sister, tell me how.

It was yet another busy shift. Doctors swarmed in and out of the ICU, discussing the case files and the therapeutic interventions lately in practice. The security guards outside as always were fighting a good fight to keep the patient attenders from rushing into the "entry restricted" room.

We nurses on the job, went about with hurried looks and swift feet, completing our paper works.

In came the grim faced surgeon. "sister, dressing trolley", he said in his grim voice. That was information enough. I had to at the snap of a finger get materials enough to fill a pharmacy to suffice him. And to my ill luck, he couldn't have chosen a more inconvenient time- only 15 min remaining for my shift to end.

Ok, curtains pulled. Sterile trays opened. Three others just outside the screen, in case I needed any help.

I assisted the dressing of a young man's hand which was auto- amputated following a fall from a construction site. He was rushed to the hospital with his severed hand in a plastic bag. Our surgeons managed to fix it back in place. Everything seemed to be going well till a period but now there was serious doubt if he could successfully pull this through. The surgeon inspected, frowned, mumbled something and frowned again. wrapping the poor hand in sterile gauze, he left me to complete the dressing.

Outside, I could hear him saying to the registrar, "No hope. We'll post the surgery for tomorrow".

The young man's fate was decided. His re-implanted hand had to be amputated. His relatives came in and spoke in hushed tones to the doc. "The boy needs to know", someone said. It was all tears and sighs. They spoke, while the boy listened in silence. He said absolutely nothing. In a few moments the place was cleared.

I filled in the forms required for the impending surgery. All the while thinking of the right words to say before broaching the subject... The consent forms were to be signed. I simply stood by the bed clutching the file in my hands, still framing in my mind a good sentence to start with.

"Sister," he said without looking at me.
"How will I work without my hand?"

A feeling of total helplessness overwhelmed me, but I tried to be optimistic for his sake. Said something about artificial limbs, knowing well how little that reassurance would help. Then on, he did most of the talking. I only listened. listened till he was done.

Back in the hostel, my thoughts kept flying back to the ICU. To the young man. I kept asking God a 100 whys but found no answers.
I know there'll come a time when all pain and tears would disappear. But till that time... It's wonderful to muse about the things to come. But the present flashes in my mind- The cyanosed finger tips. The bright red colour of arterial blood beating into my eyes. the dressing tray. The OT complex.

I may never learn to answer the many " Sister tell me how " questions that'll come my way. But as long as there is strength in these two hands of mine, I'll work for the ones God has placed in my hands.