Grant Woods - painting of the George Washington legend
“A broken hip is often a terminal event”, the orthopaedic surgeon had told us when my mother fell at the age of 84. Her case was complicated by diabetes, the onset of kidney failure, and her refusal to submit to a regimen of dialysis.
“I’ve done all I wanted to with my life, and I’m not going to spend the rest of my life plugged to a machine”, Ma had declared when her diabetologist advised dialysis. Our respect for our mother’s clarity of mind allowed for no discussion. Now this.
“Ask your mother if she will submit to one emergency dialysis. It will give me a chance to operate with fewer complications, and I know she would prefer to take that chance, rather then spend her last months in bed.”
Dr. Oberoi was right; Ma needed little convincing, and in the hours after that one dialysis, her skin glowed from the internal cleansing. The hip surgery was successful. Ma fought her way through the pain, put her considerable will to physio-therapy, and a couple of months later, presided over her annual food festival - albeit in a wheelchair. By early summer, she was walking around the house, and attending office 4 times a week.
When Ma passed, it was of renal failure, not from the trauma of a broken hip.
Less than a year later, Ma’s elder sister, my Masi, fractured her hip. Dr. Oberoi operated, and declared the surgery successful- “Her recovery will depend entirely on physio-therapy”.
In the days that followed, my cousin reported that this was not going well. Masi would tire easily, and refuse to cooperate with the physio-therapist. When we next went to visit, my doughty Masi was lying listless in her bed. She turned her head to look at us, and held my hand with a weak smile.
“Come on, get up, Mom!”, her son urged - “Mohit and Premi are here”.
My aunt demurred.
“Mom! You’re not going to get well if you don’t make an effort. You have to get up now.”
My cousin’s love and concern translated into harshness, into a demand for which my aunt had no will. In her eyes, I saw only surrender.
When we moved to the living room, I replayed Dr. Oberoi’s words to my cousin.
“When Ma fell, Doc told us that a broken hip is often a terminal event. Ma recovered, but if Masi doesn’t, she should not spend her last days being pushed to find a strength she doesn’t have. Let her last days be peaceful and loving.”
I fought back my tears, and my cousin quietly considered my words. His wife searched both our faces. Little was said.
A couple of days later, Masi was gone.
Deepest condolences Mohit.
Please accept my condolences, Mohit.