Tummy blues

I've just been discharged from hospital.

After getting food poisoning... again.

Last time was Shigella in all its bloody horror, that nearly resulted in a miscarriage. So actually, this episode seems like a cushy ride in comparison.

This time of the year is just bad for me and my alimentary tract.

Maybe I just need to change my food choices...

Crisis!!!

My father and brother have both ingested cyanide.

Please read the info-graphic below while I have a meltdown.

How did this happen? I spent most of this morning pacing up and down... asking myself this question, asking my father this question and yelling this question out to the multiverse in general.

My aunt had sent a food supplement* from abroad... and my dad mistaking it for a fruit snack, ripped open the packet and was liberally offering it to all at home. I declined the first time I was offered, and the second time, my brother told me it tasted vile and was best avoided.

On a chance phone call with my aunt, I find out that this product is actually meant for a relative with cancer, that the active ingredient ("vitamin" B17) is actually cyanide. In addition, there was a warning message on the back of the pack stating "eating 2 or more kernels can cause acute cyanide poisoning".

GAHHHHHHHH!!!!!

By this time my dad has eaten six, my brother two and the Baby's nanny had popped three in her mouth but spat them out because of the taste.

From that moment, I was hyperventilating and in a total frenzy, reading up on the internet, making frantic calls to the National Poisons Centre and blasting my dad for not reading the package or the instructions that they were meant for our sick relative.

Happily, none of them had any acute effects, but I loaded them with vitamin B12 (antidote, usually given by injection) and will be getting their blood tested for a couple of weeks and keep an eye out for nasty effects.

What gives me the shivers is that I could easily have eaten it and it would have passed on to the little Bumtrinket, with disastrous effects. We would have known nothing until she suddenly stopped breathing or her kidneys packed up or something. I was shaking all the time and didn't stop until I burst into tears, hugged her and let all the misery and fear out.

Today's lesson: always ALWAYS check what you eat, especially if it is something new or unfamiliar and keep yourselves safe!

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* I am not naming it for ethical reasons, i.e. someone may be tempted to try it

Messiness

It's been a messy week... and TGIF is all that I can say.

image from here

The Bumtrinket developed an eye problem and even though some people went "nah, can't be!" I was antsy until it had been properly assessed. I mean, it's her vision for goodness sake, how can I risk being complacent? So anyway, that meant a lot of worry and substantial time on hospital and a few more tests we have to get done this weekend.

I then had to turn in a couple of assignments, and two more are due by the end of today.... gah! Having a lot of trouble concentrating and on again-off again headaches.

Worst, I have to go back to work today as my maternity leave is over! Can you believe four months have passed? I should be able to get my leave extended... I'm hoping and praying. It breaks my heart to have to leave her and go and it's been a mad rush to bathe her and express and store milk, worrying all the while. Darling has put leave so that went a long way towards allaying my anxiety.

Adding insult to injury, none of my saree jackets (which fit throughout the pregnancy) fit me any more! I'm just too frazzled to alter them. Thank goodness for ready made jackets!

Will be needing a lot of positive energy today!

FML

'nuff said

7 dead bodies...

... lay there under the harsh light, waiting to be disposed. All victims of the same killing spree, they had died within minutes, if not seconds of each other. Limbs were crumpled against their still forms, yet even in death, their torsos sowed the bloated evidence of their bloody and parasitic existence.

Image from here

Gentle readers, I killed three mosquitoes yesterday. So what, you may ask, it's three less mosquitoes, but no big deal. It was a big deal for me though... it was the first time in seventeen years that I had deliberately, with malice aforethought, killed another creature.

Yes, I'm one of those* people. I let mossies suck my blood while I move to a window or doorway and flick them off. I fish spiders out of toilet bowls. I catch roaches in silisili bags and throw them out. I painstakingly remove each little ant before I wash a neglected teacup.

But...

Yesterday morning, my baby woke up with nearly 20 livid scarlet bumps all over her little body... on her face, arms and legs. Despite our best efforts, a bloodsucker had got in through the defenses of her cot and spent a merry few hours feasting on her. I was heartbroken at her plight and furious with myself for not detecting the creature before such damage was done. By evening, she began to develop a reaction around the bites, and her entire skin was turning a deep and angry pink. The poor little thing was quite distressed and cried for nearly an hour, and worse still, refused milk.

In my paranoid state I was thinking of all the dire possibilities from some sort of mutant dengue, to chicken pox to Kawasaki disease. Her doctor confirmed that yes, these are nasty insect bites causing an allergic reaction and she was then slathered in calamine lotion.

I covered her with her net, checked that the edges were firmly against the bed and went for dinner. When I came back, a fat, bloated creature had somehow wriggled inside and was buzzing around, clearly replete. I felt nothing but sharp clear fury (not my daughter, you bitch!**) as I squashed it to oblivion.

Later, as the body count mounted, I felt a sort of sick remorse... but my daughter is more important (to me) than a swarm of pests.

Where do you draw the line when in comes to avihimsa (non-violence?)

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* no, I'm not vegetarian, but I do try... I eat meat maybe 2-3 times a week, usually in the form of pastries and pizza topping.

** Molly Weasley, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The rain gods...

...they be unhappy....

Brother blames it all on his rain dancing skills... or lack thereof.

Yesterday's thunderstorm caused our garden to flood, with water seeping in through the crack at the bottom of the back door. There were horrid noises in the night... distant woomps and crash-bangs only hinting at the grim possibilities.

We awoke to find that part of our parapet wall had crashed down (narrowly missing the car) and that sheets have been blown off the roof, which was dripping water into the house. Happily the water had drained away, leaving only muddy floors to be cleaned.

While we gloomily surveyed the wrecked garden (the wall had fallen right on top of Mum's prized red palms and gerberra plants) it started to rain again. And the water started rising. First seeping in through the back door, the water in the front garden also rose to a level that it was coming in. Then it started coming in from the french windows from either-side of the house. Meaning that we were being flooded from all 4 corners. Within half an hour the house was over a foot deep in muddy water and we had all retreated upstairs.

Peering out of the windows, there were snakes swimming about the water!!



Well, they turned out to be eels. From the Diyawanna oya.

I still wasn't risking going down there.

So, we are cloistered upstairts... ignoring the drip drip from one point in the roof and the not-so-remote possibility of having it fall down on our heads.

The only consolation I have is that ironically enough, the internet still works!

Whut....? Nooooooooo!!!

Aiyooo!

I get a paper selected for presentation... I get some funding and Darling agrees to fund the rest... I book flights and pay for them... search for cheap hotels and book a room...

Then this happens....

-.-

Earthquakes, tsunamis and now the volcanic eruption, which is exactly 30km from the hotel. The subsequent eruptions that happened today have resulted in suspended flights.

I was all for going to Jakarta and then taking a train, thinking that even if the worst happens, I'll get some great pics. Darling pointed out that there are plenty of pics on the internet, but that there is only one of me, that I am however, a stellar idiot and he is now threatening to cut all funding.

Sigh....
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P.s. this post in no way intends to trivialise the loss of life and property and the looming health crisis in Indonesia. It's just me ranting....

Gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

I just typed a looong angst filled rant, only to have a misplaced key stroke send it into an electronic black hole.

Technology can really suck!

(fumes loud and long, decides to close laptop and go to sleep).

Sad news

24 year old Surani breathed her last yesterday (7th September).

May you attain Nibbana, little sister...

Sad

I met up with a friend today... a very old and dear friend whom I got to know on the first day at Uni. I was meeting him after more than a year, and it felt great to sit and talk... I hadn't realised how much I had missed his wry jokes and brutal sense of humour! So we tore apart the old scandals, talked gossipily about new ones and who was dating/married /divorced/cheating with who.

And then I asked an unnecessary question.

I asked if there were any guys in my batch who were "interested in me". And he said no.

I can't describe how hard that was on my self esteem... I know it is silly... and that I was well liked and popular with my batchmates, that I had fun during my almost-6-years there and that I have loads of great memories...

BUT

Seriously?? Not one single guy had so much as a smidgen of a crush on me? What is wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough or sexy enough or lustworthy enough? Do I lack an innate "hotness factor"? Was it the way I dressed? Was it my hair? Maybe I should have worn my contact lenses everyday instead of wearing glasses because they were comfier. Maybe I should have spent more on clothes from Mondi and suchlike instead of the sensible stuff I wore. Maybe I should have used fair and lovely.

Gah!

Not ONE lousy guy.

My ego is really bruised at the moment.

:(

Mission Impossible

Image from here

Current weight - 62 kg
Target weight - 50 kg

So yeah, following the disaster of my previous weight loss plans, I've grit my teeth and made a firm commitment, yet again.

Problem is 1kg of body weight in fat = 7700 kcal. That then is the calorie restriction needed to lose 1 kg/week. Hmmm... that is cutting down 1100 kcal per day. My recomended daily calorie intake is 1650kcal. This leaves me with a paltry allowance of just 550 kcal per day.

Gahhhh!!!!

Starvation, here I come...
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Edit : Yes, I know this is unhealthy. It's not recomended for a woman to have less than 1200kcal per day unless in a medical supervised environment.

Hang on... I am a medically supervised environment of one! :)

First death

Somehow, I think that is something that really affects all doctors... the first time someone dies on your watch.

Mine was a few years ago and I still get flashbacks... still remember locking my self up in the teaching room of our ward and retching over and over again until there was nothing left to throw up. Still remember sliding against the cool wall until I was seated on the floor, alone in the darkness, hot tears burning my cheeks and whispering "I'm sorry" over and over again. Still remember it taking the best part of an hour to stop shaking... and then walking out, completing the night round, calmly writing out the death certificate. Still remember going home in a daze, walking into the shower, clothes and all. I threw away those clothes - they were so soaked in blood I don't think anything short of a blade would have gotten the stains out.

Since then, I have watched scores of people breathe their last, closed their sightless eyes, talked to hysterical relatives and filled out the forms over and over again. Death no longer has the power to shock... but the awe still remains. And so do the memories. I remember every. single. one.

That fateful night was a Saturday, and the patient was Rupasinghe* a transfer from Dambulla, who had a couple of episodes of blood stained vomiting. We had scoped him the day before and found an ugly ulcer in his stomach, probably cancer. I had explained about the surgery to him, told him about eating well and getting his strength up and informed the anesthetist to do the pre-op prep.

Sometime during the ward round I heard a hoarse shout from the toilets... and I remember running into the patients' toilets and finding Rupasinghe lying on the ground... he mumbled about passing blood with his stools, and started to moan. I'm not sure how, but I had him out of there and almost onto a trolley by the time the attendants heard what I'm sure were my semi-hysterical shrieks and came running.

One look at his eyes and tongue was enough to confirm what I feared - he was as pale as a sheet of paper and that meant the ulcer had eaten into a blood vessel and he was bleeding into his stomach, so fast that fresh blood was coming from the other end. Rupasinghe clutched my hand, and asked me if he was going to die... and I said something soothing, and told him we'll be taking care of everything.

My senior was there in minutes, and we started pushing in pint after pint of blood, saline, and starch - me on one side, a nurse on the other, squeezing the blood packs to push the fluid in faster. Suddenly R started gasping and before any of us realised what was happening, a gush of blood fountained out of his mouth, drenching my white blouse. The cold hard realisation that this man was going to drown in his own blood terrified me. We pushed a tube into his mouth, and fixed it to the suction machine, removing the blood as it welled up. More doctors were called in, more blood and more fluid, all of us working with silent, grim determination.

And then he improved... blood pressure started climbing up, and he opened his eyes, staring semi comprehendingly at the drenched sheets. I told him not to worry... that everything was under control... and we kept on with fluids. I remember smiling at my senior, and wondering why the relief wasn't showing in his face. Then Rupasinghe clutched my hand again and said, "I'm going to die doctor". I shook my head and managed a smile and said no, that's not going to happen, things will be ok.

He looked straight into my eyes and gasped out "you doctors are such liars".

Those were the last words he spoke. Less than a minute later, he started vomiting blood again, and this time, we couldn't stem the flow. Deprived of its lifeblood, his heart stopped, and CPR was just a futile exercise.

And looking into his sightless eyes, all I could hear were those final words, clanging over and over again inside my head, each syllable a skewer through my consciousness.

Little Johnny Batta

Image taken from here

Whenever I pass through the accident service, I get flashbacks to the times when screaming ambulances brought in casualties airlifted to Colombo, human beings mangled and torn apart by gunfire, batta mines, claymores, RPGs etc. Our hospital would sometimes get as many as 100 casualties in a single night... and this was after the "less" injured had been sent to Homagama, Jayawardenepura etc. Often the accident service theaters and staff will be overwhelmed and the general surgical units (such as the one I worked in) would be called in, and every theater would have teams working into the small hours of the morning.

One of the Consultant Surgeons I worked with once gave us the history of batta injuries. Once upon a time the blast only removed a part of the calcaneous, the heel bone. Surgery removed the damaged tissue, and the chipped bone was smoothed out so that post injury, walking wasn't too much of a problem.

Gradually the doctors began to see crushed ankle joints and lacerated calf muscles. Then one day my boss (who was at the time working at the Anuradhapura hospital) was called in to see a soldier whose foot was completely blown off, knee joint shattered and muscles ripped apart up to the upper thigh. An above knee amputation was the only option. Later, my boss had to face an inquiry as to why a "simple batta injury" needed such drastic surgery - a question he was more than prepared to answer as he had detailed records including photographs of the incident. Since the end of the 1990's, the batta injuries have gotten progressively more horrific as the terrorists packed in more and stronger explosives into the little device. I have seen and read of injuries where the pelvic ring was blown apart to smithereens, where the bowels have been ripped and torn by the blast and one instance on ruptured diaphragm and damage to the lungs.

Every time I remember the mangled flesh and horrific wounds, I curse the people who invented landmines and those who used them, and continue to use them. They rank high among those guilty of crimes against humanity, IMHO at least.

I believe there is a special part of hell reserved for them.

To the true heroes...

Life was so crazy that V-day in May passed by without so much as a meh from yours truly. Therefore is came as a bit of a surprise to find out that the whole victory day parade and she-bang had been postponed to June 18th as the rain gods had expressed their displeasure regarding the timing. It was the very welcome public holiday and long weekend that triggered it alll! :)

On a very personal note, I can't even begin to find words to describe my relief when the conflict was finally over. Like so many many more, the bloody civil war was a part of my life... I grew up with it, went to school with it, felt the tremors of explosions, watched black columns of smoke climb heavenwards and felt the fear of those who wondered, day in, day out "will my loved ones come home in one piece".

Whatever his situation is now, we should never forget the role played by Gen. Sarath Fonseka in the brilliant tactics and sheer persistence that helped stomp the collective tiger asses. Whatever their failings now, we should acknowledge the political backing that supported the military. But, as so succinctly put by David Blacker, these are the true heroes. To he military strategy, to the political bulwark but most of all to those who fought long and hard, to the everyday men and women, burnt under the grilling sun and drenched by relentless rain, hungry, tired, lonely -who gave up their health, their limbs and their lives for us - to them I bow my head.

The following is adapted from the famous poem In Flanders Fields by John McCrae. It is dedicated to all who sacrificed their today for our tomorrow.

In quiet fields, wildflowers grow
Amongst row upon haphazard row
Of monuments, that mark where heroes lie;
And birds spread carefree wings and fly
For the guns are silent down below.

They are the Dead. Short days ago
They lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now they lie
In eternal sleep.

Oh ye who live, hold up high
The torch of mem'ries of those who died;
Let not conflict cause untold woe,
Let the guns be silent forever more;
Let them in peace at long last lie.

Ah well....

...admit it took sometime to regain familiarity with my dashboard...

Hey everyone...

...........and yes, this is me, and yes, it has been a looo...ooong time. Many thanks, all of you who faithfully kept coming back to this blog to check on me, my lovely friends, and a few lovely Annony-mice I didn't know were there... I also noticed with shock that my hitcounter is registering over 15,000! So thank you again, everyone... and I am sorry to have disappointed.

As for what the heck happened, I guess death has made it a habit to pay a visit around the same time every year. My grandfather passed away, almost exactly 2 years to the day my grandmother died. Although it is not very buddhistic, I like to think that he went to join her. Maybe they have 7 more lifetimes in samsara together...

Seeya had a very peaceful death. He was healthy until about July, walking about, going to work (at 88!) and had eyesight better than mine. Then he got a really bad chest infection that just wouldn't go away. Slowly he grew more feeble, more breathless and more dependent. I loved looking after him, making his meals - blended, energy dense and various combinations so that he wouldn't get sick of the same thing. I loved keeping him company while he ate, while he listened to the sermons on the radio etc. I'm so glad I was able to help out my mother with his medicines etc. and with treatment decisions, to get a nurse to look after him, to nebulize him etc. I think the last couple of days, he had better care than he would have had in an ICU - 2 doctors and a nurse, nubulizers, IV medicine, oxygen all at hand if needed. That day, he had his breakfast and lunch and was listening to pirith and waiting for his tea... he nodded off against my mother's shoulder, and moments later, she noticed that he was not breathing.

He had a good life... 55 years marriage to my lovely grandmother, 4 successful children and a number of loving grandkids. He was principal of a leading educational institute and fondly remembered by his students - many who are well respected academics, professionals and businessmen. They dedicate books they have authored to him, remember him when accepting prestiges awards and recently felicitated him at the institute. Seeya held truth and justice of foremost importance - and that's a lesson he imparted to his children, grandchildren and students, that the easy way isn't always the right one. He valued education, glorying in gold medals, academic distinctions etc. of his loved ones. But his emphasis was more on right thoughts speech and actions. He used to recite this little poem to us when we were at our most impressionable:

Guard your lips from evil slips,

Five things note with care.

To whom you speak, of whom you speak,

When, why and where.

I miss him deeply. I am sad, but not distraught - I can only look back at the times I spent with him and know that there are no regrets. I am luckier than many... I got to spend over a quarter of a century with both my grandparents. I hope I live up to his standards and expectations, and I cannot wish him a better passing - alert and rational, free of pain, in the company of his loved ones and while listening to pirith. May he attain the supreme bliss of Nibbana.

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On a different note, my silence has also been due to the dramatic political scenario in the country. While quite interested in what is happening, and terribly opinionated, I did not want to turn this blog into a political forum. In fact, given the atmosphere online, I'm fairly sure that even a statement like my mum went and bought a banana plant for 150 rupees but it died a week later would have been interpreted by some as supportive of one candidate, or flippantly dismissive of another. I had fun reading election related posts on kottu/achcharu and went bright and early to vote. I confess that one preferential vote was for the guy contesting under the kangaroo, simply because the symbol was so priceless. Darling kept muttering darkly that people like me should have limited franchise... huh!

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And finally, I was a bit in the dumps because I am becoming a monument of sorts. I am now firmly on the other side of the fence (biological and otherwise) and (sigh...) it's going to be downhill all the way from here.

For those of you who have no clue what the heck I am talking about, today is my birthday, I wanna be wished! :)

Signing off - vintage Angel

kerato-conjunctivitis

I guess it all started with the damaged contact lens, the one with a defect so "tiny" that I decided to continue using it. Being stone cold broke also played a part. Independent woman that I am, I firmly refused Darlings offer of a loan - the fact that my usual treatment of his credit card causes the plastic to melt was a mere detail. Then the pharmacy was out of my usual contact lens solution and another brand was recommended. I guess I was allergic to it, because even though there was no itching, my eyes were getting redder by the day, accompanied by sniffles, and the ultimate resemblance to a vitamin C deficient vampire.

A few nights ago I noticed that my left eye was blurry... further experimentation revealed that both near and distance vision was poor. The next day the eye was red, stinging and vision was even worse... in spite of saline washes and whatnot.

It was a dark and stormy night by the time Darling finally dragged me off to see a specialist. There was the diagnosis, in black and white (and slightly blurred) - kerato-conjunctivitis, inflammation of the cornea and sclera of the eye. Pit like erosions in both eyes. Left more than right. Thankfully no ulcers or abrasions (scratches), and no bits of left over contact lens.

So the past few days have consisted of eye drops every few hours and cool compression whenever I remember. Minimal reading, movies and computer. Total boredom.

And Darling trying very hard not to say "I told you so" more than once a day!

I remember Rajani...

Photo credit : Kevin Lemoine

September 21st marked the 20th year of the assassination of Dr. Rajani Thiranagama.

An academic, idealist, feminist, human rights activist and a deeply compassionate human being, she was brutally assassinated as she cycled home to her two daughters. Her killers cynically waited until the last Anatomy examination was held before punping bullets into her head - a defenceless woman, travelling alone. She was only 35 years old.

Indoctrinated to the LTTE ideology by her sister, Rajani cared for the war wounded and campaigned for support both in the UK and in Sri Lanka. An academic to the core, she continued to publish scientific papers, completed her post graduate studies and was appointed as the head of the department of Anatomy at the Jaffna Medical Faculty.

Atrocities in the name of "truth" "freedom" and "social justice", which were merely used as screens for political and personal gain, caused her to rethink her position. She felt there was something fundamentally wrong in a political group that not only had no room for dissent, but also did not allow the dissenters to leave. She rejected the narrow and totalitarian ideology to stand up for what she believed.

Rajani stood up aginst the insane adherence to the gun... she abhorred actions that were cowardly, destructive and unjust. Creating a "space for truth" she co-founded the University Teachers for Human Rights that documented and publicized human rights violations by all parties involved - the LTTE, the IPKF and the state of Sri Lanka. She went on to say "a life is a life... we wanted to show, in the first place, we valued life".

The Broken Palmyrah, a book co-authored with three other academics, describes many mind numbing events - among them the devastation of the Jaffna University, the despicable invasion of the Jaffna hospital, with mindless lobbing of grenades that killed scores of patients and healthcare workers. It provides a brilliant political analysis of the background and early days of a struggle that turned into militancy. It was the writing and impending publication of this book that was the stamp of finality on her death warrant.

Although intially there was doubt as to who her killers were, it was later proven to be the LTTE, who, as usual, claimed no responsibility. The meticulous planning and timing of the assassination was almost a hallmark of their proven brutality. And brutal to the very end, they showed no mercy to the woman who had tended to their injured with such compassion.

And so, on a lonely stretch of road leading away from the Jaffna University, Rajani died. Two children lost their mother. A husband lost his wife. Sri Lanka lost a bright spirit that embodied brilliance, compassion and a deep sense of justice.

When I remember Rajani, I remember the countless others, unnamed, unknown who died pointless deaths for similar reasons. I remember the values she promoted, in precept and in practice.

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Sources: Univesity Teachers for Human Rights website, wikipedia, The Broken Palmyra

Murder Most Foul...

My neighbour's dog has been killed...

Brownie was an affectionate and loyal mongrel who was sheltered, fed, vaccinated and lovingly cared for by our neighbours who found her whining outside their home one day about 5 or 6 years ago.

Brownie repaid them with all the love her doggy heart could give, wriggling like a puppy when petted, running to fetch sticks and guarding all our houses with fierce determination. She'd queen it over their pedigree dachshund and over the other street pooches and lie on the dusty road leading to our houses and give everyone the once over before letting them past.

I guess this was her downfall because the local petty thieves seem to have their activities greatly hampered by her presence. Some cruel bastard (who will surely rot in a special hell for ever and ever) had poured boiling water on poor Brownie!! Her yelps of pain had awakened my neighbours and although she was rushed to the vet and given every possible treatment that money could buy, she died soon after.

Being scalded to death is something I wouldn't wish on my greatest enemy and I shudder to think of her wordless sufferings, her blistered skin, the relentless infection and incessant pain. I can't imagine what sort of horrible person would deliberately inflict such harm on a helpless animal.

RIP Brownie...

We miss you...

Dammit!

My last pair of work shoes broke this morning... I am now faced with the choice of going to work in
a) broken shoes
b) rubber slippers
c) hooker heels

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I'm sorry my last post came out all whiny and self pitying. I'm not the first or the only one to go through this... everyone does it. My Colleague M went home to Mathara today after 5 weeks (and was entirely cheerful about handing over her ward to me).

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So I'm now handling the female ward. Slightly lesser number of patients but full of old achchi's suffering from APR (athe-paye rudha/ anga-patha ridenawa) . Since I've been suffering from APR. meself, I'm a bit more sympathetic than I would have been otherwise. The ward also has Kala*.

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Kala is a 19 year old with a 43% kerosene oil burn - accidental, she claims but the pattern of the burn injury makes us question that. She has a 2 year old daughter and was pregnant with her second child when she was admitted. Her husband Janaka is in my old ward with a "rescue burn"... he has essentially burnt the skin off both hands trying to save her.

Janaka looks a real rasthiyaadu type... dirty teeth, silver earling, breath smelling of stale ciagarettes. He drives a three-wheeler and lives near the place Kala was boarded at a couple of years ago while working at a garment factory. Romance blossommed between the brash sinhala youth and the shy tamil girl. His family was ok with the match... hers opposed it. So they eloped and in true Sri Lankan style, all differences were settled when little Tharushi was born. Kala's family came from Trinco and were living in a house paid for by Janaka.

Janaka had tears in his eyes when he told me how Kala made him tea and stroked his hair untill he fell asleep that fateful night. He was woken up by her screams of agony and had rushed to the kitchen to find her blazing like a torch. He carried Kala with his burnt hands into the threewheeler and then to the Accident Service.

Two days ago Kala developed labour pains and was rushed to DMH where she prematurely gave birth to their second child. She's back in NHSL while the kid is in the PBU.

In Sri Lanka, anything more than a 30% burn injury carried a pretty poor prognosis... i.e. 99% die. Kala has an inhalational injury as well... her lungs have been burn from inside by the kerosene fumes. We're pumping in fluids and plasma and high protien food... but the truth is that she can die any minute.

She scares the daylights out of me.

She's conscious and rational.... her breathing pattern sucks and she knows it. She asks me if she's going to die. Janaka asks me if she's going to die. Her mother asks me if she's going to die. I don't have much to say.

Everytime I leave the ward, I leave in grim anticipation of the call "Doctor, Kala has become bad".

Would appreciate any positive energy you guys can spare to be sent her way.

Dr. Lakshmi Indunil... a tribute

I never knew of your existence
Until you ceased to exist on this earthly plane

Your memory blazes like a torch in the hearts of all those you served
Blessed are the many who felt your healing touch


I did not know you, sister...
Yet even in your death, you teach me much

May you attain the supreme bliss of Nibbana

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Words by those who did knew her...

"...she was incredibly kind, if someone was ill, she'd get on the bicycle of the messenger and go to attend to that patient..."

"...when she requested a transfer because of this fellow's threats, the respectable people in the village - the grama niladari, principal etc. - petitioned for her to stay..."

"... I can't imagine anyone shooting her... shooting her is like shooting a butterfly..."