short story, but not so short
She was sitting inside the tent when he reached, arranging their clothes into neat, orderly piles. He sat down on the low camping stool beside her, placing his forehead on the palms of his hands. "Tired?" she asked, lightly kissing his beard. "Exhausted," he replied. "Managed to save the leg?" she asked. "Nope, it was a BK amputation," he said ruefully. He kicked off his shoes and went and placed his head on her lap. Their eyes locked. "I know what you want," she said, rolling her eyes. "Please Aai," he said, in a soft coercive voice. She ran her hands through his thinning hair, readjusting his head snugly in her lap. "Fact or fiction?" she asked. "Encrypted facts," he replied. She kissed the top of his head gently, her lips skimming his forehead, and began...
"Once upon a time in a tiny village in Palestine, two doctors had a heated argument over a case. They were working for the MSF mission in Palestine and were hotly arguing over an emergency nephrectomy. MSF had recently received a new laparoscopic system and the surgeon has keen on doing the case laparoscopically. She was exhausted, the day was crawling by. She wanted nothing more than to finish asap and head back to the tend. 'ill try pushing him to finish it as an open case,' she thought slyly, which she knew, in his magic hands, was a 1 hour procedure.
"It's a 4k Rubina system, Dr. D, I'll be done in a jiffy." insisted OB.
"It's the sixth case of the day," she bemoaned.
"Go have a cup of tea and cup back," he coaxed, cheekily, knowing the power of that magic elixir on her tribe.
She gave him the stink eye and went to the kitchen tent for a quick cuppa. When she returned, the patient was neatly arranged on the table, Dr. OB having taken an iv line as well, to sufficiently seduce her into starting the case.
"A surgeon taking an iv line is the piece de resistance for every anesthetist," she remarked, rolling her eyes, but delighted at the same time. Every well experienced surgeon knows that:) She felt her hard reserve melt, (akin to having received a bouquet of a hundred red roses on a marital bed) and began a careful induction.
"Nafaaz, nafaaz," she told the patient, while holding a mask.
The patient's body went limp and Dr. OB began catheterising her, the entire team galvanizing into action.
One hour later OB delivered a large hydronephrotic kidney covered in a thin layer of parenchyma onto a kidney tray through a thin plastic bag he had inserted into the abdomen.
"Well done," complimented D, always impressed by his skill.
His eyes crinkled up into invisible slits behind his mask, as he smiled sheepishly, releasing the gas from inside the abdomen.
"Fancy a cup of tea after this?" she asked him, keen to know more about him.
"Sure thing," he said, poking vicryl into the skin, expertly knotting the ports.
"I'm from Srinagar," he told her over a steaming cup of tea.
"I'm from Bombay," she replied, gulping down the excessively sweetened liquid, removing her OT cap in a sweeping motion. Her head felt hot and sticky in the African heat.
"This is disgusting," she said, "tastes like gulab jamun."
"How do you like your tea?" he asked. "Without sugar, with milk," she replied honestly. "But actually I'm a tea junkie. I can drink it in any form, as long as it doesn't have sugar." "What brings you here?" he asked her. "I wanted to spend my 50th birthday on a Mission," she explained. "And you?"
"I wanted to serve my people," he said. Three hours later they stayed rooted to the stools of the kitchen tent like two actors in a tableau, having realised their paths had crossed twenty years before in a Bombay hospital. "What are the odds!" she exclaimed, incredulously. "Ships that pass at night, have very high chances of meeting again!" he chuckled. "You havent aged at all," she said with a great deal of envy. Her hair was dyed over a million times, with different shades of black and brown, reading glasses hanging loosely from her neck wrinkles on her neck, age written in every line on her forehead. She eyed him critically. Salt pepper hair, same crinkly Chinese smile, wrinkles on the sides of his eyes, irresistibly handsome. "I turned 54 this year," he said. "Gosh, that's almost 60!" she lamented. He rolled his eyes and refilled her cup with gulabjamun syrup. "Let's grab some dinner before the onslaught of the night," he suggested, as the cook began to serve the evening supper. She surveyed the dinner of beans, rice and a sloppy curry and reluctantly agreed. She wasn't that hung up on food anyway. "Let's take a short walk," she suggested, walking out of the tent in her sneakers. The tip of her cigarette glowed softly against the night sky, as she took a long drag and exhaled into the night. Dr. OB look critically at the ciggie in her hand. "Slave to bad habits?" he questioned, critically. . "I can't die perfect, right?" she rationalised. He snorted, half amused and looked up at the stars. The night sky was a hideous shade of green, with smoke interspersed with dust particles. There had been continuous bombing for the past couple of days. The air reeked of unimaginable smells. The stench of smoke, gasoline, sweat and death. "Don't think, " said D softly. "It just hurts more. A famous man once said, the war will only end once Palestine puts down their weapons, or the Jews leave Israel. Neither of which is going to happen." OB felt a shiver run down his spine, and pulled his red jacket in closer, to keep out the dessert cold. "Salaam ale kum Sir," greeted a young Palestinian boy. "Aale kum salaam," replied OB to him ruffling his hair. "My mother is going to deliver soon," he said excitedly. "Berhabs it will be another baby boy," he hoped. D rolled her eyes. How typical of boys to want a younger brother. She missed her own boys back home, now well into adulthood. Her older fellow was training for the IAF and her younger fellow was studying in Vienna in a conservatoire. They were sweet boys, both shy and sensitive, but very caring. They had a common WhatsApp group, where they spoke everyday on the phone. Suddenly a young nurse came running upto them. "Khadija is in labour," she said, "but her blood pressure is 220/110mmgHg." D looked up worried, waiting for OB to take a call. "I'll come and see her," said OB. "Please send cbc, pt/ inr and cross match a pint," said D urgently. They ran to the maternity tent where Khadija was lying panting on the bed, her eyes rolled up, her face twisted in agony. "Khadija" murmured D softly. "Iftar aenak." "I can't see madam," gasped Khadija. OB gave D a single glance. "Get the OT ready," he instructed the staff nurse and headed briskly to the theatre. Two hours later Khadija sat up groggy in the recovery room bed with her newborn son next to her in a cot. "Not bad," D smiled at OB, cheekily. "I thought your repertoire beyond urology only extended to gall bladders." OB wiped the sweat off his brow. He had finished praying silently, under his breath, a hundred times over. "Let's grab another cup of chai," said D gently pushing him along the corridor. OB put his head on her shoulder in the kitchen tent, and allowed relief to wash over him. Mother and baby were fine. It was like a movie playing in his mind on fast forward: general anesthesia, cutting through the skin, stretch the sheath, uterine incision, baby out, clamp the cord, cut, placenta delivered, uterus exteriorised, sutured, well contracted, deposited, closed. Phew! "Let's hope someone delivers a stone soon," consoled D putting her arm around his shoulders. "You will enjoy it way more." OB gave her the stink eye and closed his eyes, placing his head in her lap. D felt a familiar warmth that she would feel back home, when her boys would lie with their heads in her lap and ask for a story. She felt a pang of home sickness. "Let me tell you a story.." she said, running her hands through his hair. He looked up at her, not expecting much. He didn't know of her super power yet! "Once upon a time, in a cold land far far away, there was an aristocrat living in a Russian castle, with a German pen friend on a tumultous ship voyage to reach a far off land called India........" OB closed his eyes in comfort and fell asleep on her lap. She picked up his limp hand while he slept soundly, kissed his palm and whispered "happy birthday".