Creative Spot by Mahendra (Speedy) Gonsalkorale

The Horrors of War

She looked over her shoulder

Looking everywhere desperately

There were people everywhere

They were all running

Some were crying

All were frightened

Keep running

Keep going

She held on tightly to her little hand

Running all the time

Everybody was running

Sounds of gun fire

Screaming and crying

Swearing and shouting

Pushing her way through

Where is she ?

Where is my little daughter

Just a moment ago she was here

Clinging to my skirt

Eyes wide with fear

Crying and sobbing

Now she is gone

What am I to do ?

I am lost

We are all lost

They are catching up

We must run faster

Run where ?

Just anywhere

Must get away from this madness

There is so much sadness

Keep running

Keep going

Can’t stop now

I don’t want to die

My children need me

Keep running 

Keep going 

Creative Spot by Indra Anandasabapathy

Tudor WICKREMARATCHI: Remembered by Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

Although we joined the Medical Faculty together I came to know Tudor more closely during our internship in Kurunegala. We worked together in Surgery with Dr N Rasiah for 6 months. He was caring and kind to his patients and had great empathy for the poor village folk of the Wanni. He had the tremendous gift and ability to speak to them in the same village jargon. Tudor was a wonderfully helpful colleague and I too had the privilege of covering up for him when he had a particularly heavy night, sometimes at work and occasionally in the clubs and bars in the town. He showed tremendous loyalty to his firm and colleagues during the heavy workload and intensity of internship.

Tudor lived in Ambaruk Sevana, which was an old walauwwa gone into decline. This was acquired by the hospital and refurbished as HO’s quarters. It was ideally located in a coconut estate. Being at a distance from the hospital their frequent parties and nightly sing-songs did not disturb the peace. The Medics in those days lived up to their hard working hard drinking image. He was our very own  CT Fernando who sang those famous songs deep into the night often dripping with emotion. We were young in those days and amazingly the public forgave our misdemeanours or so it seemed. His bosom pal was Asoka (AP) Gunatilleke from the Peradeniya batch. They organised the fun at Ambaruk Sevana in that magical year of internship. Sadly Asoka too passed away 2 years ago after a successful career in New Zealand.

During those happy days in Kurunegala he fell in love and married a fellow intern from Peradeniya. After internship he was posted to Dambulla as DMO. During this time I was AJMO Kurunegala seconded from the OPD. On many occasions I met up with Tudor in Dambulla while on duty. He never failed to invite me to his lovely DMO’s bungalow after work. Often even before I sat down he opened the bottle of amber nectar.

Tudor came into prominence in our batch when he apparently threatened to let loose the Maradana thugs on those who ragged us. He boasted at the time he had connections to the Colombo underworld but this perhaps was just tall-talk. Tudor was well versed in the art of  exaggeration. But all through the Faculty days he was a gentleman and kept on the straight and narrow. He was lively, entertaining and humerous. He made a tremendous contribution to the life of that great institution. He always remained a kind, generous and loyal friend.  Tudor joined in the fun and frolic that was endemic in our batch. Tudor was a member of the Bloemfontein hostel that had a macho image during our years in medical school.

He too emigrated to the UK around 1974 and specialised in Histopathology. Here I met him just the once while visiting Dr Titus Perera in London. He was then his usual happy self but much subdued by the passage of years, building up a career and bringing up his family. I nearly fell off the chair when he refused a drink. Tudor worked in Bristol as a pathologist where he was  greatly respected. One of his daughters is a Consultant Neurologist in Southampton. I am reliably informed  he had a fatal heart attack while playing golf in 2011. Some would say there is no better way to go than when doing what you enjoy. I was deeply saddened to hear the news. Even now when I hear a CT Fernando song I am reminded of Tudor. I can still picture his tall, dark figure dressed in all white wearing a broad smile. His loud laughter and cheeky grin are memories for us all.

Tudor, passed away on November 5, 2005  aged 66. 

May he reach the Ultimate Bliss of Nirvana

Creative Spot by Mahendra (Speedy) Gonsalkorale

Another musical contribution from me.

The song I sing is "Rani Enko", which I am sure  you will recall with pleasure. The original hindi song on which it is based, was from the B&W film Patita (1953). The song was sung by Hemant Kumar and Lata Manjeskar. The Sinhalese version "Rani Enko" was sung by that great combination Rukmani Devi and Mohideen Baig. This is my effort accompanying myself on my Yamaha Tyros 5.

Speedy

Creative Spot by Zita Perera Subasinghe

Move House. What is it about?

From the day we are born

We have to change our abode

From the placenta we are torn

Then in a cot we are ‘stored’

First, in a pram we are pushed

By night we move to a bed

Then suddenly, we may be rushed

To a little cot instead

Then with family in a little hut

It’s the best we can afford

Then, to school few hours but

It’s also a temporary abode

To uni we go, in our late teens

So to the hostel we must move

That’s provided one has the means

To get into this new groove

The very first home of our own

Is hardly more than a shed

That’s only till the kids have grown

We’ll soon need to think ahead

Now a ‘two- up, two- down’ semi

Will just do, for a few years

Till our boy, good old ‘Sammy’

 Finally leaves home in tears

Yes he’s moved to live with wife

And now there are more to feed

Another move? Sure! That’s life

They do need three rooms indeed!

From our old home, we must move

As children now have flown the nest

We have nothing more to prove

Just our weary bones to rest

The final move, it could be rough

Pearly Gates are not for all

Of Brownie points, have I enough?

That’s surely my downfall!

By Zita Perera Subasinghe

Note: Why this poem? A friend was moving house recently and his tone and manner made me realise what a stress it was for their family. It made me think ‘yes we do this all the time in our lives and we take for granted that’s how it should be. Can we have any constancy amidst all this?’  I suppose the ‘inner you’ remains the same in relation to the universe as we are a just a spec in it. This thought could make it all bearable.

My Tryst with Destiny - for the second time

 By Dr Nihal D Amerasekera

My first brush with death was as a child when I had a tonsillectomy. I have written about it to this blog some years ago.

My professional life ended in April 2007 with my retirement. I wanted some peace and quiet and time to travel the world before old age caught up with me. I achieved my objectives to reach where I am today. Society encourages us to extend our youth until at some stage our body and mind tells us otherwise.

On the 15^th of February 2016 when I was spending time with our elder son in Birmingham I noticed a bit of ‘red confetti’ on the toilet pan which I assumed was the work of my grandkids playing with coloured paper. This happened again in my own home.  I went to see my GP who confirmed it was haematuria. Now the clock started to tick and my journey into the unknown began.  Urologists got involved with a gamut of investigations. The cystoscopy showed a red patch in the bladder and they wanted to arrange a biopsy. By now I had signed the legal papers to move house to a flat in London 50 miles south. I was to stay with my son until our own flat was ready. The Urologist said it was urgent but I told him I am not ready and will get it done after the house move is completed. He wasn’t best pleased.  if it is cancer this has to be dealt with swiftly. I have passed the biblical age of 3 score years and ten, my obligations were done and felt I am ready to unfurl my sails to see the world beyond.

Cystoscopy is a procedure that requires great care by the urologist. There is a tendency nowadays to be blasé about sterility because of the plethora of antibiotics available. Still there are many who die of septicaemia and infections caused by resistant strains of bacteria. After the cystoscopy I developed the most severe attack of cystitis with a fever, rigors and a painful dysuria of the worst kind. I was in a wilderness of confusion. At no time have I felt closer to death. Passing urine was like cutting the urethral lining with a knife. Luckily  the doctor had given me some antibiotics which took 48 hours to take effect.

First we moved in with our son.  It was more than  a month later we were able to move to our own flat. If I was harbouring a tumour, the time bomb was ticking. I managed to see a GP and get a referral to a Urologist at the Royal Free Hospital in London. I was seen on the 26^th of May when they repeated the Cystoscopy. There was no change. Further investigations took a great deal of time and effort. Finally a biopsy was done on the 24^th of June. I cannot fault their professionalism, care and expertise. Discussions with doctors about one’s health is never easy. The advice is coloured by the rules and regulations in healthcare, its limitations, political correctness and disclaimers. This makes it all difficult for the patient to comprehend.  I wish I was aware of this in my own professional years. After the procedure they told me it would take 2-3 weeks for the report.  I awaited the results of the biopsy with some trepidation and also surprising calm.

On looking back it is strange to be a patient sitting on the wrong side of the table after being a doctor for 40 years. Diseases only happened to others!! An interest in what lies beneath the skin and behind the symptom has been our concern and now we are the symptom.  I have often wondered when one is a patient if that medical knowledge is a help or a hindrance. On the one hand one worries about the rare complications and unlikely side effects and on the other one is aware of the endless possibilities and how to make best use of the situation and the advice.

The continuous news of death and disease of family and friends are a reminder of one’s own mortality. Awaiting the biopsy results was at times a nightmare. A lot of the time I felt strong and was able to put those negative thoughts behind me. Occasionally I was overcome by darkness and why me and why now? What if it is malignant and required further surgery radiotherapy/chemotherapy. This requires regular visits to clinics with countless blood tests and investigations. Such a restrictive life would never be pleasant and may not be worthwhile. What if it all has spread beyond the bladder and was terminal. Such thoughts did cross my mind. Fear took me to a terrifying place located at the outer edges of human tolerance.  During those times of despair life turns round 180 degrees. Habits of a lifetime of acquiring wealth, gloating on achievements, avarice, greed, hatred and pride – all these things just fall away in the face of death. What remains is what is truly simple and basic. Even current affairs and news items somehow seem irrelevant. The future, the next year and even the next month seem distant, elusive and unreachable. The deep and gnawing pain and sadness of separation from my immediate family was always foremost in my mind.

Why can’t there be a better way to exit this world without all this torment and anguish? I also discovered that eventually one learns how to incorporate death into one’s life. It becomes an unwanted traveling companion that stalks you day and night. At times I couldn’t hide my feelings of utter grief, distress and wretchedness. This must have been hard for my wife to bear. I think finally human beings are programmed to accept the end of life. Then things fall into place and serenity and calmness prevails.

There are many of my batch who have now departed this world. I have often wondered how they coped with the inevitable and what thoughts crossed their troubled minds. I remember the final call I made to “Claude” Bernard in his death bed. He said “ND, I am not frightened to die but wish to live to be at my daughter’s wedding in a few weeks”. Sadly his wish wasn’t granted. His voice still echoes in my ears.

On a fine summers day in July I received a call from the hospital to attend their Urology Clinic the following week. This heightened my awareness of the possibilities but I was able to remain calm.  Being in the waiting room to be called by the Urologist was the longest half hour of my life. I resorted to meditation and mindfulness to bring some peace and serenity to my soul. We shook hands when he gave me the all clear. Immediately I was transported to a blissful paradise and felt young, elated and energetic once more.

This ordeal has changed my life forever. It has concentrated my mind on what is important. Religion has never played a dominant role in my existence except when I was growing up in Nugegoda,  living a Christian life. The ten commandments and the teachings of Jesus Christ gave me a good grounding on how to live my life. As a teenager and later a medical student I drifted away from all this and became an agnostic.  This remained with me almost the whole of my adult life. This last episode has brought me closer to the merits of meditation, the benefit of mindfulness and the virtue of the five moral precepts. The 5^th precept however is harder to keep as I love a glass of wine!! I will try to follow the 4 noble truths.  “Nirvana” the elusive state of final liberation from the cycle of birth and death still seems so far away.

The “Mozart Effect” with classical music is tremendously helpful in bringing about peace to one’s soul in stressful situations. Listening to the classics is something that can be done in the confines of your own home. Music of Chopin, Beethoven and Mozart was of great help to me all through my ordeal.

I am the beneficiary of hard work in my youth and have had a life well and fully lived. Despite some disappointments along the way, much to my surprise, I am happy, and often sublimely so. The fine lyrics of that famous song “My Way” does echo my feelings overall. I prefer that 1959 Edith Piaf favourite   "Non, je ne regrette rien",  NO REGRETS.  Shirley Bassey belts it in English with much gusto and feeling. Well actually, I do have just the one despairing regret – not being with my parents in their hour of need at the end of their lives.  I am confident they will forgive me that huge dereliction of duty.

My first impressions of the Physiology Lecture Theatre

Dr Mahendra Gonsalkorale

We walked in through the large wooden doors and gazed in awe at the imposing lecture hall with semi-circular seating using benches ascending in tiers to the back of the hall. Each row of benches had a flat board in front to keep writing material. There were about 10 rows, may be more. The walls were wood paneled and right in front, between the two entrance doors, was a long rectangular Desk about 4 feet high and placed on a wooden platform with sufficient room behind the desk to place several stools for the lecturers to sit if needed. The wall behind the lecturer was a vast expanse of black board with a long chalk holder tray at the bottom.

I had seen nothing like it before and my feelings could be compared to how a visitor to St Paul’s Cathedral might have experienced on his first visit.

We were seated in alphabetical order with the Abeysuriyas and Ahamats in the front rows and the Wickremasinghes at the back. Very different from school days when the bright sparks sat in front and the trouble makers at the back. On the centre of the back wall was a large analogue clock. Right through Medical Faculty, this adherence to the alphabet was honoured and to this day, our closest associates tend to be our alphabetical neighbours. Generally speaking, the De Silvas know the Fernandos well as do the Wickremasighes know the Vishweshwaras of this world.

Soon, the hall was filled with that general nondescript noise generated by a multitude of voices speaking at the same time. One is reminded of the noise made by a gaggle of geese.

Soon the noise gradually abated to almost a hush as the lecturer walked in through the door, ascended the platform , sat on the tall stool, glared at us and after a pregnant pause, wished us good morning before commencing his lecture.

This was the arena where in our first two years, Prof Koch, tall, bespectacled with thick black circular rims and “bottle bottom lenses”, black hair combed back and held in place with liberal amounts of Brylcreem attempting to hide a spreading bald patch, and always dressed impeccably in a light coloured suit, held forth in his own inimitable style.

In our third year, this Lecture hall was also used by the diminutive Prof Kottegoda for his ramblings on Pharmacology, illustrated with a piece of chalk which traced a tortuous and apparently meaningless path on the black board from the top left hand corner to the bottom right hand corner. Many a time, he would pause and gaze at the ceiling. Was it for inspiration or hidden notes engraved on the white ceiling, I shall never know. But my lasting memory was how I saw him behind the desk, sitting on a stool as we walked in, and waiting for all of us to come and settle down. Then he stood up and virtually disappeared from view! Having not met him before, I didn’t realise that although he may have reached great intellectual heights, he was somewhat lacking on the physical aspect.