Mrs Pinto was a middle aged, rich hypertensive patient of mine who used to follow up twice a year with me for her treatment as she resided abroad. She arrived in my clinic one day, with a very unusual request.
Rosy was a 14 year old spastic child, who had suffered brain hypoxia during birth and had ceased to develop intellectually since then. The Pinto family spared no effort in treating her but always failed in their attempts. The neurologists had already fore casted an early death for Rosy. However, Rosy pulled on, living her dependent life. She could not talk or react to any stimuli. She was in a locked in state. A vegetative existence. Her parents were dutifully taking care of her without a frown on their face. They had accepted her and their fate.
They had no choice.
They carried her all around in their untiring arms through out her childhood.
Rosy's physical development progressed regardless of her mental state and soon she had to be moved in a wheel chair. Her face was like a mask, oblivious of the surrounding people or their probing stares. The common expressions of smile, fear, happiness or sadness had never been seen on her face.
The parents' sad faces compensated that void.
All the money in the world could never bring a smile on their worried faces.
Rosy would be a mute spectator all the time. The only noise she ever made was of slurping while having her liquid meals. Even that noise would briefly gladden her grief stricken parents. Her bladder and bowels functioned normally and she needed to be cleaned many times, through out the day. Her parents were in a care giver burn out stage.
They, after her birth, had ceased to live as husband and wife, sacrificing all the wordly and physical pleasures for the upbringing of their child. I respected them for the fact that thay never thought about institutionalising her, keeping her with them all the time.
I saw her, she lay still on the examining bed. Her cheeks were indeed rosy. She stared at me like an inanimate doll. The bitter truth was that she was a live person breathing air like all of us.
Her parents wanted to remove her uterus and ovaries to prevent the onset of menses. They were in no state to handle their growing child's puberty. Or maybe, they wanted her to be protected from abuse in our pervert filled world.
I was stunned by their request.
I saw their plight and complied with them. A date was fixed up for her surgery.
As the surgeon made the first cut on her delicate abdominal wall, despite the anesthesia, a few tear drops welled up in Rosy's eyes and trickled down her rosy cheeks. The surgery was over much to the relief of her parents.
The kids had all gathered in my house for a party and an expected ruckus ensued with some fighting, some crying and some pulling the toys apart. Afterwards, when the party got over, we arranged the scattered toys and my eyes fell in the corner on a doll who had somehow withstood the pushing-pulling fight between kids. But her dress was missing and revealed a rubber flesh coloured body with rosy cheeks, hollow from inside. Her face lacked any expression.
I cried, remembering Rosy, her hollow life.
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