MoRan Shots

45. While you were sleeping.

Once upon a time there lived a king, so brave and so handsome that people called him the handsome knight. With hair as dark as ebony and dusky skin with sharp features, he was the epitome of class.

Monami rubbed a hand over her eyes. She must've been extremely tired to have thought of those silly words at a time like this. She darted her eyes to the clock and it somberly confirmed her suspicion. It was 3:20 AM and she was at the last leg of her thirty-six hours long shift and was almost ready to drop dead. This was the last patient that she needed to check before she could leave for the day and resign into blissful oblivion called sleep. Speaking of her patient, why had he been thinking about Handsome Knight of all things? he was not an Handsome Knight. If one ignored those dark circles under his eyes, or his sunken rugged cheek bones, or those cracked lips and the paraphernalia around him, he was a king in his own rights. He wasn't Handsome Knight, he was Sleeping Beauty.

'What is wrong with you Monami?' she chided herself mentally. She was looking at a patient who'd been comatose for eight weeks and she was thinking about fairy-tales and kings? Actually it was her four year old friend's daughter's fault. The kid was currently in love with Disney movies and as a result she was suffering from a severe case of overexposure to saccharine sweetness as her friend often visited her. That combined with the bone-deep fatigue and sleep-deprivation meant that she was now officially a basket case.

With a world weary sigh, she picked up the charts hanging by the foot of her bed and studied them. As per the hospital's policy, the patients in ICU were under constant observation. Besides the machines, nurses would monitor the vital stats every hour and twice a day a Doctor would come by as well. Till now she had been working in the Trauma Center but that wasn't where her heart lay and hence when the position for an In-House physician for ICU had opened up, she jumped at the opportunity. Today was her first day of ICU duty and therefore the routine check-ups were her responsibility. She'd spent the best part of her shift understanding the machinations of the unit and this was her first independent round. She tore her eyes away from the broken figure that lay on the bed and looked at the charts.

Patient's name:- Karan Shergill.

Age:- 27.

Sex:- Male.

A brief history was scribbled at the bottom of the page. Eight weeks ago, he had come to the Emergency Room after complains of sharp abdominal cramps and fever. He was admitted for a routine appendectomy but then things went wrong. At the Operation Table, his blood pressure had plummeted severely and he had to be given an injection to be stabilized. But he had a rare genetic disorder that had not been detected earlier. As a result, the injection reacted in an unexpected way and he had slipped into a coma and had been in the ICU since then.

Monami quickly checked his vital stats, his nervous system's response and his other bodily functions. Assured that the machines were keeping him alive, she took a step back and looked at him. Someone had kept a framed photograph of him and another girl of same age, probably his friend on her bedside table. In the photograph, she saw a man with a bright smile and happy eyes. Hhe was a guy full of life. His eyes were dancing with joy, celebrating life. His cheeks were full and round. His lips were stretched into an easy and genuine smile. He had been alive.

All of that had been brutally snatched from him and now he lay on the bed, a broken shell of a human being. Biologically he was alive because other than his brain, all his organs were functioning as they should. But did that constitute as life? This pale, skeletal form that had innumerable tubes and wires attached to him was living and breathing. He was considered alive because his heart was beating; the beeping heart monitor said so. He was alive because his kidneys were functioning; the little baggie that collected his urine through the catheter confirmed that. He was getting his nutrition; his arm was hooked to an IV after all. But what was the point? he couldn't feel the warmth of human touch. He couldn't listen to the birds singing, or smell the flowers blooming or see a rainbow. He couldn't enjoy the first rain, the laughter of a child nor could he be discomfited by the biting cold outside. Weren't these the things that made life worth living? And if he couldn't enjoy them, what was the point in being alive?