Two Worlds!!

For some reasons, our visits to the Civil Hospital got reduced to only visiting the Paediatric Cancer Ward. For the past two-three visits, that had been the case. And to an extent, it left me feeling incomplete. It's not that I didn't enjoy meeting the kids, not that it had become monotonous or that the process process didn't enlighten me. It did. There're a few realizations that come to facts only after meeting the cancer-affected kids. But yes, I did miss the visit to the Paraplegia Ward. There's a certain quality of attraction that ward has. It's the closest reality-check you get to face or experience. With the kids, the surroundings are all so sweet and a little eased up, comparatively. It's toys and swings and cartoons painted on the wall (the government has done a fairly good job in providing for the same). There's a certain sense of happiness, even though partial or artificial, that keeps those patients and parents sane and happy, even if it is for a while throughout the day.

But that's not the case with the patients in the Paraplegia ward. There, the surroundings are dull, and typically reflect an old, uncared, government building. The patients are are grown up people. So talking to them is a challenge in itself. Since we're very young as compared to them, most of them wouldn't give a minnow for our concern. But after a lot of pestering and insistence on my side, we did pay a visit to the ward this time. And the visit there is a different kind of an eye opener in a way.

Both the wards work in respective ways to help us grow more as a person. Our regular visits to the Cancer ward paid off as the children had started recognising us. Parents enthusiastically welcome us and it is evident from the smile on their faces when we enter their room. Even downstairs, outside the doctor's office, where the kids who are in the process of healing, who don't stay at the hospital as they don't require further closely scrutinised care, and are there for regular check ups, remember us and welcome us with a smile on their face. We met one such girl this time. Her name's Tulsi, and she's 3-4 years old. She was downstairs, leaving for home. She saw us and gave a big smile. Even we remembered her from our past visits, when she was in one of the rooms, undergoing treatment. But now she was better, and had come for a check up. She was feeling a little shy, so she didn't talk much, but all the while she couldn't stop smiling. Her parents were elated on seeing us and were telling us how she was on her way to a speedy recovery.

Just the fact that she remembered us all made me so very happy. Even though it was no big a gesture. I feel that a cancer ward is the best place for a new volunteer to start off with. Cos even someone who's interested in being helpful by involving in such kind of activities but feels that he/she lacks the capacity or proper way of doing so, can benefit and learn by visiting this ward. The fact that it's the children who are suffering from such deadly disease can help create empathy even in people who generally can't empathize or wouldn't have been able to much, had it been an adult in a child's stead.

The Paraplegia ward, for me is a place everyone should visit once. Whenever I go there, I get more of a sense of satisfaction. I had talked about a deaf man in my previous post. He was still there in the ward when we went this time. And I told all my friends that he's the guy I had written about. There was something I had forgotten to mention that time. He's not only deaf, he can't speak also. So can't his wife and kids. The entire family suffers from the same problem. But when my friends saw him, they realised the spirit with which he embraced all his problems. The zest for life that he had, was clearly evident from his body language. This time it was his dad with whom I got a chance to talk to. He was recovering nicely after that surgery I had talked about last time. Now he could feel sensation in the leg, movement was clearly visible, and the exercises were to be started from the next week. Which again was a clear sign of good recovery. Slowly but steadily, he was going good. I asked his dad if still there's something we could do. And I realised his love for books, and asked him if he'd want more of those. Affirmation from him was obvious. So I'm in the process of collecting any written material I have which is in Gujarati.

Besides him, there were loads of other patients. Some who didn't want to talk, some who had lost all hope, some who were doing good, some who didn't understand one bit of what the doctor said, some who were taking is strongly and some who didn't have anyone besides them. They were all alone. We tried to talk to many of them. Let me give it to you, it's really tough talking to them. But then, we have to do it. In the ladies ward, I asked my female colleagues to do the talking as females are more comfortable opening up to females. Then we left the hospital and headed back to the RC Center.

And like every time, I could feel this sudden shift. There's such a stark contrast in the worlds; the one in the hospital, and the one outside it. Inside, you experience pessimism, problems, suffering, care, neglect, hope, survival, endurance and many such other feelings; and the moment you step out of the campus, you're forced into the other facet of the real world, where the people are too busy with their own selves to even think or experience what we did just a few minutes ago. You see the pedestrians vying for space to walk, traffic policemen catching the offenders and arguing with them, the roadside vegetable vendors shouting bargains, the milkman struggling with his bicycle, two vehicle drivers arguing after a minor accident, school children stuffed into a rickshaw heading towards their school, the workers ferrying goods to earn their meagre square meals, the sweeper doing the "so-called" cleaning act (all he does is to shift dust from one side to the other and blow up a part of it in the air), and even you yourself jostling for space to drive on the road.

All this makes you think whether such people do even have time to think of the lesser-fortunate people, leave aside spending time with them. But then, you also know that you're a part of it as soon as you enter the realm of the outside world. And if you do, then so must others. But in a way, it feels good and fortunate to be a part of this side of the campus than the other, to be fortunate enough to be able to walk ourselves to our destination, and in the meantime use our hands to do other work rather than push our wheel-chair, to be able to eat with our own hands, to be able to run around, play, do masti, drive, talk....; in short, lead a normal life.

But then what makes you realize that you're fortunate??? It's the very visits that you have made to the hospital so far, and seen it all yourself. You've learnt to appreciate the smallest of gestures and the smallest of your abilities on a grander scale. You learn to enjoy the bad roads because at least you're fortunate enough to drive on them; you learn to enjoy cleaning your room b'cos at least you have your own room, your own house; you learn to enjoy the pile of clothes waiting to be ironed, b'cos at least you've got so many good clothes to wear. But apart from the learning, it's the feeling that people want you there, which is evident from the way they welcome us every time, that makes you want to work towards this cause more and more.

I'm sure everyone in our group feels the same. And with more of our friends joining in, the activity has assumed a larger interest than before. Things are going good as of now. More details later. That is if some story or incident inspires me enough to share it with you guys, and take us into whole new direction of things. Peace Out...