A Freak Accident: Look Back

Uncertainties of Life...

Unforeseen Mishap: Delving into the Details of a Startling Incident and Its Unfoldings in 'A Freak Accident: A Look Back'.

Why do certain memories stay vivid while others slip into oblivion? Emotions act as the masterful highlighter pens, intensifying specific facets of our experiences. Exactly a year ago, destiny seemed to have meticulously scripted an event that left me feeling crippled, reaffirming the unpredictable nature of life with all its uncertainties. This incident left a profound scar, causing not only severe depression but also haunting nightmares.

The beautiful neem tree

On the eventful morning of October 4, 2020, the world seemed to embrace autumn's arrival with a restless festive mood amid the ongoing pandemic lockdown. The gentle early morning chill was accompanied by a radiant sunrise, illuminating dewdrops on the magnificent neem tree, causing them to shimmer with rainbow colors. Overhead, migratory birds filled the air with their melodic chirping, perched atop the majestic neem tree in the nearby park, just a stone's throw away from my room. In that blissful moment, the legendary late John Denver's soulful "Back home again" track resonated from an Internet radio station, playing at my workstation, further enchanting the magical Sunday morning.

Following a brisk wash and the completion of my customary physical routine, I embarked on a determined mission to meticulously cleanse my wardrobe and shoe rack, liberating every room from the clutches of cobwebs and grime. With unwavering dedication, I extracted all my winter attire and meticulously suspended them on hangers along the clothesline, basking in the invigorating outdoor air. Simultaneously, I subjected my sneakers and luxurious leather footwear to a rejuvenating sunbath, generously treating them with nourishing cream and polish to enhance their condition.

I was on the verge of completing all the tasks I had meticulously planned for the day. As I made my way towards the basin to wash my hands, my attention was immediately drawn to the smudged dust on the washroom's ventilator. Despite being clad in soiled clothes, I couldn't resist the urge to clean it, knowing it would hardly take five minutes. Moreover, I had a brilliant idea in mind - to pass my ham radio's proposed outdoor yagi antenna cable through this very ventilator, allowing it to reach my shack, a project I had been diligently working on during the lockdown period.

With determination, I positioned a sturdy bamboo ladder, its upper rung securely leaning against the wall tiles just beneath the ventilator, the lower end firmly resting on the bathroom floor. Equipped with a dry brush and a damp cloth, I ascended the ladder cautiously. However, as I reached the fourth or fifth rung, the ladder unexpectedly began its gradual slide downward. In a desperate attempt, I clung to a clothesline and even a galvanized iron rack on my right, hoping for support. But my efforts proved futile, as the ladder's skid gained momentum, leading to a resounding crash that echoed in my memory.

After several moments, I regained consciousness, finding myself sprawled on the floor, just a few centimeters from the porcelain commode. The weighty bamboo ladder hovered mere inches above the ground, wedged against the opposite wall. A chaotic scene greeted my senses, with shattered tiles and plastic fragments from a once-intact water bucket scattered across the floor, testifying to the force of impact.

Struggling to rise, I observed thick blood staining the light-colored tiles of the floor. Bewilderment engulfed me as I tried to identify the source of the bleeding. Attempting to touch my head with my right hand to check for injuries, I was met with a searing pain in my hand, now drenched in blood. Swiftly, I removed my bandana and used it to tightly bind my injured hand, trying to stem the flow of blood.

By the time I managed to get back on my feet and walked towards the bedroom, beads of sweat glistened on my forehead, gradually spreading throughout my body, accompanied by symptoms of dizziness. I quickly quenched my thirst with water, then tossed a cushion onto the floor, where I lay down, clutching my injured hand wrapped in the bandana, hoping to regain my strength and recover from the harrowing situation.

   Injured hand wrapped 

   with a bandana

I felt that closing my eyes and succumbing to deep slumber might be akin to bidding farewell to planet Earth forever, so I mustered all my strength to stay alert. After a while, I woke up and resolved to swiftly clean the wound, administer some first aid, and then rush to the hospital. I gathered hot water, Savlon, cotton, bandaid, and other essentials. As I cautiously began to unwrap the blood-soaked bandana from my injured hand, I was taken aback and filled with fear as blood gushed out like a fountain, prompting me to immediately rewrap it tightly. The pain was excruciating, shooting through my entire right side from head to foot.

I gradually came to the realization that this was no ordinary injury; it demanded the urgent attention of a physician. It dawned on me that repeatedly unwrapping the bandana to show my injured hand would be cumbersome, so I decided to record a video of it. This way, I could provide a visual reference for the attending physicians, making the situation more comprehensible and efficient.

The ripped off ring finger

After rewrapping my hand securely with the bandana, I shielded it with a plastic carry bag and quickly approached my next-door neighbour, asking for a small slab of ice. As I was about to make my way to the hospital, I noticed my third-floor neighbor stepping out of his car with a printer in his hand, probably bringing it home after servicing. He caught sight of my injured hand and immediately inquired, "What has happened?" Without hesitation, he left his printer at a corner in the basement, called his family upstairs to collect it, and then hurriedly drove me to the nearby hospital's emergency room. His prompt assistance and kindness were invaluable during that critical moment. 

Due to the pandemic, the hospital's medical emergency was divided into two exclusive sections - one for COVID-19 cases and the other for non-COVID-19 related emergencies. The reception personnel directed us to the latter section. As we entered, we could see that most of the beds were occupied, with patients suffering from various physical injuries, stroke symptoms, heart ailments, asthma, and more. The atmosphere was bustling with nurses, paramedic staff, and doctors attending to the patients with utmost dedication. In the midst of this busy scene, they were engrossed in caring for a patient who seemed to be in a serious condition.

One of the nurses approached me promptly and led me to an available bed. After briefing her about the nature of my accident, she carefully examined my hand. She started by discarding the slab of ice, which had melted down to the size of a pebble by then, and then removed the plastic carry bag. As she attempted to unwrap the bandana, a sudden gush of blood erupted with remarkable force, splattering onto her pristine white coat. Acting swiftly, she enveloped my hand with a stack of cotton, signaling for other paramedic staff to hold my hand in an elevated position, while she hurriedly sought the assistance of the attending doctor on duty.

Throughout this ordeal, my kind neighbor stood by my side in the emergency room. However, witnessing the relentless gushing of blood and the quick saturation of the cotton pile placed on my injured hand seemed to overwhelm him. He expressed his discomfort, stating that it was becoming increasingly unbearable for him to witness. He kindly requested if he could wait at the reception lounge until the dressing procedure was over. Understanding his concern, I assured him that it was entirely fine as I, too, found it increasingly difficult to witness the situation directly. Despite my best efforts to avoid looking directly at the progression, the gravity of the situation was evident.

The horrendous pain and trauma left me in a semi conscious state while my hand was firmly held upwards by a couple of paramedics. After a while I felt someone else touching my injured area of my hand that made me wail like a child. I heard a coarse voice telling me in Hindi - “sui lagane padega…” (Have to use needle to stitch…) “pehele local anaesthesia lagane padega uskibar silai…” (first need to administer local anaesthesia and then stitch). I responded in English saying, “doctor, whatever you do, but please try your best to reconstruct my finger so that life becomes back to normal…” However, at the back of my mind I was deeply wondering as to what had actually happened that required a stitch. 

I was made to lie down in the bed while preparations were underway for injecting local anaesthesia to be followed by a stitch. As the doctor held my right hand and was just about to pierce the anaesthetic injection in my ring finger, I screamed out of pain literally rolling down my tears. Within few seconds the doctor tried again to administer the injection but excruciating pain just prevented him to proceed. I opened my blurry eyes and saw the doctor’s contorted face with anger saying, that if I screamed once again then he would stop going ahead with the treatment. I responded telling him, if this was the level of pain one had to bear, then please leave me alone.

After a brief interval, the doctor returned, his demeanor now gentle and reassuring. He delicately cradled my hand, offering comforting words and a promise of minimal discomfort as he expertly administered the anesthesia. Almost immediately, I experienced a peculiar sensation engulfing my palm – a sensation akin to it turning into a cold, unyielding stone, while a gradual numbing spread through my entire arm. The process of stitching commenced, skillful and precise, resulting in a neatly bound wound enveloped by a substantial bandage. With the procedure concluded, I was advised to remain lying on the bed for a period of time.

       X-ray image of the

       injured hand

After resting for a while I was taken to the X-Ray room and then to the washroom. I was noticing the white bandage in my hand was gradually changing to crimson which was sticky. By the time I returned back to the emergency, 30 per cent of the bandage was already filled up. I told the nurse about blood leaking from my hand but she told me not to worry and relax in the bed. Within the next fifteen minutes the huge white bandage turned completely soaked as blood stared dripping sidewise. I approached the nurse again and this time a group of them had come running, opened the bandage, put piles of cotton and then wrapped up with a fresh bandage. At this point my right hand looked like as if I was wearing a white boxing glove! However, within minutes the bandage again got soaked and blood started dripping. I requested them to call immediately the doctor on duty but was told he has gone to the cafeteria for lunch and would be back soon.

The nurses and paramedics again started reopening the heavily blood-soaked bandage of my hand again. Layers of fresh cotton after cotton were being placed but, however, there seemed to be no relief of stopping the blood gushing out. Seeing the situation all the paramedics appeared nervous. I remember pleading them repeatedly to pull the doctor on duty from lunch as it was an utmost emergency case which was draining off all my energy.

Finally, when the physician arrived, a significant amount of my blood had been already lost. The doctor said that he would like to administer another injection just to stop the blood flow. Looking into the state of affairs, he was suggesting to get admitted as it would be convenient to monitor my overall health or any other complications arising out of the accidental fall. I was adamant saying that I would be happy returning home and if there were any issues I would seek medical assistance over the phone or rush back to the hospital if the situation arises. 

Before releasing me, the doctor prescribed few medicines which I procured all from the hospital’s pharmacy. A couple of pills - a pain killer and an antibiotic had been given to take it immediately but, I refused as it would have some adverse effect since my stomach had been empty right from the morning. While explaining the medicines prescribed, the doctor cautioned me that the pain in my hand will gradually escalate as soon as the effect of anaesthesia disappears and hence underlined the pain killer medicines.

After having cleared all the hospital formalities and payment at the reception, my good neighbour who had been patiently waiting at the lounge, drove me back home. By the time I reached my residence it was late afternoon. The sun had just set displaying numerous hue of red towards the western horizon while dusk was all ready to unfold into the cool evening skies ahead.

Entering my apartment’s door step, I noticed blood stains all over the white mosaic floor. A light grey colour shorts which I was wearing in the morning turned stiff as blood on the fabric dried up akin to rigor mortis formation after death. Besides, cotton, bandaid, Savlon, Detol, mug of hot water that had turned ice cold, etc lay all scattered contributing to the mess at my room. As my hand was still under the heavy effect of the anaesthesia, I therefore, decided to capitalise the situation by arranging a quick bite for my dinner, organise my sleeping area and medicines.

I was now on my bed lying down and could feel a faint rhythmic pain resurfacing in my right hand since the effect of the anaesthesia was disappearing. My phone pinged and I noticed a message from my another would-be neighbour - a physician by profession employed with the government of India’s health department in capacity of a Joint Secretary. He was yet to take possession of his first floor apartment which was in near completion of the marathon renovation that commenced few years ago. While expressing anguish about the freak accident, he requested to get back for any help. After a thought, I texed a short message to my siblings and an old college buddy.

I dimmed the lights and tried my best to sleep. However, back in my mind I was deeply wondering what had actually happened to my hand; why was a stitch necessary?; was something missing for which stitching had to be done?; why was blood gushing out like a fountain? Gradually I felt drowsy, closed my eyes but, no sooner was awakened by the excruciating pain causing me to moan all throughout the night.

In the morning when I went to the washroom, seeing the aftermath of my hard fall, it

 The ripped off finger part

 stuck on the wall

triggered a lot of thoughts in my mind. The blood on the light colour floor tiles were all dried. Just below the right side of the ventilator's white tiled wall and maybe, around a one-and-half feet above the floor, I noticed something pinkish stuck on the wall. My inquisitiveness drew me closer to the object to investigate only to realise that it was the other missing part of my finger. On seeing the part of my finger I broke down completely but, tried my best to regain my composure as some hope came up to my mind. I had a clean small plastic transparent bag with grooved zipper. Without wasting time further, took out the ripped off finger part from the wall with a spoon and put it inside the plastic pouch, zipped and then placed it inside the deep freezer. 

About 07:00 A.M. rang up my would-be doctor neighbour and told him about discovering the missing part of my finger and if it could be stitched back. After a pause, the doctor replied that had it been located within eight to ten hours of the incident then there was great possibility of attaching back to my finger but, since more than 22 hours have already passed it would be of no use as all cells in the finger part were already dead. However, he requested to share a video clip and X-ray of my injured hand so that he could consult with his plastic surgeon before hanging up.

Suddenly I felt the world torn apart and crumbling on top of me. All my interest in editing audio-video, photography, amateur radio, etc among others completely disappeared. I realised that I had now become disabled and have to live with it rest of my life. If only the hospital’s physician on duty at the emergency had enquired about the missing part of my finger then I could have just gone back home which was hardly a distance, retrieve the same and I guess it wouldn’t have felt so miserable. At one point I was wondering why was I still living. All such thoughts and loosing a part of me made me inconsolable.

A little later my siblings rang up and insisted that I should not waste any time further and to take the first flight to Bangalore. Had WhatsApped the X-ray image and video clip of my injured hand so that they could seek appointment with an orthopaedic surgeon of a leading orthopaedic super speciality hospital in the city. They knew the particular physician very well since just few months ago a young cousin sister-in-law had a successful knee ligament operation under his care.

I could not commit on my immediate travel plans since I had a priority appointment at my local hospital for re-dressing of the wound and other minor bruises in my leg and elbow. At the hospital requested to bandage the wound securely as I would be travelling long distance.

An afternoon economy premium flight ticket for 08 October 2020 was Emailed including arrangement of a cab to take me to Indira Gandhi International Airport (IGI). Like several other nervous passengers queued up at the IGI Terminal-3 entrance waiting for their turn to be examined by scanners, infrared temperature gun, checking of Aarogya Setu app in mobile and other related COVID-19 standard operating procedure (SOPs), I was bit apprehensive least I was detected with a fiver and get barred from travelling. The situation was like the guilt of being asked by law enforcing personal to check the levels of alcohol in intoxicated drivers who break rules related to drink and drive. However, Vistara airlines ground personnel present at the gate took note of my injured hand and made things absolutely smooth. 

Vistara airlines inflight map 

While walking through the aerobridge to board the aircraft an air hostess standing at the entrance pointed towards a tray to pick up an in-ear headphone but, I refused as I had no interest. With much excitement she said, “Sir, this aircraft to fly you to Bangalore is the brand new wide bodied series Boeing Dreamliner with state-of-the-art personal entertainment embedded in each seat. Without these in-ear phones you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the same and neither your Bluetooth headphones would be compatible with the system…” I obliged the air hostess by picking up a pouch containing the stereo earphones and was then ushered to my seat.

Inside flight UK819 all the three row’s middle seats were by and large vacant except for those passengers who were travelling together or belonged to the same family. The middle seat occupants however, were clad in a PPE (personal protective equipment) gown apart from the face mask and face shield which was mandatory for all travellers. Most passengers were glued to their respective high resolution interactive LCD screen mounted directly in front of them watching movies, cartoons and music of various genres of their choice. 

After relaxing in my seat the continuous rhythmic pain in my wound started

Cockpit View

resurfacing. Initially, had no mind to navigate and explore Vistara’s world class entertainment but then, the in-flight map on the LCD screen in front of me drew my curiosity. The map offers various ways to view one’s journey while on flight such as Cockpit View, HUD (heads up display) View, Compass View including altitude, timezone information among others. I was thrilled with the ‘Compass View’ which details progression and relative location of the aircraft. Besides, the Overview, Above Cam and Chase Cam were equally mind blowing. All these views which were once exclusive to the flight crew are now made available for everyone.

As soon the aircraft entered Karnataka air space, designer cumulus clouds embellished with rays of golden hues from the backdrop of the setting sun. Right below I could see a large field with red mud and few bulldozers surrounded by thick patch of greenary. Later I got to know that this was the proposed new terminal under construction which is now currently operational. My flight landed at Bangalore’s Kempegowda International Airport (KIA) around 17:10 hrs. After disembarking from the plane and walking through the aero bridge to collect my check-in luggage, I was glad to see the baggage carousel promptly delivering my rug sack.   

Chase Cam View

My sibling came to the airport and after having a cup of coffee we straight drove home. On reaching destination, seeing the two well-fed four-legged soft paws (Both English Cocker Spaniels - Bailey and Layla) coming

My best friends -
Layla & Bailey...

sniffing and wagging melted my heart as each of them were trying to seek my attention.Their unique barks which had intermittent high pitched sound and licking me all over my face was like telling me, “ Where were you my dear old friend all these years… what has happened to you…?”

       Super Speciality 

      Hospital, Bangalore

At the Orthopaedic Robotic Centre of Bangalore’s Super Speciality Hospital, the orthopaedic surgeon examined my hand thoroughly and advised to come at regular intervals for dressing of my wound. Besides, he also suggested to start mild physiotherapy and movement of palm or else, he cautioned, that my wounded finger would become stiff and unusable. Next course of the way- forward would be advised only after the wound had healed and the stitch removed, the doctor added.

Medicines were being given to me timely at my bedside while an ointment for spasticity used to be applied on sides of the affected finger twice a day by the

Exotic drinks...

lady of this quaint apartment. The youngest in the family went a step forward by bringing his six stringed musical instrument every evening and prompted me to try strumming with my wounded handed. He had also got a gym hand gripper, lowered the tension to zero and helped me to try it out. And last but, not the least, a shot of some exotic drinks before dinner which seemed to be customary though, appeared to have chased off all my worries. Soon I began to realise that I was becoming a lefty. During a family carom game I could not use my right hand fingers to push the striker inspite of my best efforts. 

Gradually, some of my friends including few senior radio amateurs from Delhi- NCR who got a whiff of my freak accident started calling me to enquire about my wellbeing. Messages like, “get well soon”, “you are a brave man, have faith on the Almighty”, “You will be fine soon”, etc started pouring in my WhatsApp. I was wondering such similar messages which I used to once convey to others have now ironically started coming to me. Yes, I was the victim loosing a part of me, I had become disabled, I was depressed…

After a couple of weeks when my finger’s stitches were being removed at the hospital, I once again wailed like a child. Looking at my deformed finger I broke down mentally since it had robbed all my confidence - yes, I would prefer to avoid shaking hands with others or at best keep it always hidden from public view. I was now convinced that I now fell into the physically challenged group. However, the orthopaedic surgeon after examining my hand expressed satisfaction as the wound had healed up. For the cosmetic makeup of my injured finger, the physician recommended Ottobock, a company that deals in prosthetic arms and legs.

At Ottobock I was seated at the reception lounge waiting for my turn to be called. I was saddened to see several visitors moving around as well as seated who had lost their limbs and arms. There was a young handsome teenage boy with only one limb hopping from one specialist’s room to another specialists room with a smile. A middled aged women with no limbs being taken to another specialist’s chamber on a wheel chair while another man whose one of his legs were damaged, may be due to a motor bike accident, seated at a distant corner chair.

Ottobock, Bangalore centre

Finally, when my turn came, a young Ottobock specialist took a look at my finger and then counselled that an artificial finger cap would be needed to be worn over my injured finger. However, she said that my finger required further healing and only after that an appropriate size can be placed for order which would approximately take around two to three months. The cost of the entire process quoted for the silicone type cosmetic finger was pretty expensive. However, the specialist advised to visit her again after three weeks as then she would be able to measure the size and place it for order.

By the time we returned home, my mindset had undergone a complete transformation. The artificial finger no longer held any appeal for me. Instead, I embarked on a rigorous journey of physiotherapy. With sheer determination, I gently began exercises with a hand gripper, started holding everyday objects like a glass of water, a cup, or a spoon. The guitar therapy, a physical movement regimen inspired by the lineage's rockstar, Jeet, demanded intense concentration and coordination. It was undeniably painful, but I refused to give in. 

Soon, I incorporated long early morning walks into my routine, sometimes even carrying my camera gear. Both my physical and mental well-being started to improve. However, my right-hand grip remained weak, sensitive, and painful. 

Today, I may have slowed down somewhat, but my injured finger has made remarkable progress. I've regained significant strength in my right hand, allowing me to perform tasks I could do before the accident. I continue my daily physical exercises diligently, and the feeling of being handicapped has all but disappeared from my mind. Moreover, the regeneration of cells in my injured finger has transformed its appearance—now it doesn't look as unsightly as it did a few months ago.

Reflecting on this entire episode, certain thoughts come to mind. There is a pressing need for physicians, after completing their MBBS, to undergo specialized soft skills training in patient handling. Just as the Hippocratic oath remains sacred to physicians, patient handling should be made mandatory. It has been observed that a lack of this skill among most doctors often leads to errors on their part and disillusionment among patients. If the doctor on duty in the emergency room had inquired about the missing part of my finger when I requested its reconstruction, then I would have been better informed. Conversely, if I had had a knowledgeable close aide or a family member by my side at that time, they might have probed the doctor, and the missing part of my finger could have been retrieved and reattached promptly.

I would like to express my gratitude to all my friends, fellow radio amateurs, well-wishers, and relatives for keeping my spirits high during my challenging times. Finally, thanking my siblings, nephews, and their families would be an understatement. I am uncertain if I can ever repay them in this lifetime for all they have done for me.

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This Article has been updated on 04 October 2023.

A Three-Year Journey of Healing and Remembrance

Three long years have passed since that fateful day on October 4, 2020, when my life took an unexpected turn due to a tragic accident that resulted in the loss of a part of my right-hand ring finger. Today, as I reflect on this journey, I am amazed at the remarkable transformation my injured finger has undergone. The cells have regenerated naturally, and a nail has grown back, making it look significantly better than it did immediately following the accident. I invite you to take a look at the photograph of my hand below to witness this incredible healing process.

I am now able to use my hand normally and perform tasks that I could do prior to the accident.

Recovery, Resilience, Regrowth

The missing part of my finger no longer makes me self-conscious, thanks to my dedicated efforts in maintaining a regular physical exercise routine to stay fit. However, there are moments when I still feel a slight tingling sensation and tightness in the injured finger when I touch it. Additionally, I occasionally struggle to maintain a firm grip on certain objects due to the finger's shorter length, but I have learned to adapt and manage this challenge.

I am immensely grateful that the need for an expensive prosthetic cosmetic finger cap has gradually diminished, and I offer my prayers of gratitude to the Almighty for this progress.

I want to express my heartfelt thanks to my siblings, nephews, and our beloved brother-in-law,  Monujesh Borooah, for their unwavering support, which played a crucial role in my speedy recovery.

As I gaze at my healed hand, it brings back memories of the time when Monujesh Borooah and his spouse accompanied me to the Super Specialty Hospital for treatment and to Ottobock for the prosthetic finger cap. I also remember the thoughtful efforts of my nephews, Neel, who arranged my travel to the IGI Airport, and Jeet, whose hand-grip and guitar therapy played a significant role in my rehabilitation.

Reflecting on the entire episode, I realize that I was on the brink of a life-threatening situation, and destiny intervened to save me. However, this sense of gratitude is now tinged with deep sorrow, as we mourn the sudden passing of Monujesh Borooah on July 18, 2023. His absence leaves a void in our lives, and we wish more than anything that he could still be with us today.

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