*** Special Feature - February 2019 ***
About the Book:
Penned in real time, from the hospital bed while battling for life, on a Samsung Galaxy smartphone’s 4x2 inch keypad, the only device allowed to the patient in her supersanitized recuperating room, this book follows a hybrid format of medico-psycho thriller, interspersed with SMS chats, transcripts of medical records, and other workings of an addled mind overcome by sickness, yet determined to pull through.
It is a first-hand account of a liver transplant recipient’s journey in India, chronicled from the patient’s perspective in vivid detail as a series of dramatic events unfold in her life, completing the cycle from sickness to health, despair to hope.
It also tells the story of a single mom and breadwinner of the family, her strong bonding with her adoptive daughter, and her family and friends’ support. The author hopes that this book will give courage and direction to other patients whose lives are hanging by a thread, patients awaiting a life-saving cadaveric organ donation.
Book Links:
Goodreads * Amazon
Read an Excerpt:
I am woken up at 5.30 a.m. I brush my teeth, take a bath with the antiseptic gel and change into my new set of buttonless cotton tunic and pyjamas, hair tightly braided, as instructed.
At 6.00 a.m. I am served my cold breakfast of two brown bread vegetable sandwiches and a weak milky tea. I have also been given my regular blood pressure and diabetes tabs. After this, I will consume no food or liquids until the next morning.
The two invasive procedures are tentatively scheduled for 3.00 p.m. but I will be wheeled into the Operation Theatre at 11.00 a.m., so will be able to post my next dispatch tomorrow when I wake up from the impact of general anaesthesia.
The two procedures, breast conservation and D&C will be done almost simultaneously by two different surgeons, Mandar Nadkarni and Maya Gade respectively, both members of my liver transplant surgeon Dr Vinay Kumaran’s multi-speciality team.
When a junior doctor from the oncology team arrives to explain the procedure to me and catches my shocked expression, he rushes in to reassure me with “Don’t worry. We will fight to preserve your breasts.”
The doctor from the gynaecology team also takes pains to explain that if worse comes to worse, they will remove the uterus, but “look at the positive side, the polyp may be benign. We will know from the biopsy.”
I try not to wince.
The actual course of action, I am given to understand, would be decided in the OT based on what the biopsy reveals and my consent for further procedures before giving me the general anaesthesia, or later, my family’s consent. Till then, fingers crossed.
The two biopsy results would be available to the waiting surgeons in half an hour, at the earliest.
Ideally a patient with a decompensated liver is not able to tolerate general anaesthesia. “That’s my worry but we don’t have an option,” my concerned pathologist Dr Gaurav Mehta tells me. Whatever be the outcome I am picking very good vibes from my doctors here, and that’s a big plus.
Everything has been timed and tied to perfection. Nothing can go wrong, so chin up, my family tells me.
While I write this, I am waiting for the call from the OT.
But before that I must make one phone call to a new client who wants to negotiate prices before signing the contract. I must have the deal in my bag before my procedures.
Business as usual.
Radhika Sachdev is an independent journalist who has held senior editorial positions with leading news banners – the Times of India, Hindustan Times, Indian Express, Financial World, and The Pioneer. Presently, she runs her own advertising outfit, Write Solutions.
Read an Excerpt:
I am woken up at 5.30 a.m. I brush my teeth, take a bath with the antiseptic gel and change into my new set of buttonless cotton tunic and pyjamas, hair tightly braided, as instructed.
At 6.00 a.m. I am served my cold breakfast of two brown bread vegetable sandwiches and a weak milky tea. I have also been given my regular blood pressure and diabetes tabs. After this, I will consume no food or liquids until the next morning.
The two invasive procedures are tentatively scheduled for 3.00 p.m. but I will be wheeled into the Operation Theatre at 11.00 a.m., so will be able to post my next dispatch tomorrow when I wake up from the impact of general anaesthesia.
The two procedures, breast conservation and D&C will be done almost simultaneously by two different surgeons, Mandar Nadkarni and Maya Gade respectively, both members of my liver transplant surgeon Dr Vinay Kumaran’s multi-speciality team.
When a junior doctor from the oncology team arrives to explain the procedure to me and catches my shocked expression, he rushes in to reassure me with “Don’t worry. We will fight to preserve your breasts.”
The doctor from the gynaecology team also takes pains to explain that if worse comes to worse, they will remove the uterus, but “look at the positive side, the polyp may be benign. We will know from the biopsy.”
I try not to wince.
The actual course of action, I am given to understand, would be decided in the OT based on what the biopsy reveals and my consent for further procedures before giving me the general anaesthesia, or later, my family’s consent. Till then, fingers crossed.
The two biopsy results would be available to the waiting surgeons in half an hour, at the earliest.
Ideally a patient with a decompensated liver is not able to tolerate general anaesthesia. “That’s my worry but we don’t have an option,” my concerned pathologist Dr Gaurav Mehta tells me. Whatever be the outcome I am picking very good vibes from my doctors here, and that’s a big plus.
Everything has been timed and tied to perfection. Nothing can go wrong, so chin up, my family tells me.
While I write this, I am waiting for the call from the OT.
But before that I must make one phone call to a new client who wants to negotiate prices before signing the contract. I must have the deal in my bag before my procedures.
Business as usual.
About the Author:
Radhika Sachdev is an independent journalist who has held senior editorial positions with leading news banners – the Times of India, Hindustan Times, Indian Express, Financial World, and The Pioneer. Presently, she runs her own advertising outfit, Write Solutions.
Giveaway:
Two lucky Indian Residents can win a paperback copy each of Second Go
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