Some battles announce themselves with trumpets; others creep in silently, spreading their hearth unseen. His battle was the latter. What started as a hidden spark in his muscle mass had grown into an inferno consuming his younger physique from inside.
He was barely 13, a boy from Bihar, when destiny dragged him into this battle. By the point he reached us, fever had sure him for 3 relentless weeks. His pulse was barely perceptible, his body wasted, his breath ragged, as if every gasp could be his final. But in his weary eyes glimmered a fragile defiance: the need to outlive.
We looked for the enemy. However there was not one; there have been many. Hiding in his muscle mass, coronary heart, lungs, and joints, the an infection had laid siege to each nook of his frail physique. Disseminated sepsis with pyomyositis, medical phrases that can’t seize the despair they characterize.
Each try to safe an intravenous line was not only a prick of a needle; it was our vow that this battle wouldn’t be deserted. However the microbes struck again with the weapon we dread most: antibiotic resistance.
His father, a poor farmer, pleaded with us every day. His mom’s eyes overflowed with unstated prayers as she held the toddler, too younger to understand the storm shadowing his brother. Generally ignorance is a mercy. For us, it was a burden heavier than phrases.
We drained abscess after abscess, aspiration after aspiration. We leaned on science, even on the topic I as soon as dismissed as lifeless throughout medical college: microbiology. Prolonged cultures had been run, secrets and techniques uncovered. After which, fortune smiled. The enemy’s weak point was revealed. Till then, we had been combating with rifles. Now, ultimately, we had a weapon sturdy sufficient.
Inside three days of upgraded antibiotics, the tide started to show. His fever broke. His coronary heart steadied. His respiration eased. Quickly, he was asking for khichdi cooked by his mom. To our pleasure, he even walked once more.
Two lengthy months within the hospital drained the household: of cash, of power, of spirit. But one advantageous morning, the boy was able to return dwelling. His mom wept freely, her tears this time woven with aid. His father, worn however grateful, nodded silently. The youthful brother performed concerning the ward, blissfully unaware that he had simply witnessed a miracle.
We exchanged solely a look, a fleeting smile, an unstated promise. Maybe someday, he would return to clinic with a packet of balushahi, a candy providing for a battle survived.
That evening, I returned to one in all my favourite movies, a masterpiece by Christopher Nolan, The Darkish Knight Rises. I had watched it many occasions earlier than, but by no means had the ultimate scene struck me so deeply. Bruce and Alfred meet in a quiet café, no phrases spoken, solely a smile exchanged, two souls sure by battles fought and burdens carried, acknowledging silently that they’d survived the darkest of storms. In that second, I understood: Some victories want no proclamation. A smile is sufficient.
Not all battles are destined to be misplaced. Some, in opposition to all odds, are received, collectively.
Bodhibrata Banerjee is a rheumatology fellow in India.
