How I wish I could erase that awful day from my memory forever! How I wish my son were normal, the way he used to be, before the accident that was to change his (and our) world forever!
I have two children, a son, Sanjeet Raneesh, and a daughter, Vida Chunaram. They are four and nine; they are my world, my reason for living.
Or so it was before Sanjeet ended up permanently brain damaged.
It happened a year ago, and I'm still consumed with guilt.
How I wish I'd been home that day instead of at the grocery store!
I will never forget the phone call. It was Manjeet, my husband, calling. The frantic tone to his voice terrified me. Something was wrong; he told me to go directly to the children's hospital; he'd meet me there. He was telling me our little son had been in an accident and was now being flown by helicopter to the closest children's hospital. He didn't say exactly what had happened, but it sounded bad, very bad.
Once at the hospital, I felt confused. Manjeet met me; he was crying openly, saying that our little son was dying. It scared me. He said Sanjeet accidentally hung himself on a rope swing while playing in the backyard; he found our son dangling limply, face blue, eyes closed. He looked dead. When my husband freed our child from the rope, it was discovered that the little boy wasn't breathing.
He'd been without oxygen for over ten minutes.
I walked into the ICU ward, almost too afraid at what I'd see. What I saw thoroughly frightened me. It was too much. There were tiny children hooked up to tubes, machines. Doctors, nurses, and parents rushed back and forth.
In the midst of all of this was little Sanjeet, our boy. Doctors and nurses fought hard to save his life. Sanjeet had tubes of every kind in and on him. He looked ghastly. To see him this way sent me running from the room in a torrent of tears. It was awful. I thought he'd never wake up.
It is often said how sick a person is judging from the number of tubes he or she has. Well, it seemed that Sanjeet was very, very sick, possibly dying.
For four long months, Manjeet and I took turns living at the hospital. Both of us wanted to be there for our son, but we had our other child, our girl, to take care of. She needed us, too. It was not known whether Sanjeet would ever come out of the coma; if he did, he'd be irreparably damaged for the rest of his life.
Well, Sanjeet finally did wake up from his coma; however, his life wasn't the same. Now at the age of four, he can no longer do anything for himself. He is unable to walk, talk, see, even eat or take care of his personal needs. He is totally helpless.
We try to help our son with every need; however, it has taken a huge toll on our marriage. Manjeet has closed up within himself; he no longer talks or smiles; we barely tolerate each other. Vida has become irritable, easily angered, and often resorts to bad behavior to gain attention. Her grades have suffered; she is on the verge of failing most of her classes, which is so unlike her.
As for myself, I no longer go out: I'm with Sanjeet every waking moment, changing his diaper, taking care of his feedings and/or meds, making sure he doesn't have another infection or respiratory crisis. He is more like a newborn baby than a four-year-old little boy.
I try to be there for my family; yet it appears we're drifting apart. It's getting to the point where I want to kill Sanjeet because he's taking everything away from us. Maybe if he were not here, we could return to our former life. Maybe it would be better if he were dead, so he wouldn't have to suffer any longer.
I don't know what to do anymore. I'm at the end of my rope; I've had it up to here with our son!!
