AMBULANCE-- Short Story (Fiction)

(Short Story)

AMBULANCE

AKRAM SIDIQUI

He was being shifted to the city’s only tertiary care hospital in a hospital ambulance in the company of two doctors and a duo of paramedics. Lying prostrate on the couch in a semiconscious state, murmuring and muttering in between bouts of shallow breathing, he would blink his right eye many times in a jiffy and then again descend into the realm of total ecstasy.

Galloping on one of the city's most dilapidated and bumpy roads, this hospital vehicle, though seen as the most sophisticated and well-equipped new arrival in the fleet of ambulances, kept tossing about the whole group of medicos attending to the very patient here and there. 

"Oh God, do we really live on the face of this earth or is it some rough patch of the red planet we are cursing along in some space device called the pathfinder?" said the senior doctor while positioning himself firmly against the horizontal iron bar supporting the couch on which the patient was lying.

One of the paramedics coughed, cleared his throat, downed the glass panes of the rear window of the ambulance, and spat out sheepishly. He turned around to look at the senior doctor curiously and said, "Doctor sahib... doctor sahib... the other day while shifting a patient to... Doctor sahib," he repeated, as the senior doctor was whispering something into the ears of his junior colleague.

Gnashing his teeth seemingly in anger, he looked sneeringly at him. "Yes... yes... Farooq, what were you trying to tell us?" asked the junior doctor.

"Yes, doctor sahib. Yesterday, a patient with severe heart insult had to be removed to a nearby cardiac center for further management in this very ambulance... The driver of the ambulance, who was until now driving keenly and carefully, chuckled, looked through the overhead mirror, and yelled, ‘... Faroor... Farooq... that was a real miracle. I have not watched such a great happening in the whole of my life. It seemed as if a charist descended from heavens to infuse life in that patient who could not gain consciousness despite repeated but abortive attempts of DC shock applied on him."

"Oh Mehraj, please give me a break... keep your eyes on the road, you are habitual of obtruding in every sort of discussion unnecessarily," shouted the senior doctor.

"I swear by my mother, sir... I am a witness to it... and..."

"Please, Mehraj... don't get swayed by the occurrence of any miracle," replied the senior doctor. "It could be..."

"Yes, sir... yes, sir, please tell us how did it all happen that a virtual dead person came back to life while being driven to a super-specialty care center. See, my dear," intervened the junior doctor. "It all must have happened because of this bumpy road."

"Bumpy road... what do you mean... bumpy road?" asked the senior doctor.

"Yes, sir, what DC shock could not do happened due to vigorous shaking of his body owing to unending bumps, bounces, jerks, and jostles experienced while going along this road. You mean a well-crafted CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation)... ear-bursting laughter filled the whole atmosphere."

"It means... I am dead, right now on this hearse... and... being carried... forrrr... laaast... rites," whispered the patient to himself. He too had meanwhile come back to life. Raising his head a bit above his shoulders, he questioningly looked at the group in white robes swarming around him, deeply engrossed in discussing something beyond his comprehension. "Wow... Angles... have... already... taken... procession... of my soul... And..."

"S-sir... s-sir, see he is conscious, he is back to life," cried one of the paramedics. "Mr. D’Souza... Mr. D’Souza... hello, Mr. D’Souza, are you alright... Mr. D’Souza, do you get me... do you know where you are?" The senior doctor, amid an eerie silence, tried to invite the patient's attention.

"Yes, Mr. Angel, I know I am dead... I am on... this hearse, being taken... for my... last... rites."

"No, Mr. Desoza, you are not dead. You are alive. I am Doctor Arshid, along with my subordinate team; we are taking you to the city's big hospital for further treatment. Please, Mr. Angel, don't try to... play a prank... on me. I know I am... heading for... Hades. In case I am alive, why are you carrying my body on this hearse?... Why not in an ambulance?"

"This is an ambulance, Mr. D’Souza, yes, a well-equipped ambulance," replied the junior doctor embarrassingly. "Look, Mr. Second Angel... I am still too conscious to draw a line between an ambulance and a hearse. In my country England, an ambulance means… a micro hospital... from... minor surgeries... to major... Medical emergencies... like cardiac arrest are treated... too comfortably in an ambulance. I suppose... if this is... an ambulance and... I again... suffer a heart attack... what... will... you... do? How... will... you... treat..." The patient's voice trailed off.

"Doctor sahib... doctor sahib, see he is sinking... he ceased to breathe... he is dying, do something please," cried the junior doctor. The senior doctor removed his black-tinted spectacles from his eyes, wiped it with his apron, and said, "I am sorry, Mr. D’Souza..."

The author is a writer, poet and columnist. He can be reached at sidiquirayan@gmail.com