Liz’s Ordeal and Optimistic Attitude Towards Life
After leaving Life Care Hospital, I checked into the Kozar Hotel, close to where Christina lived. My goal was to relax and recover from the stress we had endured over the past week. I needed to distance myself from the relentless wails of ambulances, ferrying those clinging to life or those who had lost their battle. Christina, Liz’s eldest daughter, was a tremendous help, preparing delicious home-cooked meals that were a welcome relief after a week of hospital food that wreaked havoc on our stomachs.
But my primary concern weighed on my mind: how long could I delay the inevitable conversation with Liz about the amputation? Liz’s faith is unwavering, so I used it as a psychological anchor to help her cope with the anxiety. I found novenas and prayers online to keep her occupied, hoping that her prayers might bring some peace. While at the hotel, I tried to distract myself by photographing birds and whatever else caught my eye. Liz seemed fine during the day, with her grandchildren keeping her company, but as evening approached, her discomfort became clear. She struggled to move, and I could see the anxiety she tried so hard to mask with her beautiful smile.
The next day, we were supposed to head back to Abu, but fate had other plans. As I bent down to pour a cup of tea, I felt a sharp pain in my lower back that left me unable to stand. I lay on the bed, with pillows supporting my legs, but the agony was unbearable. I called my doctor, who prescribed painkillers, and Christina, always so kind, brought the medicine and offered to massage my back. I chalked it up to a muscle spasm brought on by stress. By evening, I could move, but the pain lingered, and I dreaded the road trip back to Abu, knowing that every bump would send shockwaves through my spine. Liz’s condition was also deteriorating; her foot could no longer bear her weight, and she needed help just to get to the bathroom.
Surprisingly, our journey back to Abu was comfortable. Jennifer had prepared everything for Liz, with heaters and the soft fragrance of fresh roses filling the cosy room. Liz asked me to spend time with her, but I had to say no. When I got home that night, I found my Basset Hound, Bosky, in awful shape. The maid informed me she hadn’t eaten in three days. I treated her with homeopathic medicine prescribed by the vet, but I couldn’t shake the unease that settled over me. That night, I tossed and turned, feeling feverish and unwell.
On January 31st, I visited my doctor and told him I felt out of sorts. He prescribed medication, suspecting a viral fever. As February began, I shuttled between two houses, with pleasant days giving way to cold nights hovering just above freezing. By February 6th, my condition had deteriorated.
On February 7th, I visited Liz as usual, but Jennifer confided that all was not well. Liz was going through hell, behaving, and saying nonsensical things at night, insisting she wanted to go home. Liz’s delirium frightened Jennifer, but I reassured her it was likely the drugs and heavy sleep aids affecting her mind. Liz’s days and nights were now a cycle of pain, restless sleep, and despair. Her moods swung, each one overshadowed by tears. “I’m so sick and tired of this leg,” she sighed, struggling to sit up on her sore rump. Her frustration and desperation were palpable as the dry gangrene spread on her foot. I knew time was running out—if Liz didn’t agree to the amputation soon, the pain and heavy doses of medication would drive her mad. Her nightmares had returned, haunting her like demons from the past.
The next two days, February 8th and 9th were among the worst of my life. My shivering bouts lasted for hours, and I developed a constant fever. A blood sample was supposed to be taken on the 9th for lab testing, but the technician never showed up. In desperation, I called Dr. Sharma, who instructed me to start malaria treatment. I took the first dose at midnight, with the second due at 6 a.m. My brother-in-law Jimmy and my brother Aubs visited me on the 10th, finding me drained. I asked Jimmy to drive me to Global Hospital for a blood test.
The results were shocking: my ESR was 120, my WBC count had skyrocketed to 18,400, and my urine WBC was over 100/HPF. The doctors diagnosed me with the first stage of typhoid and a severe UTI. I was stunned—I had taken all precautions in Ahmedabad, yet here I was, battling these illnesses. Bedridden, I had to follow a strict regimen of medication and diet. My good friend Mohan was there for me, offering companionship through thick and thin. He and Jennifer kept me updated on Liz’s worsening condition, and my illness only added to her distress. My fever and chills persisted until the 15th, prompting another blood test. This time, the results confirmed malaria, and the doctors gave me painful injections over the next three days.
Meanwhile, more bad news arrived: the vet was out of town, and my beloved Bosky’s condition had worsened. On the morning of the 12th, she asked to be let out early. I was too weak to accompany her, so the maid’s daughter let her out. At lunchtime, I asked how Bosky was, and they told me she was resting under the bushes in front of the house. But when they went to check on her, they found she had passed away. Time seemed to stand still—I was already struggling to recover, and now this. The loss of my beloved Basset Hound hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew this news would devastate Liz, who doted on the dog, so I asked everyone to keep it from her for now. But that evening, in the course of conversation, Jennifer accidentally let it slip, and Liz broke down in tears. Yet, as painful as it was, perhaps it was for the best—at least Bosky didn’t have to endure agonizing days of pain or face the decision to be put to sleep.
By February 13th, a Saturday, Liz’s condition had deteriorated severely. I knew I had to act quickly, but my illness had left me desperate and drained. My friends, doctors spread across the globe, had reviewed all her reports and urged me not to delay any longer. Out of sheer desperation, I dragged myself out of bed and sent an urgent email to our dear friends, the Newnes, on Valentine’s Day. They called me immediately, and Rita promised to be in Ahmedabad by February 18th. I called Liz and asked if she was ready to go to Ahmedabad; Rita would be there for her. Liz, worn out by the pain, was mentally and physically prepared for the amputation. I immediately arranged for the surgery at Life Care Hospital, with the angiography scheduled for February 18th and the amputation the following day. I informed Derek, who confirmed that Rita would leave Mumbai on the morning of the 18th and join Liz that evening at the hospital.
Everything was set for Liz’s departure to Ahmedabad on the 18th. The ambulance would pick her up at 9:30 a.m., with Jennifer and her brother Chirag accompanying her. The evening before she left, I visited her. She burst into tears, and I could see the anguish etched on her face. This would be the first time she went to the hospital without me. Not feeling well myself, I kissed her goodnight and promised to see her in the morning before she left.
The ambulance arrived on time. We carefully carried Liz into it, making her as comfortable as possible. I wished her a safe journey and assured her that everything would work out—that she would come back a happier person. I desperately wanted to go with her, to be there for her, but it would have been foolish. I was still due for more treatments, and in my current state, I would have been more of a hindrance than a help if anything went wrong.
Liz’s right foot August 2008
The same foot Feb 2010 Life Care Hospital
