Dear Hassan,
Last Saturday I switched on, for the first time since my operation, (10 days ago now), my favourite selection of music.
Since the age of 12 I have been a fan of Bob Dylan and so this collection contains several pieces of his work. Amongst them is a song entitled:
‘Don’t Fall Apart on me Tonight’ and while listening to it I heard these lines as if I’d never heard them before:
I quote:
“I wish I’d been a Doctor,
Maybe I’d have saved some lives that had been lost.
Maybe I’d have done some good in this world
Instead of burning every bridge I crossed….”
Perhaps it is not uncommon while recovering from open-heart surgery to become emotionally vulnerable for, while hearing these lyrics the very depth of my being, felt a huge compassion, for your team at Artemis Health Centre.
The annals of time are marked by the words of Philosophers and Poets. History is sculpted by artistic revelation and yet the work I witnessed, in one way or the other, performed by your team, paled even the finest carvings of Rodin and Michelangelo, for you were able to rejuvenate, make good, an old man’s broken heart, who certainly has burnt every bridge he’s crossed.
The bell that tolled the knell of parting day on that misty, murky Gurgaon evening we shared and I thought might be my last, was, in reality, a bright, new dawn.
A chance to live again, given by the courage, precision and skill of each one of you, to me, in an operating theatre, beyond my consciousness.
My first impression after this operation was the person closest to me in life sitting near me. I could sense the tubes, the oxygen mask, and my weakness. She appeared to be some distance away except her materialisation was not normal. She was not solid more an infinite, moving hue of red, more like an angel than a person.
The recollection is hazy but I think I saw two other visitors this way, both their own unique colour and vibration, more soul than man.
It was as if I was between worlds.
They were so still, nothing like their ordinary manifestation, but I sensed their presence was vital in bringing me back to life.
It seemed minutes later, (though I understand it was hours), that I ‘awoke’ to the Intensive Care Unit. A half way house, more Theatre of the Absurd than Hospital. The Science of Imaginary Solutions performed by constant attention and physical intrusion.
The young Indian Male Nurse who attended me during this time humbles me. He took my blood that night and I cursed him mercilessly, hating him, and yet now, much later, I realise his performance on that shadowy, strange, and almost psychedelic, post operative stage, gave me life itself. Indeed, on reflection, his humanity puts my own, to shame.
Perhaps, as I said earlier, it is not so uncommon while recovering from such surgery to have revelatory thoughts. After all, with a new aortic valve, the correct amount of blood is now flowing into my brain for the first time in at least a decade and as a consequence one can assume thought will alter accordingly.
Certainly, the huge gap between the way I was treated in UK and the way I was treated at Artemis Health Centre has become glaringly obvious to me. It illustrates one of the great ironies of modern times.
As a child, in the 1950’s and 1960’s, India was considered the last place on Earth to be hospitalised while Britain the best. In the past 50 years the complete opposite has become true. Your medical treatment far surpasses any private or state owned hospital in the U.K. Not just in terms of cleanliness, care, efficiency, food but above all you actually treat people as human beings.
I offered my insurance company to waive payment of a ticket back to UK plus the £25 per day allowance in exchange for them to fly a member of their ‘medical team’ to Delhi so that their representative could visit Artemis and pick up some tips on how to treat patients. I have yet to receive a reply to this proposal but I doubt they have the courage or humility to accept it.
Unfortunately in the UK your NHS number is more important than your disease, bureaucracy overrules compassion and misdiagnosis is more common than correct care. As you know my heart condition was obvious to anyone who can use a stethoscope and yet at Ysbyty Gwynedd Hospital North Wales, one of the most reputable hospitals in UK, only six months ago, they were unable to fathom the obvious.
Shamefully, for myself and my country of origin, there is only one “third world” health system in this tale, and it is definitely not the Indian one.
My apologies for sullying what I try to say with the tarred, tired, voice of personal, political opinion.
What occurred with my heart, literally, in your hands, transcends the polarised world.
All was as one. Here and now became eternal for a microsecond, which is, of course, forever.
I lived, died and was reborn again as you somehow kept me between worlds, alive though I shouldn’t have been!
I scratch my head at the recollection. No one likes to go to hospital but if anyone needs to go there I’d recommend yours.
The care you and the other doctors showed restored my faith in mankind and, surprisingly, I look forward to the extra years you have given me.
The song I quoted at the beginning continues:
“Don’t fall apart on me tonight
“I just don’t think that I could handle it.
“Don’t fall apart on me tonight,
“Yesterday’s just a memory,
“Tomorrow’s never what it’s supposed to be,
“And I need you.”
Not one person at Artemis Health Centre fell apart on me that night and these poor scratchings on parchment I write, are as a tribute, to unsung heroes. The cleaner, barber, nurse, doctor, technician, who, consciously or unconsciously, cared for this small, infinitesimal being that I call ‘myself’, as if it were the most precious thing in the universe.
There are no words to express my gratitude
Yrs humbly,
Robin Marchesi
