The Casualty

Casualty. Noun. A person killed or injured in a war or accident. Synonyms : victim, fatality, loss.

I was 8 years old when I heard this word for the first time. But it took me 12 years to truly process what it meant.

I had just turned 20, it was my birthday, but unlike others my age I wasn’t outside partying or treating my friends to fancy dinners (mostly McDonald’s because that is what the average student in my college could afford). I was at the hospital, the very same hospital where I now work almost 25 years later, waiting for the doctors to let me into the operation room. I paced outside the door anxiously waiting for someone to come outside and tell me the only thing I wanted to hear, “There is nothing to worry about, your mother is out of danger.”

After what felt like eternity someone came out of the double doors. ‘Dr. Patrick’ read the little badge clumsily stuck to his scrubs.
I stood infront of him too scared to breathe. I could tell from the look on his face that the worst thing I imagined had already happened.

“Your mother suffered 3 gun shots, one to the chest and 2 to the abdomen. We tried our hardest but unfortunately we couldn’t save her. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

It was at this moment that I felt true heartbreak. I felt my body slip to the floor while I leaned on one of the walls and cried my heart out.
At one point I felt light headed, a few nurses nearby saw me blacking out and came to my rescue.

“What happened?” I heard one of the nurse whisper to another.
“Her mother… Dr. Murthy… GSW casualty” were the last words I heard as I blacked out completely, silence surrounded me, except for one word that kept on repeating.

Casualty. Casualty. CASUALTY.

I was 8, it was a rainy night, mom had put me to bed almost an hour ago, but it took me some time to fall asleep. Just as I was falling into deep slumber mom shook me awake.

“Babba get up please.”

“What happened mommy?” Sleepy little me asked.

“There’s a casualty at the hospital and I need to get there. We don’t have time to get you to grandma and grandpa’s house so you’ll have to come with me. You can sit in my office and read or play, okay? Now please get up and wear your jacket.” Mom said almost in one breath. She looked tired, her brown hair flying around everywhere, bags under her eyes. She always looked tired.

“What’s the meaning of casualty?” I asked as I rubbed my eyes.

“It means someone who has come to the hospital that really needs mommy’s help.”

“My mommy is a surgeon!” I used to tell everyone very proudly, I didn’t exactly know what surgeon meant or how to even spell it, all I knew was she was a doctor and she saved lives, even if she had to go to the hospital at the most odd hours.

We lived in a small town where there weren’t many doctors but too many accidents and crimes.

“Patient is a male, late 20s to mid 30s. GSW, 4 to the abdomen and 3 to the arms. Heartbeat’s going down, get here fast!” Someone was briefing mom on the way.

“On my way.” Mom said as she pressed down the accelerator.

“Mommy, what’s GSW?” my ever curious mind asked.

“Gun shot wound. It’s when someone gets shot by a gun and mommy needs to save them.” She explained lovingly through her tired eyes, just like she had always done.

We pulled into the small parking lot and rushed to mom’s office. She led me to a chair and handed me a book, “Sit here and read this till mommy comes back, and don’t go out of this room.” She kissed my forehead and rushed out.

I sat on the big chair with the big book looking at the pretty pictures, but suddenly bright lightning struck and loud thunder roared in the sky. I was terrified and immediately rushed out to look for mom.

I walked along the hallways and saw a group of people going in and out of big double doors. ‘Emergency Room’ I read slowly. I walked towards the door and half expected one of the many people rushing around to stop me , but none of them seemed to notice, which I realised later was because someone had been struck by lightning outside.

I walked through the big doors and saw a large room filled with beds, some with curtains hiding the people lying on them, some without curtains, empty.
At the other end of the room was another bed, but this was huge, and it had so many gadgets around it constantly beeping and lights flickering and it was separated by a glass partition and similar curtains covering up the bed.

And there I saw – mom! She was standing over the person lying in bed with many people looking over her shoulder.

“We’re losing him, initiate CPR!” I heard someone yell.

Mom dropped everything and started pumping his chest wildly. Up, down, up, down. She kept going. I was getting worried now. Was she trying to hurt him? But mom was supposed to save him, why was she hurting him? My young mind couldn’t understand that my mother was trying to bring him back.

Suddenly, one of his hands became limp and hung from the side of the bed. The beeping from the machine stopped and everyone became silent.

“But, no, no…” Mom started talking to someone next to her.

They gently put a hand on her shoulder and spoke to her in hushed tones.

Suddenly someone else burst through the big double doors, yelling.
“Where is he?” It was a woman with a baby in her arms.

Mom and the other doctors looked at her, that’s when they noticed me.

“Babba what are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to stay in the room.” Mom yelled at me from the other side as she started coming towards me. The lady blocked her way.

“Lady, you need to tell me where is my husband. What happened to him?”

Mom’s eyes looked in the direction of the bed. Although you couldn’t really see the man lying in bed, you could still see the lifeless hand hanging from the side.

She already knew what had happened. A loud cry rose from her throat as she slipped to the floor almost dropping the baby. Luckily mom caught them both just in time and other doctors came to help.
They escorted the crying lady outside and spoke to her quietly, not that she was listening to them.
She kept wailing and crying. The baby also started crying and their cries echoed in the hallways.

“Mommy, what happened? You were supposed to help him right? Couldn’t you save him?” I asked as mom led me back to her room.

“No babba, mommy couldn’t save him.” She said as tears welled into her eyes.

“But what will happen to him now?”

Mom picked me up and took me to the window.

“You see that sky?” She pointed outside as the clouds were clearing up “he’s going to become one of those stars in the sky and he’s going to look over his baby from the sky now.”

I stared at the sky in awe as my young mind processed this idea of death.

On the drive home I was quiet, very unusual for me and mom noticed.

“What are you thinking babba?” She asked, a little smile on her lips.

“I’m thinking that I should become like you. A doctor. So that I can also save people.”

“Yes, you can do that babba, you can do anything you want. Just remember to always do good to others, no matter what.” She said, a strong fire burning in her eyes, which I didn’t understand at the time but realised later was because she was proud at my decision. Ever since then it had become my goal, to become a doctor and bring happiness to people’s life.

We moved to a bigger town where mom was a senior surgeon and was one of the most respected doctors. I wanted to be just like her. Throughout the years mom taught me so many things, about being a good doctor, being a good student and most importantly about being a kind, loving person.

“Always remember to spread love and kindness wherever you go.” She had written on the first page of the diary she had gifted me as an ‘in-advance gift’ for my 20th birthday.

“Write more and inspire more people” she told me as she handed the gift to me.

At that time I never really thought much about it, except that it was a really sweet jesture but I won’t really get much time to write stories and fairytales in college.

What I hadn’t realised then was that only 2 days later I would be crying my heart out as I wrote in the same diary, with my tears staining the pages, smudging the ink. I didn’t care. I wanted to write.

I wrote like crazy. I wrote to my star, my mom. I wrote anything and everything I could remember about her and about our life together. All the good times and the bad. All the laughs and tears we shared. All our fights and fun times. I wrote as tears rolled down my cheeks. Happy and sad. Happy for all the memories. Sad for the harsh reality that had hit me.

“Watch over me, my star, as I walk this life. Hope to spread kindness on every step and then to see you on the other side, wait for me.” I wrote as I signed my name.

25 years later, I still hold those memories close to me, everyday. I think about her often, her loving smile, her tired eyes, her brown hair and the way her lips moved everytime she called me by my nickname. “Babba”, a name very special to me, one that only she could call me, my star.