A Story of Hope in Times of Crisis

By Hasainul Choudhury

"The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow on the thirty-bed room filled to capacity with patients battling COVID-19, their machines humming in a synchronized chorus. The atmosphere inside was thick with worry as these brave souls fought to protect themselves from the insidious grasp of the virus."

"When God takes something away from someone, he always makes it up to them. I had the impression that I was also being compensated in some way. It was only up to me to figure it out……."

"The third dilation felt like razor blades slicing through my skin, and the pain was so intense I could only open my mouth in a silent scream….."

"The story of those unstoppable soldiers inspired me to fight every adversary in my life. I had no choice but to stand if I wanted to express my gratitude and sense of responsibility to my family, friends, colleagues, and workplace. In my mind's eye, I was a shattered soldier on the battlefield of the wars raging in both my personal and professional lives. My moral compass informed me that I had not yet been defeated. Please awoke and began fighting........"

Discover the challenges, triumphs, and heart-wrenching moments defining their journey. This intimate exploration of the human spirit reveals tales of courage, tenacity, and compassion. Adnan, his wife Naaz, son Sharik, and friends overcome the overall challenge of COVID-19, weaving incredible narratives of strength. Adnan's battle with kidney failure unfolds, showcasing the remarkable journey from dialysis to a life-saving transplant.

Explore how Adnan, amidst multiple hospitalizations, manages a national-level competition, a testament to his resilience. The medical professionals, portrayed as angels, inspire with their sacrifices. The book delves into the collective efforts to save lives in extreme situations, emphasizing humanity's triumph over adversity. As you read, realize that our hardships pale in comparison to others', fostering empathy and inspiring continued resilience. This story of battling organ failure is a testament to the indomitable human spirit, urging readers to keep fighting and find inspiration in the face of life's challenges.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hasainul
• Release date: Oct 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223170273

Hasainul Choudhury

Hasainul hails from the lush, green district of Jalpaiguri, West Bengal, India. An aficionado of automobiles for two decades, Hasainul has mastered the art of sales to ensure complete customer satisfaction. Despite battling kidney failure and vision loss, Hasainul has never let his spirit sink low. He yearns to be optimistic about life and to fight organ failure, believing that only positive thinking, determination, adherence to the treatment plan, and love from everyone can give him a new start!

Book preview

A STORY OF HOPE IN TIMES OF CRISIS

HASAINUL

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Disclaimer: This content is a product of fiction and is not intended to depict reality. The author employs creative imagination to craft a narrative, employing medical, technical, and specialized terminology to enrich the storytelling. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any information presented should be independently verified through consultation with experts in the relevant fields. The viewpoints and perspectives expressed belong to the fictional characters and must not be misconstrued as a reflection of the author's own beliefs or opinions. The text entirely originates from the author's creative mind, and any resemblance to real individuals or historical occurrences is purely accidental and unintentional. Reader discretion is recommended.

First Edition: 2023

Publication Month: September

Copyright Ⓒ Hasainul Arafine Choudhury

Dedication

This book is written in honor of those who have sadly departed this world too soon due to fatal illnesses such as organ failure, Covid-19 and other untreatable ailments. We salute you and your valiant fight against the odds and remember you with deep respect. It is also dedicated to the kind-hearted people, compassionate doctors, tireless medical professionals, and selfless organizations who work tirelessly to help those suffering from organ failure and other critical diseases reclaim their lives.

To those who triumphed against the harsh grip of organ failure and reignited their lives with determination, this book is a testament to your resiliency and unwavering commitment to the betterment of society and our nation. My gratitude is extended to those selfless souls who donate their organs to save the lives of their loved ones - you have touched countless lives and breathed hope into the hearts of those in need. Most importantly, this book is dedicated to my beloved family, friends and relatives. Your unwavering faith in me has been the fuel that has propelled me forward, even in the darkest of times. Each word and sentence are a testament to the profound influence you have had on my life's narrative!

- Hasainul

Contents

The Silent Struggle: A Tale of Invisible Disability and a Brush with Fate

Boss: Lessons in Transformation and Inspiration

The Power of Faith and Discipline: Conquering Organ Failure in the Times of Covid19 Pandemic

Crushed by Pain, Lifted by Compassion

Perspective Shift: Finding Strength in Others' Struggles

One Eye's Journey: Rediscovering Life and Unveiling the Kidney Donor

Resilience Rewarded: A Journey through Unending Suffering

The Silent Struggle: A Tale of Invisible Disability and a Brush with Fate

The sky glowed with a new dawn, light chasing away the shadows of darkness. The trees around me seemed to bask in the warmth of the sun's rays, stretching their limbs ever higher in reverence to the heavens. I heard the gentle melodies of birds calling out in perfect harmony and it filled me with an unbridled sense of hope and possibility. As I breathed deeply and closed my eyes, I felt a surge of faith within me, rising like the sun on this new morning.

Though I was still reeling from kidney failure and vision loss and my reliance on dialysis and Intravitreal Injections, I refused to let my health hold me back from living a fulfilled life. With no one around to judge or watch me, I found solace in the quietness of the grassy plain as I did my daily exercises.

The fluid accumulated in my lungs, abdomen, and ankles felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me, making it difficult to move or even breathe without feeling intense pressure. To the touch, my skin felt tight and swollen. As I breathed, my lungs made a wheezing noise.

Each movement was exhausting, but with every deep breath I uttered a prayer for all those fighting Covid19 and other life-threatening diseases. No matter how difficult it might be, I continued pushing through until the very end. The fluid in my lungs had made it hard to breathe, and walking two kilometres felt like I was trekking through a muddy field. But I hoped that after the next round of dialysis, my normal breathing rhythm would return. In the past, exercises like sit ups, jumping jacks, crunches, squats, and calf raises were easy for me; however, my weakened state now made them immensely exhausting. Still, I knew I had to keep doing them if I wanted to regain my energy.

To strengthen my AV fistula, I took a soft ball in my left hand and began squeezing and releasing it repeatedly. Every time I moved, I could feel the vibration of blood pumping through my AV fistula, and its high energy level assured me that it would relieve my dialysis pain.

After working out for two hours, I was feeling tired and thirsty, though I knew I had to wait until breakfast before having anything to drink. Because, as a kidney failure patient, I had to limit my fluid intake to one litre per day to avoid fluid overload.

After finishing my morning exercise, I dragged my aching body into the bedroom, sweat dripping from my brow. The room was filled with the sound of my laboured breathing, punctuated by the occasional drip of my sweat on the white floor.

A ticking clock in the background served as a reminder of the passage of time, while the stark reflection in the mirror served as a reminder of life's harsh reality.

My mirror called out to me with its harsh reality check. It was where I spoke to myself - or, more accurately, where the truth always spoke back to me. The mirror was a constant reminder of who I was, what I had become, and where I was going.

After seven intravitreal injections and painful laser treatment in my eyes, my vision was finally clear. It was a happy day when, after seven months, I could finally see my face clearly in the mirror. The whites of the almond-shaped eyes revealed red veins, and the redness reflected its struggle to restore vision. Even the blackheads on my nose were proof that the doctors' efforts to restore my vision were successful.

As I looked in the mirror, I noticed how sickly and gaunt I appeared. Two years back at my 36, I was a strong, confident, decisive and supportive General Manager, but kidney failure and eye disease had reduced me to this haggard figure. My black circles were prominent, and my previously oval-shaped, brown face was paler than usual.

Despite my physical weakness, I always tried to maintain a formal appearance with neatly trimmed hair and a cleanly shaved face. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to prove my mettle as a capable manager, I was always cloaked in the merciless attire of ailments and weakness.

Throughout history, many powerful kings have conquered vast areas of our planet, leaving rivers of blood in their wake. They were, however, frequently surrendered to the mysterious force of critical disease and died.

I had to demonstrate my courage against two unbeatable enemies, last-stage diabetic nephropathy and retinopathy. I had adapted to a smaller role as a sales manager and cut down my workload for critical health condition. To come out victorious in this conflict, I had to demonstrate to those warmonger kings that love, faith, self-control, and resilience could lengthen our life.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered how different things had been when I was younger. Back then, I was overweight and constantly bullied by my peers. Nothing worked despite numerous attempts to lose weight. But now, without even trying, I was losing weight - ten kilograms in ten months. It was all because of this horrible diabetic nephropathy and retinopathy that had enslaved me.

I thanked God and smiled at times, grateful that finally He had helped me lose weight during difficult times.

But still, somewhere deep inside me, a voice whispered that I could overcome this setback. My determined gaze met that of my reflection in the mirror - resolute and unstoppable despite everything life had thrown at me.

I was startled when Naaz, my wife, rushed into the room with Sharik, my son. Sharik was crying because he had woken up very early in the morning. Naaz was preparing him for his online classes, which had gone digital due to the Covid-19 lockdown. His classes were scheduled to begin at 7 a. m., and he would need to be dressed appropriately so that the teachers could maintain the discipline of school. I was surprised by the new way of learning, but I had no idea how Sharik felt about it. All he wanted to do was sleep some more time.

Naaz, dressed in a simple Kurti and Plazo, stood with her slim figure and confident stride. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her wheatish face was firm yet loving as she fussed over Sharik, helping him in putting on his school uniform. Sharik looked up at her with wet eyes, his light brown face puffy from tears and his hair unruly from sleep.

Naaz lovingly coaxed her son, My Sweet Boy! Come on now, your breakfast is ready. I have cooked your favourite Puri and Aloo Matar Sabji. If you stop crying, I'll make you some delicious Chicken Rolls as an evening treat!

But the thought of Chicken Rolls made Sharik's eyes light up and he started to cry, frantically insisting that he get them right away. I stepped in and held him close in my arms. Don't worry, sweetheart. Now is the time to focus on your online classes so you can finish them as soon as possible. After that, we'll go get some tasty chicken rolls and a chocolate treat.

Promise Papa! he asked with a yearning smile.

Yes, my son, I replied with a smile. I promise!

I happily and lightly ruffled his curly hair before sending him off to eat breakfast.

He'd become so tech-savvy at the age of seven; I'd given him an old desktop for his classes, and he handled everything quite well on his own.

Since I was running late for breakfast, Naaz was clearly becoming annoyed. She yelled angrily at me.

Adnan, what are you still doing here? You know you have to leave for your dialysis at eleven and you have work to finish before then. Get up and be ready for breakfast. Her words were like hot coals that singed my ears.

I scrambled out of bed, trying to avoid her wrathful gaze. Yes, Naaz, I muttered, feeling defeated yet again by her commanding tone.

She spun on her heel and marched out of the room for the kitchen, her lean frame and petite height belying the fierce determination that burned within her.

As I hurriedly dressed and gathered my things, I felt grateful for the force of nature that was Naaz. She was always pushing me to be better, even when I wanted to give up. And for that, I loved her more than anything in the world.

Naaz was in the kitchen preparing my breakfast, adhering to my renal diabetic dietary guidelines. I had been limiting my protein intake until I reached stage five kidney disease, but now that I'm on dialysis, my doctors suggested that I increase my protein intake. The plate was filled with two golden rotis, light yellow paneer curry with vegetables, and two fluffy egg whites. A small cup of steaming tea, exuding the sweet flavour of Assam tea, was placed on the side. The aroma of freshly made rotis and the homey spices in the paneer curry filled the room, while the sweet scent of tea wafted in the air.

I felt more thirsty than hungry, I quickly drank the water and asked for another cup. Naaz was strict about controlling my fluid intake and reminded me that my daily allotment was only one litre. She sternly instructed me to finish my breakfast and tea and also promised to give me more water after an hour.

I could sense her inner turmoil—she was having breakfast, yet her face was lined with worry. Naaz, the stylist, looked like a broken woman today. Her skin was covered in dark spots and she seemed quite sorrowful. She hadn't been to a beauty parlour for long. Her wavy hair, once long and highlighted, had become oily and dull. Only her eyes remained burning brightly, resolute in her mission to save her family. She was just like the countless other housewives who are quietly contributing to the growth of the country by taking care of their thriving and struggling family members. It is our duty to recognise the dedication and sacrifice of those homemakers.

On that particular day, the date was September 19, 2020. I rode my motorcycle to my dialysis centre after breakfast and official work in the morning. The sky was a clear, bright blue, and the sun shone down on the busy streets around me.

After a five-kilometre ride, I arrived at the RRT Clinic-Ranchi at 11 a. m. for my afternoon dialysis session. The dialysis centre, a tall building with shining windows, loomed in the distance. Inside, I saw nurses going about their work as patients waited in orderly lines for their treatments. The lift door opened to show a clean waiting area with rows of chairs and neat desks for checking in. Everything was clean and well-organised, and I felt a sense of calm wash over me. After I was done with the paperwork for my dialysis bills, I steered myself to the dialysis unit by taking a right turn.

As I walked down the dim and silent passage, I could hear each step echo off the walls. The passage was dark and hushed, illuminated only by the dim light of the few bulbs that line the walls. The floor was a deep grey marble, and each careful step taken down the corridor reverberates off the walls like a low rumble. The air was heavy with an almost clinical smell, and anticipation hangs in the air as I make my way to the unit.

Before beginning the preparations for my dialysis treatment, the technicians at the unit took note of my current weight once I arrived there. I got into position on the bed, and then they began the dialysis process.

The next few hours were an intense battle of patience and courage. The dialysis drained all the energy from my body with every passing minute. It took four long hours for the process to be completed, however each second felt like an eternity.

The atmosphere inside was thick with worry, and the thirty-bed room was filled to capacity with patients hooked up to their machines. COVID-19 had cast a pall over the world, and these brave souls were trying to protect themselves from its insidious grasp.

The machines whirred and beeped in unison, but I could only focus on the glint of hope in each patient's eyes - determination in the face of struggle. There was something special in this place, something almost spiritual that I couldn't put my finger on. But one thing was certain: we were all standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to fight for our lives.

The dialysis technicians were walking slowly and solemnly in the chilled room, their eyes trained on the patients and dialysis machines. Their faces were carefully composed and focused, their bodies tensed and alert. They were moving like shadows, intent on making sure everything was going according to the treatment plan. They dressed in blue scrubs, gloves, masks and white shoes. The walls of the dialysis clinic were white so bright it hurt my eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead were flickering, causing the walls to flash with movement. There were no windows. The air smelled of rubbing alcohol, blood, and antiseptic. As the blood moved through the intricate tubes of the dialysis machine, nitrogenous wastes were slowly pulled from the blood and drawn into the dialysing fluid. The blood then cycled back into our bodies, filtered and free from toxins. The process was occurring silently like a ghost relieving us of our sins. At 4:00 pm the beeping grew faster and faster as it was taking my blood pressure before giving me a final reading and shutting down dialysis. My right arm was encased in a white blood pressure cuff that quickly inflated with air pressure, creating a bulging shape that gradually shrank until the machine announced its satisfaction before powering down. The technician confirmed that everything was fine with one final beep of the machine. He carefully peeled off the bandages on the left arm's AV fistula, revealing two needles inserted into the arterial and venous vessels. He then took out the arterial needle and used a gauze pad to gently press on the puncture site to stop the bleeding. He continued to wrap a fistula belt around the artery to stop further leakage and another around the venous access. Lastly, he tightly clamped both the access with a steady hand. I slowly rose from the comfortable dialysis bed and carefully placed my white N95 mask over my nose and mouth, followed by a surgical face covering for added protection against COVID-19. The technician asked me to step on the weight scale before taking my vitals, which were recorded in the dialysis tracker. As it turned out, my vitals were almost healthy and normal.

I made sure to double check everything in the dialysis tracker to make sure there were no problems with documentation. The name spelled correctly – Adnan Sarkar, height 5'9", age 38 years, body weight 84kg, random blood sugar 155 mmol/L and blood pressure 130/90 mmHg.

After I left the hospital, everything appeared to be in order. I gathered my necessary documents in a bag, put on my helmet, and rode the lift down to the underground parking lot. The parking area was dark and damp, illuminated only by low power lamps. The area felt peaceful and secure as the light cast an even glow and cast long shadows across the ground. The way to the main road was barely visible in the dim lighting, and the sharp right turn was difficult to make. When I pressed the auto-start button on my motorcycle, it hummed to let me know it was ready for the ride home. As I slowly climbed the steep slope leading up to the main road, the motorcycle engine hummed even more. The sound of my engine reverberated off of the walls and created an echo so loud it was almost deafening. As I took the sharp turn, my tires squealed in protest. The wind whipped against my face as I climbed up the incline, gaining speed as I ascend. My house was only five kilometres away from the hospital.

Because of the recent relaxation of COVID restrictions, everybody was out driving. The roads were alive with the hum of engines and the clatter of honking horns. The distant buzz of traffic created a wall of noise that echoed through the streets like a wave. The sound of brakes squeaking and tires squealing filled the air, a reminder that the roads were now full of more life than before.

After 2. 5 kilometres from the hospital, I arrived at Tower Chowk, a crossroads. As I approached the crossroads, I felt my body become suddenly still, as if the air had been sucked from around me. A distinct sense of emptiness appeared to come from within my own chest and stomach. A deep void within me felt like a gaping hole in my chest, sucking all energy from my body.

A strange silence seemed to surround me despite all the noises. In the stillness of my mind, I could hear my own heartbeat racing in my ears, as if trying to fill the void of silence around me.

My palms started to sweat, and I felt dizzy. It was difficult to concentrate on my biking, and I became concerned that something bad was happening. I had long struggled with fluctuating blood sugar levels, which kept me either too high or dangerously low. I parked my motorcycle on the left side of the road, pretending to check for mechanical issues. All the while, I was consuming sugar and water to try to stabilise my hypoglycemia. To keep people from noticing my condition, I pretended to inspect my motorcycle. My body tensed and trembled, short of breath and suffocating, as if it was time to say goodbye to the struggle. I tried to sit on my motorcycle, but it was too heavy for me to lift myself onto it. I felt so weak because the vacuum within me had grown larger. I tried to survive while struggling. My physical condition had deteriorated to the point where I could barely move, but I made it to the 'Spicy Avenue Restaurant', which was only a few metres away. I used to go there to get food and candy for my son. I'm feeling unwell, so I'm going to the 'Spicy Avenue Restaurant' to rest, I told my wife Naaz. Would you be able to meet me there?

I rushed into the restaurant with a sweaty face, letting out deep sighs as