“I wrote a series on Facebook titled ‘From Diagnosis to Death’. Penning my thoughts helped me a great deal to process my grief”

Nitin Naik, a Mumbai-based sports journalist, lost his wife to pancreatic cancer in September 2015. In this first-person account, he talks about how his wife’s illness and death triggered episodes of intense darkness and depression and his coping mechanisms that include spending most weekends rearranging her wardrobe, which helps him reconnect with her

…..

I lost my beautiful wife, Dr Raksha Naik, to pancreatic cancer on September 14, 2015. She was 38.

My life just changed completely. The diagnosis itself, which happened on January 3, 2015, blew me away as I, despite not being a doctor, knew how bad the prognosis was for pancreatic cancer. Being a doctor, I am convinced, she knew too. She just was too brave and too great to show it to me. 

Seeing a loved one go through the pain of chemotherapy and seeing the physical deterioration (hair loss, weight loss, handling irregular periods) and the mental scarring they go through is morale-sapping. You can hear the clock tick all the time. She often reminded me to not look so worried all the time. “Don’t look at me that way, I feel death is closer than it actually is.”

The end was extremely painful with the disease progressing to the liver, causing ascites that needed frequent tapping. Being a part of the decision-making team to opt for a risky surgery, makes me feel very guilty at times. 

In her case, the treatment (surgery) proved to be worse than the disease as it increased her morbidity. She would have died even without the surgery, but maybe the end would not have been so painful. 

(Left) Nitin Naik with his wife Dr Raksha Naik. (Right) Raksha with her twin daughters. Pic credit: Nitin Naik

I have always prided myself for being someone with a great deal of patience and someone who does not lose his temper. My wife’s illness and death triggered sudden bouts of needless rage and episodes where I used to talk to myself and frequent incidences of emotional binge-eating. 

I used to stock bars of Cadbury chocolates in the fridge and after coming home from work, I used to see her pictures and her CT scan CD and biopsy reports, have a crying session, curse myself for agreeing to the operation and then start gorging on the sweets. It was only after my weight crossed 100 kg and after my twin girls told me that they have seen me cry and talk to myself that I started to get a hold of myself. 

I spoke to close friends and relatives and they were very generous with their time and their words. I then decided to write about my experiences. I wrote a series on Facebook titled ‘From Diagnosis to Death’ and penning my thoughts helped me a great deal to process my grief. 

It has been more than five years, but I still have episodes of intense darkness and depression, but I now know it is normal and I don’t fight it. I know that it will pass. 

My coping mechanisms vary from taking out a favourite dress of hers or her jewellery and then touching them for a while and keeping them back. I spend most weekends rearranging her wardrobe. It gives me a lot of happiness in doing that and helps me reconnect with her. On festivals and special days like anniversaries and birthdays, her loss gets magnified. 

Over the past five years, my parents and my mother-in-law have been a source of immense support and have helped me perform my duties as a sports journalist for The Times of India, Mumbai, and also perform my role as a father to two beautiful girls. I struggled to explain death and the fact that they would never see their mom again to my girls initially, but eventually, they understood. I feel they have coped better than me. 

This note won’t be complete without acknowledging Jaideep Bose and Derick D’Sa, my bosses at The Times of India, who allowed me to take leave whenever I wanted when my wife was ill and undergoing treatment. My colleagues on the sports desk too have been very supportive as have been all my friends who kept my spirits up with WhatsApp chats at godforsaken hours and useful emails and messages. 

Dr Raksha Naik. Pic credit: Nitin Naik

On May 28, 2016, nearly eight months after his wife passed away, Naik started writing a series of posts on Facebook titled ‘From Diagnosis to Death’. These 25 posts are an attempt on Naik’s part to chronicle how the family’s perfectly happy lives turned upside down after his wife was diagnosed with cancer. The following post, posted on July 2, 2016, is the last one in the series. We have shared the post with due permission from Naik here.

From Diagnosis To Death: Chapter 25

September 12, 2015: Dr. Raksha Naik is very very drowsy and is about to go into a coma. She can barely speak because of the ryles tube. However, she signals to me to come near her and whispers: "Please take me home." She also waves at me indicating that it is time for her to say goodbye. I just hold her hand. 

September 13, 2015: At around 5.12 am, Dr. Raksha slips into coma. Her BP and heart and pulse rate are still normal. But even deep pinches and extreme light focused on her pupils don't show any movement. She also starts bleeding from the ryles tube. Raksha's best friend Dr. Pinky Sarkar arrives in the evening and I am glad that she could see her best friend at least once even if she was in deep coma. My other relatives too arrive to see her one last time and some even choose to stay back to offer support despite having commitments of their own. God bless them for that.

September 14, 2015: Raksha had now developed cheyn stokes breathing. The end was very near. The doctors asked me whether we want to put her on life support. I ask my mother-in-law what should be done. She tells me to do it only if it benefits her. I ask the doctors whether it will be of any use and is her condition reversible.They answer in the negative. I say no.

At around noon, her pulse rate starts to drop and her heart too begins to beat irregularly. The intervals between inhalation and exhalation increase with every passing minute. I call up home and tell my parents to bring the kids from school as Raksha would be leaving us soon and I wanted them to be near her and touch her one last time. 

The kids come but get a bit disturbed on seeing the glum faces and moist eyes in the room and ask to be taken back home.  By 3.30, her heart rate and pulse rate both drop to the 20s. Then by 4 pm, it gets down to the 10s and at 4.35 pm on September 14, 2015, the vital parameter monitor showing her heartbeat records a straight line. Dr Raksha had left us.

She had fought valiantly for almost 8 months and of those 8 months, the last two months were spent in extreme pain and misery and her passing away meant that she was finally pain-free.  We bring her home for one last time for the final rites before cremating her at Oshiwara electric cemetery. I send the kids to their friend's place till the time the funeral is over. I must thank Madhur Gera and Amit Gera publicly for taking care of my kids at an important time. I will always pray for them. My colleagues brave the maddening traffic and come to share my grief as do members of my society and friends. I am thankful to all of them as well as to others who visited me the next day. 

Funnily enough, the effects of the grief and bereavement start to hit me only later. Three weeks after she had passed away, I wake up in the middle of the night and start looking for her scan and path reports and begin arranging them thinking that we have a doctors' appointment to make the next day. It was only after 20 minutes that I realise that she had already passed away and go back to sleep. I was on autopilot for nearly 7 months and my life revolved around doctors and hospitals, probably that is why I did whatever I did. 

I still remember every doctors' appointment and every word that each of them said as if it was yesterday. I have still kept all her reports and scans and sometimes I read them again just to confirm whether everything that happened actually happened or was it just a bad dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't. Dr Raksha Naik is no more with us. What remains of her are memories. And those are timeless and priceless.  

This story is a part of our series on ‘Stories of Loss and Healing’.

(Disclaimer: The views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the account above belong solely to the author, in this case it being Nitin Naik, and not that of The Good Story Project or its co-founders.)

Published by Swati Subhedar

Meaningful conversations, ginger tea, Maggi, playing Tennis, backpacking, travelling, exploring, photography, adventures, meeting interesting people, mountains, beaches, and dramatic sunsets ... these are just some of the uncomplicated things that keep me going.

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