Ye achaanak itne deep thoughts ku aate he

Ye achaanak itne deep thoughts ku aate he I like to write things which I think about sometimes. Ajeeb. Like maangne bhi nhi aate��

I usually don't edit them much, so most of the times it is just raw words that I am thinking


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And I explained it in clear terms: that the patient had died.Had to learn that you have to say these things in absolutel...
11/05/2026

And I explained it in clear terms: that the patient had died.

Had to learn that you have to say these things in absolutely clear words.

That the patient has died.

Talking from experience.

I was still shedding tears while lying on my bed and typing this.

My pillow is wet now.

I just shed a tear in the RMO room.

But here, I’ve soaked my pillow with them.

Damn.

I really, really hope people don’t die and leave their loved ones like this.

It’s one thing to live your life fully and pass away at 70+ with your family around you.

But what about the situations where you could have done so much more, but your life’s thread gets cut short by the cruel rule of fate?

The cruel rule that never lets you live up to your full potential.

With all your plans still unfinished.

Rest in peace, AR.

I hope your sins are forgiven and your family gets the patience and closure they need.

Ameen.

(All parts done. Had to post it in 3 different posts because of the word limit)

His sister was pleading that he was breathing, begging us to help him. (He wasn’t breathing.)And the next thing we knew,...
11/05/2026

His sister was pleading that he was breathing, begging us to help him. (He wasn’t breathing.)

And the next thing we knew, we had declared the death.

The sister’s reaction…

That is what hit me the most.

She screamed.

She shouted.

Not at us.

But at the father who told her that her brother was no more.

I still remember her screams echoing in my ears.

The exact voice.

The exact confusion.

The exact frustration.

The exact pain.

I declared 2 deaths before him and they did not hit me that much.

But man…

This…

This broke me.

I had to take a break and go to the RMO room. I took my water bottle just because I felt like I needed a distraction, or maybe just a reason to go there. Because why would you randomly go to the RMO room after declaring a death?

Only to stand there with the bottle in my hand and stare at the wall.

Just stare at the wall and think about what had just happened.

And shed a tear and a prayer.

Just a tear.

I still remember when the family members were taking her outside, she was howling that her mother should take her as well, like she did with her brother.

A pretty clear indication that her mother had passed away too.

Realised this later, but all of this happened just before Bakra Eid.

This event definitely destroyed their Eid happiness.

The only reason I can think of for why this hit me so hard is that AR was almost the same age as me.

He had a sister too.

It became relatable out of nowhere.

Just a family getting absolutely crushed by one random, unexpected piece of news.

I feel like it could have been a burst aneurysm.

But sitting here and typing this now, I also feel that I did what I was supposed to do.

I explained what happened, what examinations we did, what results we got, and what conclusion that led to.

And I explained it in clear terms: that the patient had died.

Had to learn that you have to say these things in absolutely clear words.

That the patient has died.

Part 2 — 11 May 2026 (part 3 in the next post)

People die.They live and they die.I mean… that’s how life works, right?Even before starting clinical practice, I always ...
11/05/2026

People die.

They live and they die.

I mean… that’s how life works, right?

Even before starting clinical practice, I always knew that.

In my recent ER rotation, I pronounced 2 people dead.

A 65-year-old male and a 70-year-old male.

Both were brought dead.

I did their examination.

No pulse, no heartbeat, pupils fixed and dilated, ECG straight line. Attendants counselled.

I didn’t feel sadness. I felt empathy that their loved one had died. But it did not affect me personally. (Sociopathic much?)

I still don’t understand how the sons of both those fathers understood what was happening so gracefully.

I always thought it was going to be dramatic.

Like in movies or series.

When you declare that their parent died.

Or their husband died.

They would scream and shout and probably point at the doctors for not doing enough — even when most of the time, the hands of doctors are tied. We are not the ones who control life and death. Only Allah can do that.

But none of that happened.

All of them took it so gracefully.

So understanding.

Maybe they already knew what was happening.

Maybe they understood that their loved one was gone.

Maybe they were waiting for another loved one so they could finally have a shoulder to cry on.

But then there was another case.

Another person was brought dead.

21-year-old male. AR. (I’ll call him AR as an alias to avoid revealing his actual name.)

We did the examinations.

No pulse. No breathing. No heartbeat. Pupils fixed and dilated. Straight-line ECG.

His father understood it as well. Gracefully. I still have no idea how he did that while standing there.

He had a history of nosebleed. JUST A FREAKING NOSEBLEED.

His sister was pleading that he was breathing, begging us to help him. (He wasn’t breathing.)

And the next thing we knew, we had declared the death.

The sister’s reaction…

That is what hit me the most.

She screamed.

She shouted.

Not at us.

Part 1 — 11 May 2026 (part 2 in the next post

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