A lesson in fortitude

A young mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is this the long way?" she asked. And the guide said: "Yes, and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But the end will be better than the beginning." But the young mother was happy, and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried, "Nothing will ever be lovelier than this."

Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said, "Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come."

Morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary too. But at all times she said to the children, "A little patience and we are there." So the children climbed, and when they reached the top they said, "Mother, we would not have done it without you."

As she lay down at night and looked up at the stars, she thought, "This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage. Today, I have given them strength."

And the next day came strange clouds which, darkened the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the light." And the children looked and saw above the clouds an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said, "This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God."

I have a tragic story to tell. There is a lump in my throat as I write this.

A four-year-old boy from South Goa, his parents only son, literally has his days numbered. I will not justify his tragedy as destiny, nor can I pin the blame on the medical institution, he initially went for a cure, to shorten his life span.

Admitted to the Goa Medical College as a three-month-old baby diagnosed with severe meningitis, a blood transfusion was suggested by the doctors as an emergency effort to save his little life from sure death. The parents volunteered to donate blood but were turned down by the hospital staff citing lack of time for blood screening. It is also common knowledge that hospitals do not allow for direct blood transfusion from the patient’s kin, if only to replace the stock used by the patient from the institution’s blood bank. The transfusion was carried out after locating the blood group, here B+, from the hospital’s blood bank.

End of the story in a normal situation?

In due course of treatment, the child was sent home. Only hitch, the child never bloomed to a life of full health. Sickly most of his young years, a constant victim of perennial ill health and disease, doctors became part and parcel of his life. Perturbed and unable to find an explanation, his God fearing parents took him to Pota in Kerala and other spiritual leaders locally, seeking divine cure for their ailing son. Illiterate and unable to comprehend what was going wrong with their son, a well wisher suggested a blood test. They came back to the hospital last November 2002, and have never been the same again. Their little world turned topsy-turvy. Their little son has since been diagnosed with full blown AIDS. And with very little time to survive. And no, contrary to what you may think, both his parents have tested negative to the same test!

I am infuriated. Not in particular with GMC. This horrifying story blows the lid off the health services available for the poorer sections of Goa. Indeed, you and me too, God forbid, if we ever find ourselves at the mercy of any of Goa’s ramshackle hospitals (though I may add not all fall in the hollow hole GMC finds itself). I am wondering aloud if the blood banks in the State are safe for our health. I am wondering aloud if we are stocking disaster inside these sterile bottles meant to enhance life and longevity. I am wondering, and now it is laced with apprehension, whether blood made available for emergency transfusion ever go through screening processes to ensure they are safe for use. Would the child be safe if the hospital had agreed to use blood from the child’s own kin?

I am told the AIDS virus is a very tricky fella, able to hibernate itself from one day to one year -- in what doctors call the `window period’ -- even if blood is stocked from an infected person. The virus then begins to act immediately after floating gleefully into the host’s body. Was this little kid a gullible victim of this mechanisation? Or could there be another way to make sure our blood banks are not breeding grounds of disease?

The parents are fraught with grief. Hesitant to speak out in the fear that the hospital may turn them away and not reach out to their ailing son, who’s contracted TB now. There is shame too. Understandably. And fear. Having exposed themselves to their son’s sudden bruises, constant bleeding, and body fluids during the course of the three years. Let us not also forget the stigma society attaches to patients diagnosed with HIV. Young or old.

It’s a no-win situation. And this perhaps is the reason for my helplessness. And the few people who are trying to support the dilemma of this family. It is also a warning call, and I do hope we take it seriously – God alone knows how many healthy people walk out from our hospitals not knowing whether they have recovered or sitting on the brink of future disaster -- that we, as citizens, must demand quality service from the State’s health services irrespective of whether you’re a politician, a pimp or a pariah. We all know the only calling card that works mighty in our government hospitals is `influence’ the who-knows-whom mantra. And I’ve seen it work from very close quarters. And it turns my stomach inside out. Little power games that play a crucial role in who gets timely medical attention, in terms of time put into treating the patient and the quality of service and doctors that attend to him/her. It’s sick. But there’s no escape from this injustice.

This is exactly the kind of discrimination and injustice that we must object to. You are not responsible for the class you are born into, but you do have a right, as a democratic citizen, to demand equal services from State run facilities functioning solely on the power of your tax money. The only tool to fight back is information. But then, how many of us can truly boast the pleasure of access.

It has still not quietened the disquiet in my stomach.




Ethel Da Costa
29 Mar 2003

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