Born again

Amazing. He’s got up. Thank God. I couldn’t believe. You wouldn’t, had you seen him at Jawaharlall Nehru Hospital in Rose Belle.

It’s exactly one month since my niece’s husband had a serious accident. Limsa’s plight was critical when we visited him in ward 2.2 on 15 April. Everybody was upset. The doctors were skeptical about his fate. He’s now back, in convalescence, at home. Today it was an immense pleasure to see him on his feet again.

I was proceeding to his room together with Sierra, to see him. But my niece directed us to the lobby, telling us Limsa will meet us there. I was still wondering how he’d make it to the lobby. But Limsa did appear… on crutches. I didn’t have time to greet him than he shouted, “Hi Mr King, how are you?” (He always calls me affectionately Mr King, unlike the other youngsters who prefer Uncle Alfa).

Tears nearly rolled off my eyes as I gazed at him limping towards us. I trembled while I shook his hands. I couldn’t utter a word. I never expected to see him up again. The only instinct I got at that moment was to offer him assistance to take up his seat. He just smiled and said: “It’s OK Mr King, I can walk now.” He let go his crutches and stood straight. “I’m born again; God is great.”

“Indeed.” I added.

Tears have given way to smiles. We could see it on everybody’s face. He related the agony he’s been in during the last 30 days. He’s struggled hard to be able to walk again, although he knows he won’t be back to work soon. His wife and the rest of the family have been very supportive, he cherished.

He has a faint idea of the circumstances of the accident, he relates. We listen to him in silence. He only remembers having told the foreman that the tackle was worn out and could break…. He hadn’t finished his remark than the tackle broke down instantly. He was at the wrong place at the wrong moment. The electric pole plunged right on his lower abdomen; and he fainted. When he recovered he found himself inert in hospital bed, both arms tied to the bed frame.

Limsa is a courageous guy. He never lost hope. He never lost faith. He always kept in his mind there’s something like a supernatural being, call him God, Allah, Bhagwan, Dieu or whatever, watching constantly upon us; and that He’d be there for him. Even in the worst moments I could see the same smile, the same kind of survival instinct unique to him. I still remember him whispering in my ears at the hospital: “It’s hurting… indeed, Mr King; pray for me.”

Contributor/Journalist,
Occupational Safety & Health Management Professional,
Personnel Management & Industrial Relations Professional,
Blogger, and Retired Civil Servant.
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