Relatives were already waking up and wanting breakfast, while Biji also must begin lunch preparations on her own.
“Biji, don’t worry,” I said. “I will help with breakfast.”
Still wearing my pajamas, I went into the kitchen and began cooking omelets for all the hungry relatives. At first, they were surprised to see me go into the kitchen and start cooking. It must have been a funny image to see the son-in-law, who is supposed to be treated like a king in his mother-in-law’s house, cooking eggs in the kitchen. Then they were impressed, especially when I flipped the omelets high in the air the way I learned at the Dorsey Hotel. Biji, while happy I was helping her, was also extremely embarrassed. Her son-in-law, on his first return from America since his marriage to her daughter, was now doing servant’s work in the kitchen.
“Biji, it’s okay,” I assured her. “In the USA, we do things on our own.”
My words comforted her, and after a while, Biji seemed pleased. Later, she bragged to her family members, saying, “I have a son-in-law who does not hesitate to work in the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the guests. How lucky can a mother-in-law get?”
For the next four weeks of our stay, we traveled from town to town visiting our parents and siblings as well as other relatives. We also took Christopher to the religious city of Kiratpur for a mundun ceremony, celebrating his first haircut. Afterwards, we visited several shrines in the area. On April 6, our last day in Malaudh, I worshipped with my family in both temples. We had practiced a similar ritual in Nabha several days before, worshipping at Raj’s house, then going to a temple in town where Raj’s mother wanted us to worship and get blessings, as we were traveling so far with our two sons.
After worshipping, Raj and I got into the car with Christopher and Subhash on our laps. A crowd of people surrounded the car to say goodbye. This happened every time we left for a different town or city to visit relatives. It wasn’t often that someone came back from the US to visit. No other person from my village left India like I did.
Today, the crowd increased in number. News traveled fast about our departure for the States, and as the car inched forward, the people moved with it, a colorful array of men, women, and children in front, behind, and on both sides, shouting our names and wishing us blessings in “Amrika.” Raj and I waved at them, and Subhash waved and smiled in his usual friendly manner. Christopher simply watched with big eyes, taking it all in.
When we reached the outskirts of Malaudh, the crowd fell back, still waving and watching until the car disappeared from view. As we rumbled along the busy road to New Delhi, passing corn and wheat fields, bullock-driven carts, and men herding cows out of the way, I thought about my mother. It had been difficult for me to look into her grief-filled eyes and tell her it would only be a few more years.
“I’m trying to save enough money to live off the interest when we move back,” I had explained.
My father understood why I must leave. While he wished I could stay as well, he was not aware of what I would do in order to support my family in India.
My mother had nodded woefully, but in an encouraging voice, she had said, “Krishan, wherever you are, my blessings are with you. Be safe and happy.”
In May 1977, I received a letter from the Immigration and Naturalization Department requesting an interview to complete the process of becoming a US citizen. Over six months earlier, at the encouragement of a friend, I had applied for citizenship. Now, as I read the letter, I felt a strange sense of ambivalence instead of the excitement I expected to feel. Getting my citizenship would help me if I ever had the opportunity to become administrator of a hospital, and it would also make it easier to sponsor family members to come to the US, but now that I held the interview letter in my hands, a realization hit me. If I went through with it, I would be giving up the country of my birth. What would my parents think? They were hoping I would take care of them in their old age. I had promised my mother many times that I would return to India one day, and now, here I was one step away from getting US citizenship. The advantages of becoming a US citizen swayed me in that direction, but was I doing the right thing?
In the end, I decided to go through with it. The interview went smoothly and was not as difficult as I imagined it to be. By the time I received my letter of citizenship a week later, inviting me to a ceremony at the courthouse, any ambivalence about giving up my birth country had faded.
On June 20, 1977, I attended the ceremony to receive my US citizenship. Raj, Mrs. Gilreath, and two of my neighbors came for the ceremony. I stood at the front of the room with fifteen other people from different countries, each of us swearing to protect this country and abide by its laws and the Constitution. America felt like my true home, the place where I fit in so well, creating a place for myself and pursuing a rewarding career. Now, with documentation to prove it, I could truly say I belonged here. I was no longer a foreigner just off the boat. I was an official American citizen.
On the evening of July 4, 1977, our third son came into the world amid the sounds of fireworks and showers of color lighting up the sky. We named him Rajan, for my wife, thinking he would also be called Raj as he grew up.
The day after Rajan’s birth, his pediatrician, Dr. Cooper, came to examine him at Christ hospital. After examining Rajan, Dr. Cooper said, “He looks good, and his vitals are okay, but he does have abnormalities. One, he was born with club feet. And two, I cannot feel his testes. They have not descended yet.”
Rajan was also an unusually large baby, weighing nine pounds, eight ounces, so Dr. Cooper asked Raj if she or anyone in her family had a history of diabetes. But Raj did not have diabetes (which blood work confirmed), and as far as we knew, there was no history of diabetes in her family. The doctor stated that the abnormalities she’d discussed with us were all she was seeing at the moment, but she would order tests to be run that day for chromosomal studies to see if there were any problems with his brain. She seemed cautious, not overly concerned.
“It is normal,” she explained, “that when there are a couple of abnormalities in a child, there may be something else there as well.” She also explained that many kids are born with club feet. An orthopedic surgeon could perform surgery to correct the issue. Rajan could also wear corrective shoes with a brace at an early age, which might resolve the issue without surgery. Regarding his testicles, she explained that those could be brought down at a later stage.
Raj and I were concerned about the news of Rajan’s health, but after the doctor left, we tried to stay optimistic, telling ourselves that his feet and testes could be corrected, and then everything would be all right.
I drove to Providence Hospital, thinking that work would keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t worry too much about Rajan. On the way there, I prayed that God would bless the situation and that he would take care of our son and strengthen him. I felt so much love for this new baby, and my heart ached for the struggle he was already facing so early in life.
When I reached my office, I reviewed several reports various managers placed on my desk, and then I went to Mr. Gilreath’s office to update him on Rajan. I told him about the club feet and also that his testes had not descended.
“Well, he doesn’t need those yet,” Mr. Gilreath joked. “Tell the doctor he has plenty of time.”
That evening, I returned to Christ Hospital to be with Raj. The nurse informed me that they had transferred Rajan to the Children’s Hospital Medical Center in Cincinnati due to rapid breathing and signs of jaundice. The doctor felt that he may have left upper-lobe pneumonia. After four hours of labor and a C-section, Raj was holding up well, although she was tired. We spoke optimistically about Rajan, assuring each other that, once treated, he would be a healthy, happy baby.
The next day, after working for a few hours, I visited Rajan in the Children’s Hospital. When I arrived, the doctors told me that Rajan’s rapid breathing was due to a collapsed right lung. They had drawn blood and ordered a chromosomal test, which they were waiting f
or the results of, and in the meantime, they continued performing tests.
On July 7, the doctors told me they performed an EKG and found Rajan had myocardial ischemia. In other words, the blood flow to his heart had decreased, resulting in reduced oxygen supply and minor damage to his heart muscles. That day, they also began gavage feeding, inserting a tube through his nose which would carry Similac formula to his stomach. (Later, complications developed with the tube, and they put him on an IV.) In the meantime, a congenital anomaly team examined him, but they could not categorize Rajan into a specific syndrome.
Prior to discharge on July 13, the doctors felt that due to Rajan’s low blood sugar, he did present as an infant of a diabetic mother, although Raj exhibited no evidence of having diabetes. We all were puzzled about this, and even though Raj was healthy, she felt that she must have done something wrong for there to be so many abnormalities in our newborn son. Yet she did not share these feelings with me until several months later.
On July 13, Raj and I drove home with our new son. His feet were in the casts the doctor had placed a few days earlier. I focused on positive thoughts, assuring myself and Raj that everything would be okay. The three of us were going home together, and for that, we were glad. To have returned home without Rajan would have saddened our hearts, making the reality of his condition seem all too heavy and serious, and perhaps my attitude would not have been so cheerful, so hopeful.
A few days after bringing Rajan home from the hospital, his chromosomal tests came back, showing that his mental capabilities were normal. He seemed to be doing well, and we were glad his breathing returned to normal. After six weeks, Dr. Zenni removed Rajan’s casts, replacing them with protective shoes connected by a brace, a metal rod that kept his feet a certain distance apart from each other. Concerned, Raj and I thought, How is he going to move? But the doctor assured us, “Don’t worry. He will learn to move his legs together.”
We were relieved when Rajan learned to move his legs at the same time, but after two months, he became sick again. He drank very little of Raj’s breast milk or the Similac we gave him, and on top of that, he began having loose, watery stools ten to twelve times a day, causing him to become weak, dehydrated, and pale. This went on for several days, and after a consultation with Dr. Cooper, we put him on a liquid diet of Jell-O water, which helped with the consistency of the stools and decreased the frequency. We also changed his formula from Similac to Isomil. This change in diet helped for a while, but a week later his stools became loose again. He still refused to feed, always pushing the bottle away, and he began to lose weight. When he developed a sore throat with nasal congestion, Dr. Cooper suggested it would be best to admit him to the Children’s Hospital again. There, Rajan would be in good hands. The nurses and doctors would know what to do to improve his health. Raj and I were anxious every day, because we did not know what we were doing wrong or why Rajan’s health only persisted in worsening.
We admitted Rajan to the Children’s Hospital on October 5, 1977. He was three months old at the time, and although we knew it was best for Rajan to be there, Raj and I felt distraught as we returned home without him. At the same time, we looked forward to having our questions answered. Why did he not want to feed? Why did his diarrhea persist? What were we doing wrong?
We shared the news with the Cheemas on the phone, and at one point, Dr. Cheema said, “Kris, I understand what you guys are going through. But at the same time, you cannot neglect your other two sons.”
I knew Dr. Cheema was right, and with my work at Providence Hospital to think about, I trusted Rajan would receive high quality patient care. After all, he was hardly three months old and could not say what he needed or wanted, so they would need to monitor him closely. I believed that the nurses would be with him at all times, as parents are with their child.
Once again, a team of doctors began examining Rajan for signs of a specific syndrome. They analyzed the length and width of his bones, noting his long bones were mildly abnormal, the femurs appearing long and curved, and the radius and ulna thinner than normal. The ribs were also thin, but these findings, among others, did not lead them to any discovery or syndrome that could explain his abnormalities. All signs of myocardial ischemia had disappeared, but the doctors were concerned about his kidneys. When they found he had a urinary infection, they took an X-ray, which seemed to show that the right kidney was absent and the left kidney was smaller than normal.
Next, the doctors did a renal scan and found evidence of both right and left renal function, leading to the observation that the right kidney functioned much less than the left, and the left kidney was displaced. Consequently, Raj and I would have to alter his diet and lifestyle to keep him healthy. To preserve his kidneys, we were determined to make every effort with his long-term diet plan. Hopefully, in the years to come, scientists in the medical field would develop research that would help our son. In the meantime, we would do everything in our power to help him to stay healthy.
Several times when I visited Rajan at the hospital, I discovered he was dirty, and his stool was all dried out. The nurses had not taken care of him for the past four to five hours. When this happened a second time, I spoke to the nurses, and they apologized, saying, “Oh, I don’t know what happened. We were supposed to be watching him.” Later, Raj and I experienced deep guilt, wondering if it would have made a difference in Rajan’s health later on if we had stayed with him at the hospital.
After Rajan was discharged from the hospital, he was a different child than he’d been going in: scared and nervous. We were shocked to see his movements were more stiff and slower than normal, and he was not as playful as before. Displeased with Dr. Cooper, I immediately began searching for a different pediatrician. If Dr. Cooper had seen Rajan while he had diarrhea, perhaps she could have prevented his dehydration and the need for hospitalization in the first place. But that was in the past, and nothing could be done. The neglect Rajan experienced, which put him in such a frightened state, angered me more than anything.
Through Mr. Gilreath, I learned about Dr. Ernst Rolfes. Everyone assured me he was a dependable man who loved children and was excellent at his work. His office was forty-five minutes away, but I heard such good things about Dr. Rolfes that the distance didn’t matter to me, as long as Rajan received good medical care.
I made an appointment, and that week, Dr. Rolfes reviewed Rajan’s history and examined him thoroughly. Previously, Dr. Cooper recommended that Raj and I feed Rajan PM60/40 Similac formula to take care of his diarrhea, but Rajan did not like the taste of it and drank very little. As a result, he had lost two to three pounds from his birth weight. When Dr. Rolfes heard this, he immediately recommended we give Rajan any type of milk he would drink, whether it be PM60/40 or regular Similac. His main concern was for Rajan to start drinking enough milk and gaining weight again.
I liked Dr. Rolfes’s approach, and as soon as we returned home, we switched Rajan’s milk to regular Similac. This time, Rajan drank the milk with no trouble. I was happy with Dr. Rolfes, and we continued seeing him. Later, Mr. Gilreath told me Dr. Rolfes said to him in a conversation after our first appointment, “Even though Mr. Bedi’s son is doing okay, he is not out of the woods yet.”
As Dr. Rolfes did not say anything of this nature to us, his statement shocked me. However, I said to myself, Rajan is going to be okay, and I am going to continue thinking positive thoughts. After that, I persisted even more vigorously in my prayers, asking God to bring Rajan “out of the woods.”
As the weeks passed, Raj constantly worked with Rajan, taking him for walks and playing with him. Little by little, he showed improvement, becoming more playful, smiling more often, and laughing when we tickled him or bounced him on our knees. By December 1977, Rajan was eating well, smiling often, and acting playful. With all the love and attention we gave him every day, Rajan was no longer the pale, frightened child we had picked up from the Children’s Hospital in October.
While we tried to look o
n the bright side, we felt discouraged that the cast on his feet made crawling difficult for him. Many other questions plagued us as well. Why did our son have multiple anomalies at birth? Why were his testes not descended yet? What could be done about his abnormal kidneys? And then there was the question that the doctors continually asked themselves as they gave Rajan test after test, X-ray after X-ray: What disorder does this baby have? The Children’s Hospital in Cincinnati happened to be a teaching hospital, and so more tests were performed than usual, and also, more X-rays.
The doctors said Rajan’s kidneys were shrunken. Part of me felt his kidneys had been normal, and it was all the X-rays performed on Rajan that shrunk them. I felt this so strongly that I considered filing a lawsuit against the hospital, but Mr. Gilreath advised against it. “As long as Rajan is making good progress,” Mr. Gilreath said, “keep devoting time to his care.”
I knew Mr. Gilreath was right. Taking legal action would only detract my attention away from Rajan.
That Christmas, Raj and I took the kids to visit the Cheemas in Morristown, New Jersey. When we arrived at their house, Billo and Zafar saw the heartache on our faces. “Why don’t you take Rajan to be examined by my brother,” Zafar said. “He is an orthopedic surgeon at Saint Barnabas Medical Center in Livingston. His name is Mehmood. He will look at Rajan’s feet, and he can refer you to other specialists as well. It’s always good to have a second opinion.”
Since Livingston was only a twenty-minute drive from Morristown, we all went together the next day. Dr. Mehmood Cheema examined Rajan’s club feet right away and suggested admitting Rajan to Saint Barnabas Medical Center, where several of the best specialists could fully diagnose him. So we admitted our son, and every day, Raj and I drove to be with him. The doctors and nurses took samples of his blood and urine to send to the chemistry lab for analysis. Even more X-rays and renal scans were taken. His kidneys were still the same from the previous hospital visit in October, one still smaller and neither one functioning well. The doctors could not find his testes either, much to our disappointment.
Engineering a Life Page 23