I wondered if Rick Jackson was off his rocker. I was not sure if he was serious about this business of uploading the Sanghaali Cesarean section video onto YouTube or if he was joking. I could not detect any hint of humour in his words. Nevertheless, he continued talking ‘Search on YouTube or on Google Images for Sanghaali female circumcision, you will get all kinds of graphic images and videos. Why are these Sanghaali women, who do not fear such inhumane gory acts, afraid of the Cesarean sections? Nobody has any idea. This problem started in our hospital, right? Let us find the solution ourselves.’
‘Rick, do you really think that uploading a video on YouTube can solve this problem? What credibility does a video from a small hospital like ours have? If it was the national media then…’
He cut me mid-sentence and said, ‘Fuck the media. Let’s make the news that we want. By some god’s grace this disgusting news has not made it to the national headlines! I suppose that is for our own good.’
I did not know what to say, ‘I can meet you next week.’
He asked, ‘Have you spoken to your friend Razak recently?’
I was surprised that Razak’s name popped up suddenly. I said, ‘Not outside the hospital. Why? What’s the matter?’
As though he caught the fear in my voice, ‘My god! Guru. Nothing, really. I casually asked. That’s all. After all who is there in this town to check on your team’s well-being? We are all like a family. Aren’t we? I have to take care of you guys.’
I laughed without uttering a word.
‘Ok. You and Powell must call an emergency press meet now. I was planning on attending too but it may not be appropriate for the board president to be in that meeting. It will be good for the hospital’s public relations if we issue a press statement. For the hospital to stay in business, our relationship with the people and community needs to be really good and you probably know that already. In the past two months, Amoka General Hospital has seen a decline of 10 per cent in the number of childbirths. This is an upsetting fact.’
The stink was apparent. Rick Jackson’s idea of uploading the YouTube videos did not come from a place of compassion to help the Sanghaali community. He was trying to get more business. This was another marketing strategy. I felt disgusted. I should have known better. All he cared for was the bottom-line. As long as people came to deliver babies, that’s all that mattered!
‘Don’t forget to call me next week. Let’s meet at my place. I’ve something important to discuss with you.’
I said ‘Yes’ and hung up. And before I did so, he remarked, ‘Guru, don’t worry about the government enquiry. It is a necessary evil. It is just a procedure.’ I nodded.
12. Pregnant Zeba
I called Radhika on her cellphone. She did not answer. Radhika and Srikantha had the day off and were at the temple in Minneapolis. I tried calling Srikantha. He didn’t answer either. Srikantha’s phone was switched off. He never kept his phone on while driving. Of late, it appeared that Radhika was going to the temple a lot. Last Friday she had not eaten anything all day. When I enquired with her, she had mentioned that she was fasting. It was apparently for Sankashta Chaturthi. I did not wish to talk to her about this subject anymore.
I called Radhika again. I got her voicemail but did not bother to leave any message. For some reason, it occurred to me that I should call Razak and give him a heads-up about Rick Jackson’s enquiry. As soon as the phone rang, he answered as if he was waiting for my call. ‘Guru, I was about to call you. I was browsing Facebook. Boy, oh boy! The chaos out there. I did not have a good feeling about this right from the start. First, it was Amoka, then Chapel, now a couple of other small towns. What do you think is going on? Zeba is very upset. I’m clueless as to how to console her. We have been trying to call Radhika for a long time. Is she there with you by any chance?’
I told him about Radhika and Srikantha visiting Minneapolis.
‘Are you guys free in the evening? If you are home, we would like to visit you.’
It was interesting that Razak and Zeba wanted to visit us. And Rick Jackson who had never ever mentioned Razak’s name, had enquired about him today.
‘Razak, what did you and Zeba see on Facebook?’
‘What else? All the news about Amoka. Facebook is full of these Sanghaali suicides and all the sordid details.’
‘Where did you see them? On Mohammad Mohammad’s wall? Or someone he had tagged?’
He thought for a moment and said, ‘Yes.’
I felt comforted, ‘Anyway, what’s the matter? Why did you want to meet us at home?’ I did not tell him about Rick Jackson asking about him.
Razak said hesitatingly, ‘Guru, I need to tell you something. Zeba is pregnant. She is four months into her pregnancy. I did the ultrasound by myself at the hospital. The baby is doing well.’ I could sense fear in his voice.
I did not know what to say. Oh god! These pregnancies…children…all these are supposed to be joyous moments, but the word pregnant is making Razak tremble. Words failed me. I did not know how to respond.
This was Razak and Zeba’s second pregnancy. They have Reshma, who is two years old. He was sharing this news with guilt and fear as if he had done something wrong. He hadn’t even made a mention of this till Zeba was four months into her pregnancy.
I tried to cheer him up and said, ‘Hey, congrats man, Razak! You need to cheer up, dude. These are happy times. You sound like you are about to cry.’
‘Not sure whether to feel happy or sad. Young moms are dying here. Every time you turn the TV on, there is news of suicides of mothers in Minnesota. Facebook is flooded with these posts and comments. Zeba has no idea what to do. She has been crying all along.’
‘Razak, get a grip. How is Zeba’s pregnancy related to anyone’s suicide here?’
‘Guru, who the heck knows. Nothing makes sense. There’s so much confusion and chaos everywhere. I deliver babies all the time, but lately the very word pregnancy makes me nervous. Now my wife is pregnant. I’m not sure whether this is an irony or a coincidence Guru, I think this is not the time to get pregnant or have a baby in this cursed town.’
I was overwhelmed, ‘Hey, what are you saying? Relax. I’ll tell Radhika to give you a call as soon as she is back. Let us talk about it. Ok? Get out of your room. Stop spending so much time on Facebook. May I ask you a question?’
‘What?’
‘Do you know Mohammad Mohammad outside of Facebook?’
‘What do you mean, Guru?’
‘Don’t get me wrong. There are no mosques in Amoka. You go to Minneapolis every week to pray. Have you met Mohammad Mohammad there under any other circumstances?’
‘Guru, what are you talking about? Is it because both of us pray in the same mosque?’
‘It was a general question. Don’t read too much into it.’ As an afterthought, I felt that I should not have asked the question, given the circumstances.
‘Guru, if Zeba and I had any other friends, why would we call you first with the news of her pregnancy? Trust me, we have no one else in this country. You guys are our only friends.’ I thought he may break down at any moment.
I felt like someone slapped my face. I said, ‘Sorry Razak. I made a mistake. Say what, unfriend Mohammad Mohammad on Facebook right away. Or at least stop his notifications. Don’t go to his wall and post messages. You are aware that all his messages are public. Now give the phone to Zeba. I will talk to her. Again, I’m sorry.’
I could sense Zeba holding the phone. She was quiet. There was no voice on the other side. I said, ‘Congrats Zeba.’
She replied, ‘Thanks.’ Her voice was a little mellow.
‘Come on. Cheer up. You are going to have a baby!’
‘Guru…’
I did not speak.
It is surprising how people on the phone can understand each other’s emotions without saying a single word.
She asked, ‘Do you think that I will die if I have this baby?’
I was stunned. I was speechless for
a moment. After getting my wits together, I asked, ‘Zeba what are you talking about!’
‘Guru, I don’t want to die,’ and then she started sobbing loudly.
I tried to console her, ‘Zeba, keep the phone down. Radhika, Srikantha and I will come over to your house. Your husband is an OBGYN doctor. Nothing is going to happen to you.’
‘Let me ask you something. I’m not a doctor myself. Do you honestly believe that all these young mothers who died around here committed suicide?’
‘What does that mean?’ I found it difficult to understand her.
‘I don’t know, Guru. Can you all doctors here say for sure that all these deaths are not due to any pregnancy related complications?’
That these kinds of doubts can even arise surprised me. There are doctors all around her, including Razak. Despite that if she asks such questions, what can I say?
‘Look Zeba, Please. You are intelligent and educated. You should not be asking such questions. Don’t you watch TV? All of them killed themselves. No pregnancy related complications or any bull like that, ok? I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you.’
‘Are you sure? What if I commit suicide too? I saw a program on TV which talked about how suicides can be contagious, how they can be a community phenomenon, how they can turn into an epidemic.’
‘Zeba, you need to rest a bit. You are blabbering. I want you to understand one thing. We will get to the root of the problem. These are not mass suicides. And for God’s sake, this is certainly not any kind of community phenomenon. Don’t worry. As soon as Radhika returns, we will come to your place. Let us have a talk.’
‘No, not now. We are going out. After we are back, I’ll talk to Radhika myself.’
I called Radhika again. This time she picked up the phone. I gave her the news of Zeba’s pregnancy. She and Srikantha were on their way back home after having their dinner at the temple. Radhika wanted to go to Zeba’s house and meet her. I gave her a subtle hint of my earlier conversation with Zeba and suggested that this may not be an appropriate time for that. Radhika agreed and sent a ‘Congrats’ message to Zeba and Razak. I could hear the ‘swoosh’ of the sent message.
‘Radhika, Is Mohammad Mohammad your Facebook friend?’
She paused for a while. The fact that I suddenly raised Mohammad Mohammad’s name must have surprised her.
‘No. After our meeting, he had sent me a friend request. Who in their right mind wants to be friends with him? I declined it.’
‘I’m friends with him on Facebook.’ I could hear Srikantha’s loud voice in the background. It was obvious that Srikantha had not told her about all the chaos on Facebook. I thanked God for putting some sense into Srikantha’s mind. More than anything, I was relieved by the fact that Radhika is not friends with Mohammad Mohammad. At least one of us is prudent enough to stay out of the internet. Ignorance appeared blissfully peaceful.
After I became the chief of staff of this hospital, I have attended several leadership seminars. Suddenly, I remembered one such lecture series on risk management. Some management expert had talked about how any event that occurs in the world is not an accident and each event is related to some other— something he called a Butterfly Effect. He had talked about how any potentially harmful or dangerous situation can be harnessed to our advantage. And how well someone does that, indicates how good a leader he can be.
It was somewhat perplexing that these lines from a lecture, that I attended quite a while back, came to mind as soon as I heard the news of Zeba’s pregnancy.
How can one believe that these mothers’ deaths and Zeba’s pregnancy are in anyway related? That Rick Jackson, behaving completely unlike himself, had enquired about Razak today. Does it mean that Rick knew about Zeba’s pregnancy?
I logged onto hospital medical records from home and browsed through Zeba’s chart. I was aware that it is illegal to read someone else’s medical record but that did not stop me.
I was basically looking to know if Zeba’s first delivery was a natural delivery or a Cesarean section. Reshma was born by Cesarean section. Once I got this information, I logged out of the computer.
13. No Comments
Powell had called for a press meet a couple of days later. He had requested me to sit in with him. In the press meet, he read from a prepared statement, something he had drafted much before.
We would like to bring some important facts to the attention of the residents of Amoka and make a fervent request. Amoka General Hospital is the best hospital amongst the towns around. Our hospital has the distinction of having an excellent facility, state of the art gadgets and a highly competent medical staff. Your health, safety, and security are our primary concerns. We offer our sincerest regrets for the incidents that have occurred in the town in the recent past. You can be rest assured that we support Sanghaali interests wholeheartedly. You have my assurance that our doctors will cater to the needs of patients of all communities and all cultures. We shall commit ourselves to the highest standard of care with zero tolerance for errors. We pledge to go by the ‘First Do No Harm’ dictum regardless of the patient demographic, complexity of the procedure or the urgency of treatment needed. The obstetrics department is our hospital’s bedrock. This was the only department we had when we started this hospital. After all, our life’s journey starts in this department! Thus, there is a special relationship between this department, our hospital and our town. Ninety per cent of the women in this town deliver their babies in our hospital. Last year we delivered two thousand and two hundred babies. We are happy to inform you that all these babies are very healthy and doing well. I would like to thank Dr Guru and his staff for this accomplishment. Without them, this hospital would not be in business.
Then he shook my hands.
A reporter asked, ‘Mothers?’
Powell looked at him inquisitively. I was under strict instructions from the hospital’s board to not say anything other than the two magic words: ‘No comments.’
The reporter explained, ‘The babies are fine, but what about the mothers?’
Powell was speechless for a moment and looked at me. I whispered in his ears, ‘Shall I respond with “No comments”?’
‘For god’s sake, not now!’
I grabbed the water bottle in front of me and took a sip from it. ‘Same with the mothers too. As per our hospital’s statistics, not even a single complication has been reported so far.’ I remembered something that I had heard in a seminar, that drinking water frequently while speaking to the press conveys nervousness or anxiety. I kept the bottle down. He said, ‘It may not have been reported to you, but they go home and commit suicides.’
I replied: ‘No comments.’
Murmurs, hushed remarks, and whispers started filling up the room. Since the press conference was being held in the hospital’s premises, visitors of the patients were also present. There were about twenty Sanghaali women in the crowd. I thought that we should have held the press conference behind closed doors, with only the press reporters in the room.
Powell remarked looking at the Sanghaali women, ‘There is absolutely no connection whatsoever between these events and us. We have no comments to make as we have no information on this topic nor do we have anything meaningful to say. I believe there is an inquiry in progress. If the inquiry results show any wrongdoing from any of our staff members, we shall take suitable action.’ Duniya was also present in the room. He said, ‘Duniya’ and gestured with his eyes summoning her to the podium. She walked over to the podium and delivered a long monologue in Sanghaali.
I did not understand why Duniya was invited to this press meet. Powell sensed my question and said, ‘There are so many Sanghaalis here. They need to understand what we are sharing with the press.’ I agreed.
Duniya spoke for about five minutes. Powell and I could not discern much of what she was talking. I could make out that she was translating Powell’s assurance, that there has been no direct adverse impact due to our doctors performing Cesare
an sections. But there was no way I could have a clear understanding of what else she said. Since I heard words like ‘Sanghaali’ and ‘operation’, I thought she was translating at least some of Powell’s remarks.
Once Duniya stopped talking, people started getting up from their seats and got ready to leave. Four reporters stood there with microphones and video cameras in their hands. Duniya’s talk sent the reporters there in a tizzy. It was not clear if they understood that Duniya was an interpreter. A reporter asked as if he was interviewing her, ‘What is your community’s opinion on these Sanghaali suicides?’
She responded, rather curtly, ‘I’m just an interpreter who works for the hospital. I’m not here to give any statement.’
He persisted, ‘Were you the interpreter for Rukhiya and Fadhuma also?’
‘I cannot publicly discuss my work. The conversations that I’ve had with my patients are strictly confidential. Please excuse me.’ She stepped down from the podium and joined the other Sanghaali women who were leaving.
Powell had no choice. He led me inside. I expected that the reporters and the media personnel would come chasing us with microphones in hand. Nothing like that happened. Our press conference ended rather abruptly.
While we were walking into the hospital, the hospital’s only General Surgeon, O’Reilly, was walking toward us, having a loud conversation with a Sanghaali woman. She seemed to be crying. He stopped upon seeing us. Pointing his finger at me, he addressed the woman, ‘Look, this doctor is our boss. You can ask him any questions you might have,’ and stood there with his hands crossed, looking at me, implying that his job was done, and I needed to answer any question the woman might have. I gave them a blank look being totally unaware of what was happening. Powell stood there too, sensing that something had gone wrong and he might have to answer a few questions.
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