When my son told the doctor to pull the plug, and my husband died

By Kamya Vardhan

My husband was very healthy and fit. Even in his early sixties he did not shy from lifting weights or walking the treadmill.

He would always joke that he was young at heart, and thanked his young students for keeping him hale and hearty. He would often challenge my son, who was a good thirty years younger to him to beat him in tennis. It was another matter that he would lose. But he loved those challenges.

Then, one day something every strange happened. He came home looking pale. We checked the temperature and the blood pressure. Nothing wrong. His breathing was normal but he was clearly uncomfortable.

He went to bed without eating. His condition worsened during the night, and in the morning, he could barely stir himself. We called an ambulance and took him to a well-known private hospital.

The doctors in the emergency put him on the drip, and then started a series of tests. One day passed but he showed no signs of improvement. A CT-Scan was ordered; an MRI was done. More specialist doctors joined the investigation.

But my husband continued to slip. The healthy flush on his face disappeared. It was relaced by something darker. His eyes took time to focus. His memory started ebbing away.

Everything was happening so fast. The number of tubes that snaked out of his body continued to grow. Two days after his admission, the doctors put him on a ventilator.

I and my son knew that this is the end. Very rarely do patients return from a ventilator. We too started losing hope after three days.

I and my son would anxiously wait for the doctors to give a health update after their morning and evening rounds. But the news was the same. “Please pray for his recovery,” was their only advice.

By the fourth day my husband’s robust, healthy frame had shrunk. His skin had turned black and his eyes would rarely open.

Three more days went by, and our hopes started going down.

But I was not prepared for what happened next. On the sixth day, my son was summoned by the doctors. He was gone for almost half an hour, and I did not know what was happening.

I stepped up my prayers for a miracle to happen.

Then, my son came out. He tried to look into my eyes, and I could see tears welling up. My heart sank. I could sense the worst.

My son hugged me, and held me firmly. “Mom”, he said, “there was no point in keeping him alive. I said yes, and the doctors are shutting down the ventilator.”

I was aghast. How could he? How could he do this?

I sank to the ground.

But I knew my son was right. My husband had died two or maybe three days ago and the doctors were only keeping him artificially alive.

Read also: How I saved my mother from slipping into depression