry with him for long. She reached out and touched his cheek. The face became Dr. Faisal’s. “Get up Sheila. It’s time.” She touched the tip of her nose, still cold from her dream.
Sheila passed out.
