The Waiting Room by Roopa Sarah Thomas

Last week, after a serious accident my cousin found himself in the ICU. He was on his bike, minus the helmet that he had taken off to wipe his face. A second later, a cow had wandered onto the empty street and there was a big collision. The cow died on the spot and helpful friends rushed my cousin to a nearby hospital.

The duty doctor assured us almost immediately, that he was out of danger, despite the fact that his head was bleeding and his face bruised. He was unconscious then. So we were told we'd have to wait before he gained consciousness.

Then began those long sessions in the waiting room.

When the Malayalee security guard guided us to the waiting room, we expected to see an empty room with rows of comfortably cushioned chairs. Instead, we found uncomfortable chairs that were all occupied. After hanging around for a few minutes, someone obliged by getting up and we got to sit down. In there, we found different kinds of people. In keeping with the times (!), all of them had mobile phones that rang at regular intervals. Most people wore serious expressions and an occasional giggle came from a playful child. A small number sat weeping silent tears, while another lot sat staring into the television screen. A few read books and newspapers, looking up only when the phone in the room came to life.

In one corner, I noticed a lot of luggage; bags, tins, pillows and sheets occupied an entire corner. Occasionally, someone would look out of the window, deep in thought.

An employee of the hospital would come in once a day, with the remote for the TV, asking if there was any other channel that we wanted to see. And when he didn't get a reply, he'd decide on Sun TV and leave us with a few loud and noisy songs.

But it affected no one the way the ringing of the red phone did. When it came to life, the person sitting closest to it would pick up. Often it was from the ICU, asking relatives of patients lying there, to buy the necessary medicines. After dropping the phone, the relative would rush to the ICU, pick up the list and then run down to get the medicines.

This became a routine soon enough. From taking in books, I began taking in my Walkman. The entire family took turns to sit there.

My cousin got better soon enough, though he was still in the ICU for observation.

And in a selfish way, we often looked sympathetically at those whose loved ones had more fatal ailments, thinking we were luckier.

Thrice a day, all of us would stand outside the ICU. A curtain would come up and we would be permitted to peer in and check on the patients. My cousin looked fine, despite his cuts and bruises. Beside him lay old men and women who were either unconscious or too sick to move. At least we knew he was going to get out of there safe and healthy, we thought relieved, as we watched the other relatives either breaking down or looking around helplessly.

Soon, we all got talking in the waiting room. The uneasy silence was taken over by a friendlier atmosphere. We got talking to a mother whose son was in the ICU after a terrible accident. He had multiple fractures in his skull and an airlock in his brain. The doctors told his mother that there were possibilities of a brain haemorrhage or a tumour. But the brave mother arrived each morning in a starched sari, to give her son a feeling of normalcy. And while she watched him from outside, he limped across the room proudly, to let her know that he was getting better.

Another man however, wasn't even this fortunate. His wife was admitted into the ICU twenty-five days ago. It began with Malaria that had been detected too late. Now she has something wrong with her heart, her lungs and her kidneys. The doctors weren't too optimistic either. But the family was there everyday, at all times, putting on a courageous facade.

Another old lady in the ICU wasn't conscious either. While she lay helplessly on her bed, connected to various machines, her family stood outside. The doctors have given their verdict and by the time this article gets to Zine5, she might not even be alive.

Every family there had a different story. Perhaps in normal life, we wouldn't have encountered them. But in the waiting room, we'd come together in grief. From playing dumb charades with my cousin in the ICU, we also walked around looking at the other patients and giving their relatives comforting glances. Some of those patients will never come out alive. But the relatives have still not given up hoping for a miracle.

My cousin will be out of the ICU either today or tomorrow. A fancy room with a lot of comforts awaits him. But some others are waiting for death that is hovering around for its victims. In this week, we saw one death and three more accident cases. A few new faces frequent the waiting room now. While some get their good news there, others aren't so lucky. But then, moments like these remind you just how special life is. And more amazing is the bond you share with others like you, who are either waiting, or continue to wait.