It was 2 A.M and the city was still celebrating new year eve. I was lying on the road and someone told me not to move my legs. I saw people looking at me with great shock. I was hit by something.
I was losing my senses and next thing I remember was – the siren of an ambulance; getting louder and louder. Next morning, I woke up. I was feeling acute pain and I was still not able to move my legs. I saw my parents sitting to my left and my newly wed wife (I got married two weeks before, the December 17) on my right. “Where am I?” I asked. “You are in a hospital. You were in an accident and you have severe injuries. It is a drink and driving case.”
“The time we brought you here, you were drunk like you are never going to drink again,” the ward nurse updated me. A deep sigh and I was already cursing myself. My bones (collar and right leg) suffered dislocations, had chest injuries, and stitches on elbows.
Oh, my god! This is going to be very painful and time-consuming. But, I have to live with it. I looked at my mother. Her silence was saying a lot of things, but I was so dumb to hear all those sermons.
“Son! don’t drink too much. And, if you do, please take a cab,” my mother advised me. I was insisting on taking my wife with me, but my dad opposed my decision. I was so pissed off that time. But, now I am thinking; how they can be so right and how wonderful intuitions they have.
Good. It was really good; my dad’s decision of not sending my wife with me. Thank you, dad, for opposing me. Then, started the medications; a full carton of syrups, injection syringes, bandages, antibiotic creams, tablets, and glucose bottles was purchased for me.
I was laughing at my new years’ shopping; doctors really asked my dad to buy a whole chemist shop for me. “Dad! Are we going to open pharmacies?” For the first time in my life, I saw my dad not getting my joke; no reaction at all. This was the first indication for me that something is seriously wrong.
“No, we are not opening a medical shop. This is for your surgery tomorrow. You have a broken arm bone and they are going to fix a titanium plate in your arm as a support.” Okay, “so they are going to make me an iron man.”
I saw ward boys in white dress approaching me. And, next thing I remember was – an orthopedic cast also known as ‘Plaster of Paris’ on my hand. Latest update – I am not allowed to lift any weight more than 10 kg using my left hand throughout my life. No more gym. Wow.
In the middle of this, I was told about a broken rib and two missing fingers. I was thinking if I was hit so bad, how the hell I am still on this earth. Then, came another shock. I was losing control on my bladder; facing trouble with bowel movements. I was pissing in bed.
Another CT scan was advised. Before that suggestion, it was minutes long medical discussions between the surgeon and other doctors. All I could recall from their MBBS kind of chitchat is – perineal injury. Now, what the heck is this? Once again, my dad bought another carton of medicines and syringes. Not again; I seriously don’t want to go through another round of incisions.
What is it, dad? Hope, not another visit to surgery chamber. “Unfortunately, Yes Son! Tomorrow is your Urethral Surgery. You are going to be treated for a severe perineal injury.” My dad told me this and after these two lines, there was a pin-dropped silence. Ward boys shifted me from bed to stretcher and I saw myself entering into the operation theater.
I was under anesthesia and I was finding it very hard to keep my eyes open. I was trying to keep my eyes open, but surgical lights were making it hard. After a few questions and answers, I was put on sleep mode.
It was 8 P.M. When I woke up and I saw my dad’s brother sitting on the left. The co-patients were changed and I was in a bigger room. I complained about a strong pain down there. My uncle called the doctor and he gave me an injection through the drip attached; I was again put on sleep mode.
By next morning, I was so irritated. I wanted to know – why urethral surgery. “Everybody! Please evacuate the room. Doctors on round,” a ward boy shouted. “How are you doing? Any complications?” Doctor, can I ask you, what this surgery is for? “You suffered a penile injury and treatment was necessary for ruling out possibilities of erectile dysfunction or impotency.”
What the hell. Am I going to be impotent? This single thought was killing me inside. I spend a whole night search this online. The moment I came across an article that claims a direct relationship between impotency and extensive perineal injuries, I almost lost my will to live.
After spending a month in the hospital, I was now free to go home. I reached home and saw, my wife was not there. “Dad, where is she?” After a few excuses, my dad told me the real truth. “She filed for divorce, right after a week of your second surgery.” According to the doctors, you can never be a father. During that accident, you had a severe penile injury. So, her family decided for her.
I was struggling hard with all these incidents of bad lucks. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It was the wedding photographer with my wedding photos. Another heartache. I was checking the photos; happiness all around. I was sinking deep in the quagmire of memories. Once again, somebody knocked the door.
This time, it was postman with a registered post. It was a legal notice. Huh! It is going to be divorce papers; I talked to myself. I opened it and it was court notice for prosecution under IPC Section – 279 for rash driving, 336 , 337, 338 for endangering life or personal safety of others, and IPC Section 304 -A, causing death by negligence.
After an hour of this notice, I was served with the divorce notice. My wife was seeking divorce on under section 12 and 13 of Hindu Marriage Act. I was declared as a person with an unsound mind, who is suffering continuously from a mental disorder and who is sexually unfit, impotent and petitioner cannot reasonably be expected to live with the respondent.
I had lost everything. I am still going through the legal proceedings. Besides, the medical trauma is killing me inside. Wish I listened to my mother’s advice of not drinking. Wish I had listened to my dad’s advice of behaving in a little more responsible manner after getting married.