The Patient Vulture

By Roy Thomas

“And how is the patient today?” asked Dr. Pappechen as he breezily walked into Oomechen’s room with his entourage of nurses.

Ommechen smiled wanly at him. “Slightly better today, I think doctor-I had slight angina pain in the night and had to call the nurse and she gave me some tablets and some medications for sleeping –feeling much better now!

‘Very good,’ said Pappechen looking at the records while smiling at the patient with his best bedside manner and checking his pulse. “Your heart is still not too good so you need to be careful - don’t strain yourself and try and get some rest.”

“I will do that,” said Oomechen, “but why am I feeling so weak doctor?”

“All to do with the condition of your heart,” replied the doctor, “and added to that is the combined problem of your BP and diabetics...don’t worry… we will do our best to see what can be done…you are in good hands,” he replied while continuing to smile.

The nurses, as though trying to show support their boss, shook their collective heads in approval of what he had said to the patient.

“And how is Mrs. Oomechen today?” he continued looking at the attractive lady who stood by the bed. A twinkle appeared in his eyes as he addressed her. Rosy, Oomechen’s young wife smiled coyly back at the doctor without saying anything. Oomachen, too busy being sick did not even hear or see the silent exchange between the two.

The suave and handsome doctor was the founder and owner of the Little Flower hospital in the town of Chengannur. Set up as a small clinic about five years ago; it had grown into one of the largest and most well-known hospitals in the town. Being located in a prime location, it had spread to all the possible extent in the 40 cents of land that the doctor owned.

With the pressing need to expand and with the restrictions on vertical growth, the only choice left with the good doctor was to look around at the possibility of buying up his neighbours’ properties.

It was on such a mission that the doctor met Oomechen and Rosy. Ommechen was a well-to-do, middle-aged planter who owned around 40 acres of rubber, with the returns of which he was able to live a relaxed and comfortable life. They lived in a cosy house adjoining the hospital.

Rosy, who was ten years younger than Oomechen, was a very attractive woman. She was very aware of the effect she had on men and loved flirting with them.

They had been married for ten years and did not have any children, much to the couple’s disappointment. Not having anything much to do in a well-organized household she was a little bored with everything around her.

She immediately sensed that the smart and good-looking doctor, who was a bachelor, was attracted to her and used to flutter her eyelashes at him when her husband was not watching, just to tease him and to watch his reaction.

The doctor soon became a regular visitor to the Oomechen household -the excuse was to discuss the sale of the property. Oomechen, who was not really in need of money, was however not inclined to sell the family property despite the fancy rate that the doctor offered.

Oomechen used to go away to the rubber estate for at least two to three days in a week and it was during these times, on several occasions, that the doctor chose to either visit the household or to call Rosy and to have long conversations with her. She was flattered by the attention the young doctor was giving her but much to the doctor’s frustration, given her rather strict Catholic upbringing, refused to get into a full-fledged affair with him despite the obvious attraction.

It was on one of his visits to the estate that Oomechen felt rather uneasy that he put down to gas; having had lunch at the rather unhygienic local hotel adjoining the estate. On his return to his house, he mentioned this to Papen who had dropped in that evening to see him.

“May not be anything,” said the doctor, “ but I still feel that you should come over for a checkup –after all, you are forty five- years old and at this age, one should have regular checkups to ensure that any problems are attended to as early as possible.”

Ommechen, being a bit of a hypochondriac landed up at the hospital promptly the next day. He was treated like a VIP and all the usual formalities of registration were done away with. The doctor made him undergo a battery of tests and he was asked to return the next day for the results.

“I want all the records of this case handed over to me-in case any payments have to be made for the tests I will pay you the cash. This patient is my personal responsibility and I do not want any records kept other than what is with me,” he immediately told the head nurse who had handed the file to him. The nurse hurried off to ensure that the instruction was complied with.

A rather nervous Oomechen and Rosy came over to the hospital the next day and was promptly taken to the doctor’s chambers. As they walked in the he was looking at the reports lying on the table in front of him. He had a grim look on his face.

“I have to be honest with you –I am afraid the prognosis is not very good,” he told Oomechen, “You have a heart condition that is rare and chances of recovery are about 20%. Anyway, you are lucky that is has been diagnosed early and that I am around. We will start the treatment immediately. He then told them about the results of the various tests including the ECG, explaining at length the various complications.

“Am I going to die?” a rather shaken Oomechen blurted out, “should I seek a second opinion on this?”

“Don’t worry Ommechen,” replied the doctor, ‘‘you are not going to die immediately and I am going to do my best. You are fortunate that I am next door and even if you do go to any of the bigger hospitals they will not give you the kind of attention that I can give you. Besides as you know I am a cardiac specialist and well qualified to handle your case. Don’t worry I will personally come and check on you at least twice a week.”

“Thank you Papacha,” a grateful Rosy told the doctor, “we are indeed lucky and really grateful that you are around for us.”

“Don’t even mention it,” replied the doctor, “what are neighbours for?’ he asked, smiling reassuringly as he led the patient out of his room, even as he placed a comforting arm around Rosy. She rewarded him with a dazzling smile and a flutter of her long lashes. The doctor’s heart did a summersault and skipped several beats.

Oomechen went into a depression from that time - hardly eating anything and spending most of his time locked up in his room. He stopped going over to the estate and a gloomy air pervaded the house. He hardly spoke to Rosy or the various relatives that came to visit him. He had already lost several kilos and his face took on a haggard look.

The doctor visited the house regularly and after looking up the patient used to spend most of his time counselling a worried Rosy; often holding her hand to comfort her.

“Look Oomachen,” he reprimanded the patient, “You still have a minimum of six months to live and what I suggest is that you go on a holiday with Rosy and do things that will take your mind off your illness - you just can’t go on like as though it is absolutely useless to go on living and that your end is coming tomorrow. You need to relax and do all the things you wanted to do but never did!”

He managed to persuade the couple to go on a holiday to Ooty, even providing a car and the driver for them and arranging for the rooms in a good hotel there. A nurse from the hospital was also arranged to be with them and to see that any medical requirements were looked after.

“It was the most horrible holiday that I have had Papen,” Rosy told the doctor on their return. She had by this time become on an intimate first-name basis with him. ‘He just slept most of the time and hardly spoke to anyone. At least at home I have the servants to speak to and of course you are always there for me …,” she continued with a coy, dimpled smile.

Days slowly passed and it was almost six months from the time Oomechen’s illness was first diagnosed. He had lost almost 20 kilos and had a haunted look on his face, which only lit up a bit when the local priest called on him and prayed with him.

‘Father I will die any day now,’ he whispered hoarsely to the padre, ‘please hear my confession and give me ‘extreme unction,’ so that I can go to heaven.” The priest convinced that the end was near performed all the last sacraments that were normally performed for the dying.

Papen had by then started visiting him regularly, often sitting by his side, holding his hand and talking to him. “Oomecha, you should be glad that you have no pain and that you do not have to suffer-you should thank God for small mercies. We are all praying that if and when you go it will be painless and hopefully in your sleep...,” he comforted the wretched man as he gently wiped the sweat from his perspiring brow.

Two days later Ommechen passed away in his sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

The first person that Rosy called was the doctor who landed up at the house in a matter of minutes. He held the sobbing Rosy closely in his arms as he comforted her. “You know his going is all for the best, it’s the end of his suffering,” he whispered to her. “Now you will have to be brave and handle all that will have to be done for the funeral. Don’t worry… I will do everything… you will just have to look after the guests and relatives who will come. You go and get ready while I make the necessary arrangements and don’t forget to eat something or you will feel weak by the end of the day,” he advised the grateful woman.

‘What would I have done without you?” a tearful Rosy whispered back to him.

“You know I will do anything for you,” he replied softly as he kissed her gently on the forehead.

All the arrangements for the funeral including the service in the church were efficiently handled by the doctor and the hospital team that had been deputed for the task. Everyone commented on how well the doctor had ministered to Oomechen and the priest, in his eulogy to the dead man, mentioned that he was indeed fortunate to have had such a close friend looking after him.

By the evening the doctor, after having persuaded Rosy to take a mild sedative and seeing the exhausted lady tucked into bed, came back to his chambers in the hospital.

He immediately took out the file on Oomechen that he kept in the safe. He then took out some of the reports and called the head nurse.

“Please return these reports pertaining to Mr. Mani to the original file …you remember the patient who died about six months ago of a cardiac arrest?” he asked the nurse who shook her head in the affirmative. “No one should know that I have taken it out ok,” he instructed the nurse who stood respectfully by the side of the table.

He smiled to himself as she left and then went to the small bar that he kept in the room and poured himself a drink. After taking a long gulp he then removed Oomachen’s file and took it to the attached bathroom and set the papers on fire, till the entire file had disappeared. He then flushed the ashes down the toilet even as he switched on the exhaust to get rid of the smoke that had filled the small room.

Pouring himself a second drink, he then instructed the receptionist to arrange for the driver to bring the car to the porch. He smiled contently once again as he settled himself in the back seat of his Mercedes.

Six months later Oomechen married the glowing Rosy at a small ceremony in the local church and then proceeded on a long honeymoon to Europe.

Among the various papers that he took with him on his holiday were the drawings of the first phase of the expansion plan of the hospital that he wanted to leisurely look at, which would now extend into the late Oomechen’s property.

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By Roy Thomas