Third Time's a Charm

'Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – ' 


Emily Dickinson

On the second or the third day of being in dengue hemorrhagic state, I woke up abruptly from a very uncomfortable snooze (the urine catheter and all the tubes and IV lines preventing any sort of movement). I found him sitting on the side of my bed. You must know that Death really doesn't look scary. He stroked my hair and said, "you must be tired."

I indeed was, even to nod.

He took my right hand with the bloody canula and asked, "how much more blood will they draw", then took my left, connected to a blood bag, slowly administering deep scarlet drops into my veins and asked, "how much more blood will they give."
Everything was silent. The ECG beeped in reply, "more, more, more."

He came closer to me and gently touched the blood pressure cuff that was cutting into my skin. I winced. 'Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked sympathetically and let his eyes linger over the angry red petechial hemorrhage on my arm which resembled the shape and size of a finger mark (I know this now, but to be honest, at first I thought it was some dried blood that dropped from the many blood vials they took, and  tried to rub it off a few times without any luck, before realizing it was internal bleeding).

Still stroking my hair he whispered, "it's okay. Go to sleep now. A nice, long, cosy sleep". His smile was very soothing, so much so that it made my pain fade away very gradually . The quivering line of my heartbeat on the moniter bowed its head, ready to yeild. As his peaceful, calm voice continued like a flower-scented breeze from the snow-capped mountains, I found my eyes closing and my body drifting towards a white light...

All of a sudden, I felt a firmer, warmer touch on my forehead.

I heard my name. Distant but clear and punctuated by sobs, a voice kept repeating my name. My eyes opened in a flash at the familiar voice. Her face was before me. The tired eyes encircled by dark shadows and glistening with tears, highighted her worn-out face. She held my hand, and I moved mine very slowly and held on to hers. We kept holding on to each other. Her touch was warming me, her voice gradually claiming me back, my eyes were closing at the warmth as she embraced me gently.

A curious sight; an exhausted and dishevelled mother, and a daughter in a hospital gown with a bag of urine and another of blood hanging by her sides.

I heard Death tapping on the glass of the heart monitor. Maybe it reached a sudden peak. I heard a soft sigh and fooststeps growing fainter. Just before the sound disappeared altogether, his chiming voice whispered almost longingly in my ear, "I came for you once, now I came for you twice, remember, third time's a charm."

When I opened my eyes, he was gone.