The studio buzzed as I guided fourth-year architecture students through their design proposals. My phone vibrated. Message: “It’s a boy. Mom and baby, fine.”
Bhabhi (brother’s wife) had delivered a son. Joy flooded me as I pictured his tiny face, imagining the love I’d feel holding him in my arms.
I couldn’t wait to visit my family. My parents were there, celebrating their new role. I started planning my trip between classes, my heart brimming with excitement. Life felt full and beautiful!
But not for long. Just as quickly, everything collapsed!
Bhabhi was rushed to emergency. Severe headache, high fever, and frequent seizures. Diagnosis: Meningitis, a word that felt heavy, ominous, threatening.
She was instantly shifted to the Critical ICU. My brother and Dad stayed by her side, while Mom looked after the baby at home.
Back there, I felt powerless. My hands shivered as I answered my phone. “They say that the next 21 days are crucial,” my brother said as his voice cracked, exhausted. The joy of a new life suddenly collided with the fear of losing another.
“I am on my way to the railway station,” I replied gathering courage in my voice, clutching hope as the only lifeline.
That night on the train, I cried for the first time in years. Tears of helplessness rolled down my withered cheeks.
‘How fragile we are! Just days ago, we celebrated a new life. Now, we teetered on the edge of despair.’
When I arrived, the baby was sleeping like a tiny angel, serene and peaceful. I held him delicately. Still dreaming, he clutched me like a little monkey. His warmth steadied my heart. His tiny hand gripped my finger, and that moment, I believed in miracles.
However, the reality was stark. The woman who’d just brought life into this world was hanging between life and death.
The sterile air, beeping monitors, and hurried footsteps of nurses seemed to have become our reality. My brother’s eyes were bloodshot, Dad’s shoulders slumped, and Mom looked as tired as death.
“She’s strong,” they said, but their voices wavered. I felt the fear they tried to hide.
The baby cried often at night. Mom and I took turns soothing him. Every time I rocked him to sleep, I whispered prayers in his tiny ears. Each time, I visualized Bhabhi walking out of the hospital, I whispered more prayers.
Then, a moment. One I’ll never forget. “She’s responding well. We’re shifting her to a private ward. You can take the baby to her,” the Neurologist said. Relief poured over us, overwhelming, humbling, and unexplainable.
Recovery was slow, all small steps felt monumental. When she finally managed to hold her child, tears streamed down her face. And mine. That moment redefined life.
‘It’s fragile, yes. But it’s also resilient.’
The pivot changed everything. Joy and fear taught me life’s greatest lesson: ‘Just hold onto love, no matter how fragile it may seem. In the air of uncertainty, love is the strongest anchor.’