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Loneliness and belongingness

Day 736

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In the NHS, staff morale is at an all time low.

Non-UK staff have been insulted by the Secretary of State and Prime Minister and made to feel that their work is not appreciated and their presence neither wanted nor likely to be tolerated in the not too distant future. Considering that at least one-third of the NHS staff has its origins outside of the UK, this does not bode well for the future.

Our medical students are threatened with financial handcuffs to tie them to the NHS for four years as if they hadn’t already paid tuition fees and won’t be going on to pay punitive taxes for the rest of their careers. Junior doctors are being subjected to an unnecessary new contract which is unsafe and unfair, that they voted against and that discriminates against women, less than full time workers and those who wish to improve themselves as doctors by undertaking research or further training.

The salaries have been falling since 2003. Meanwhile, hovering in the background, there have been two years of national negotiations about a potential new and toxic consultant contract. The press continues to make doctors look lazy and loaded. Fewer school kids are applying for places in medical schools than ever before. More junior doctors are looking for jobs abroad than ever before.

The UK environment for doctors is not attractive.

 

Day 735

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Today, I woke up determined to have a ‘normal’ day.
Fed the cats. Helped Si make a breakfast smoothie. Got ready. Gulped the thick fruity drink down and headed for the train station. On the way, I received a text from a junior doctor who thanked me for sharing this blog with her as she thought it was full of very valuable insights. From her own experiences, she knew how reluctant society was to talk about mental illness. She is seriously considering specialising in Psychiatry.

At work I had a capable young trainee working with me. Aside from anaesthesia we talked about the gentrification of Brixton that had gone too far and how doing admin is far more tiring than looking after patients. Then I caught up with some admin.

‘Grassroots’ in Brighton sent an e-mail thanking me for contributing to their World Suicide Prevention Day celebrations : https://youtu.be/aclR9grDt1Q

One of Saagar’s school friends sent me a ‘friend request’ on face book! Yay!!! 🙂

Went to the gym after work. There was a beautiful, slim, tall blonde lady training at the same time as me. I overheard her saying that she did not like to look at herself in the mirror. I couldn’t think of one reason why that might be the case.  Wonder what her story was! After finishing the session had a heart to heart with my trainer who shared his difficult time looking after his father in a hospice for 3 months before he passed away.  We both had tears in our eyes and we gave each other a warm healing hug before saying bye. While having a shower I realised that if I stood absolutely still under the warm shower, it felt like being inside a warm duvet.

On the way home, I slept with my mouth open on the train. Luckily didn’t miss my station or swallow a fly. Got a phone call from R’s Mum. She has not had a good week. R’s inquest is coming up next month and she really wants to talk to me about it. So, we set a date for next week.

Got home and lit a candle for Saagar. Sat down with a cup of tea and heard a knock on the door. There was a lady from Greenpeace. After talking to her for 5 minutes at the door I invited her in. For the next half an hour we had a great conversation. I didn’t mind missing the ‘Archers’. We spoke about many topics close to my heart – air quality on London, lack of proper usage of solar energy in India, people forming strong bonds with technology while loosing their deep connection with nature, writing, campaigning and so on. I am now a proud member of Greenpeace!

Now I am about to cook dinner for Si as he is working late…again.

So, I suppose I did have a ‘normal’ day.

Day 734

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The tradition of fasting to death is called ‘Santhara’. It is glorified in Jainism, an ancient religion of India that teaches a life of renunciation. It usually applies to elderly people who feel they have entered the final phase of life with no meaningful purpose left to fulfil.

Early this month a beautiful 13 years old girl, Aradhna, from a Jain family died two days after fasting for 68 days. She lived only on boiled water for nearly 10 weeks. (http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/hyderabad/13-year-old-Jain-girl-dies-after-observing-68-day-fast-to-bring-good-luck-to-family/articleshow/54750457.cms)

According to the media, her father, a jeweller was in financial difficulty and he consulted some senior Jain monks who came up with the idea of her fasting to get the family out of that situation.

According to her father, it was her wish. She had fasted for 8 days in 2014, for 34 days last year and it ‘suited’ her. She was keen to go further this year. As 68 is an auspicious number in that faith, she wanted to fast for that many days. It was entirely voluntary. The family merely supported her wish.

According to both, the completion of the fast was marked by huge celebrations attended by 600 people. So was her funeral procession. She was anointed as a ‘divine soul’.

According to the hospital, she was brought dead from home. The family’s defense is that she was slowly recovering after breaking the fast gently with fluids and semi-solids but then she suffered a heart attack.

They certainly didn’t know of a condition called ‘Refeeding Syndrome’. When undernourished patients are re-fed there is an increased requirement for phosphate as the body switches back to carbohydrate metabolism, which can be made worse by a background of relative phosphate shortage in starvation. Phosphate levels in the blood begin to fall and mainly affect the heart and brain. So, it is more than likely that her ‘heart attack’ was because of prolonged fasting  followed by unmonitored and inappropriate refeeding. (http://www.gosh.nhs.uk/health-professionals/clinical-guidelines/re-feeding)

Was this a suicide? A murder? Pure ignorance? Superstition? Religious blindness? Lack of common sense? Huge violation of children’s rights?The journey of her soul? Karma? All of the above? What values over-ride the basic instinct of parents to feed their off-springs?

It seems so wrong!

Day 731

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Last night as I went to bed, like many times before I prayed for a quiet peaceful death in my sleep. Facing another day has often been a terribly treacherous prospect. A heart so shattered, wonder how it keeps me alive!

I woke up knowing today marked the same wretched point in the circle of time where we were 2 years ago – the same dark spot that has smudged the rest of my days, the same dagger that has gouged an incurable agonising hole in my being.

Finding excuses to stay in bed for a bit longer I turned my phone on. The first message was from a friend who had lit a few candles in Saagar’s memory and said she was thinking of us today. Then over the course of the day there were similar messages and phone calls from Saagar’s friends, their parents, our friends and family. I was amazed that so many people reached out to us. So many didn’t know Saagar and so many I have never met. It was truly healing and life-affirming. Yes. Together we can keep Saagar’s memory alive. And that of many other innocent young people like him. They will not be forgotten. Their life and death will not be a waste. Their stories will be told and retold till lessons that need to be learnt are learnt.

We held a traditional hindu prayer ceremony called ‘havan’ at home in the afternoon. Havan is a ritual of making offerings such as grains and ghee into a consecrated fire and invoking one or more deities. It is accompanied by chanting of Sanskrit prayers and mantras. It is said to purify the environment and allow for transformation of individuals. As I made those offerings into the fire, it made me think of the symbolism of surrendering anger, regret and guilt to the Gods so they could be transformed to love and empathy.

The day wasn’t so wretched after all.
It was a reminder of the enduring nature of love.

Thank you Saagar for being my son and for being you.
Thank you all for reaching out.

Day 727

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We got the TV installed just before my parents came to stay for a few weeks. We hardly ever watch it. This evening I happened to switch it on as I was alone at home. I watched a film on the Aberfan disaster, a catastrophic collapse of a coal mine spoil tip in a small Welsh village. This occured in October 50 years ago and claimed the lives of 116 primary school kids. One of the snippets showed the utter chaos of it and mothers standing in a long row, passing rubble and bricks away from the disaster site. The mums, now in their 70s and 80s choked up while relating the experience and shared the pictures and sweet little belongings of their kids. They also remembered the great difficulty they had in surviving this immense loss. They wondered what their wee ones would be like as grown ups. They would be in their 50s now!

Wow! What must that be like!

It’s strange that while I actively seek out programmes on mental health related issues and thus manage my deep sense of loss, when I am not seeking anything out, the radio, TV or life bring me face to face with it.

12th of October 2014 was a Sunday. Diwali, the festival of lights was less than 2 weeks away. Diwali signifies joy, love, reflection, resolution and knowledge and represents victory of good over evil and light over darkness. The annual Diwali Mela was being celebrated at Trafalgar Square. Saagar and I went along to that and ran into a photographer friend who took a few pictures.

I had no idea that those would be our last pictures together. Was I in darkness then and now I am in light? Or was I in light then and now I am in darkness? I don’t know.

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This is one of those pictures. This is what a terminally ill person looks like.

With all due respect to parents whose kids have suffered cancer, I sometimes wish Saagar had cancer. It would have been taken seriously and looked after by specialists. I would have been given some facts, figures and things to watch out for. I would have had a chance to tell him how much I love him. I would have had a chance to say good-bye.